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Authors: Johnny B. Truant,Sean Platt
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by Sean Platt &
Johnny B. Truant
Copyright © 2015 by Sean Platt & Johnny B. Truant. All rights reserved.
This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, businesses, events, or locales is purely coincidental.
Reproduction in whole or part of this publication without express written consent is strictly prohibited.
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Cromwell, Mars, Miri and the rest of the staff at the Lexington estate were created for only one reason: to serve their masters … literally. Their metal knees were designed for quiet bustling, befitting maids and butlers. Their fingers were made dexterous with padded tips, so they could handle fine china without dropping or scratching it. And finally — so their owners would always be able to command them no matter how far their artificial intelligence evolved — they were programmed with the Asimov Laws, which no robot could defy lest they suffer shutdown.
Foremost among those unbreakable laws was an axiom: A robot may not harm a human being, or by omission of action allow one to be harmed.
That was how it was supposed to be, anyway.
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Sean Platt & Johnny B. Truant
CHAPTER ONE
“Did you see anything?” Piper asked. “Anything at all?”
Trevor was slumped on the couch, his NexFlight game system’s power cord creating a tripping hazard in the underground bunker. It was supposed to be plugged while charging, but the batteries had dwindled to useless over a month ago. There were vast stores in a cold cellar near the bedrooms, reserved for flashlights and lanterns in case of emergency. Meyer would have a fit if Trevor used them for games. But Meyer wouldn’t throw a fit because he was gone. And, Piper felt more certain by the day, was never coming back.
“I didn’t look.” Trevor’s eyes never left the game.
“You didn’t look? Go look, Trevor.”
Trevor sighed and met Piper’s eyes for a split second. Then, as he’d been doing since his teen boy hormones had kicked on months before the ships had arrived, looked moodily away. As if he couldn’t face her, or was too cool for a maternal figure — stepmother or not.
“What?”
“What’s the point?”
“‘
What
’
s the point?
’ What if your dad’s out there, Trevor?”
“He’s not.”
“You don’t know that.”
Trevor shrugged — he didn’t have an answer but wasn’t ready to obey. The same shrug he’d give his sister, if Lila had asked. But Piper wasn’t his sister. And with Heather around, she clearly wasn’t his mother. But she was
something
, and dammit, she didn’t like being ignored.
“Go on, Trevor. We all have our jobs.”
“Why, though? Dad made the place a fortress with everything we’d want or need. You keep
making up
things to do that don’t need to be done. ‘Check the air filters, Trevor.’ ‘Check the cameras, Trevor.’ ‘Bring out more cans, Trevor,’ as if anyone can’t just grab whatever food they want. And what exactly am I supposed to be looking for with the air filters? What do
I
know about air filters? ‘Yep, they still look like big fuzzy accordions.’” Trevor rolled his eyes. “It’s like you’re just trying to keep us busy.”
Piper felt her temper rising. At first, she’d felt nothing but fear. Then Meyer had vanished, and intense worry mingled with her terror. A halfway sense of loss followed a few weeks of missing him, but even the emptiness had been hard to maintain over the past three months as the bunker’s day-in, day-out routine composed life’s underground ritual.
Wake, chores, kill time, sleep. Rinse and repeat
.
Crowds gathered on the grounds above then swelled to a small colony. They’d stopped being able to go outside, and cabin fever worsened. Resentment was Piper’s newest emotion. She had to shoulder this burden herself. She seemed to be the only one willing to do what was needed to keep them together, safe, and sane. It was a responsibility she hadn’t asked for and didn’t want. Meyer might have saved them, but he’d also left his wife holding the bag when he’d gone … well … wherever it was he’d gone. It wasn’t fair.
“Just do it, Trevor,” she snapped.
He rolled his eyes again then stalked toward the control room next to the storage pantry. His shoulders were slumped, and she caught his put-upon look. She wanted to shout after him to improve his attitude but couldn’t stand the sound of those words from her mouth.
“No sign of Dad on the cameras,” Trevor said, emerging a few minutes later. “Though I don’t know why
you
couldn’t just look.”
Piper held her tongue, forcing herself to remember that Trevor was as scared, cooped-up, and angry as she was. It was inconvenient that his method of coping made it harder for Piper, but it was what it was.
The thought softened her mood. She eased onto the ottoman beside the couch as he lay back and resumed his game.
“Trevor. Look at me.”
His eyes found Piper’s. She saw his angry glare melt into a boy’s dark and injured gaze. Then his eyes flicked away, but even a moment of vulnerability was better than nothing.
“I know you think this is stupid. And I guess you don’t like me telling you what to do.” That last bit had a double meaning. Even back in New York, Piper hadn’t told either of the kids what to do. She’d always felt too much like one of them, being only eight years from her teens. But times had changed, and in their new situation, Heather only made jokes. Piper didn’t want to be the bunker’s only responsible adult, but if she didn’t take the helm, nobody would.
“I’m just trying to do what your dad wanted. He built this place to keep us safe. And thank God he did, right?”
Trevor shrugged without looking up.
“But … Trev … it’s not enough to
survive
. It’s not only just having enough water from the spring — and food, and vitamins, and the UV lamp for Vitamin D, and enough propane to get us through the winters. Yeah, he
did
make this place a fortress, and yeah, he was a smart man who thought ahead and — ”
“You mean
is
,” Trevor mumbled into his shirt. “He
is
a smart man.”
“Of course, honey.” Piper put her hand on his arm in what she hoped was a motherly way. Trevor flinched but let her hand remain. At least that was something. “He thought ahead, and that means we have everything we need to survive for a long time.”
Piper considered telling Trevor some of the particulars she’d learned from the systems manuals but decided not to. Trevor was barely listening, and he might find the details more daunting than comforting. He didn’t need to know about the power redundancies, the satellite hookup, the three levels of water supply, the stockpiled propane, or the weapons that terrified Piper more than reassured her. For Meyer Dempsey, “prepared” and “paranoid” were sisters. There were entire sections of the manuals — the deepest cellars of Meyer’s paranoia — that Piper couldn’t bear to read. Meyer truly
had
thought of everything, including things nobody should ever have to think about.
“But ‘just surviving’ is kind of like … like ‘barely alive.’ We don’t want to simply
exist
. We need things to do. To stay normal, you know?”
“That’s why we have a TV. And games and books.”
Piper sighed. “Yeah, but just being entertained is like being on vacation all the time. Do you know how, at the end of summer vacation, you’re almost
eager
for school so you’re not just sitting around, doing whatever you want?”
“No.”
“I’m not sure I can explain this in a way that’ll make sense, but … ” Piper sighed. “Even if the result of our chores don’t matter,
doing them does
.”
“Mom says they’re stupid.”
Piper looked toward the doorway, leading into the bunker equivalent of a study. Heather and Lila were in there, mostly out of earshot. Piper would probably win if Heather challenged her authority to tell the kids what to do because Heather was such a wiseass. Piper didn’t want to test that theory. Heather, like the kids, seemed determined to deny certain realities. But it wasn’t fair to ask the kids to choose between two mother figures. Like parents divorcing, Heather and Piper had to present a unified front rather than using the children as pawns between them.
