The Boy at the End of the World (8 page)

Protein stared at Fisher with his cold-fire eyes. Fisher never doubted the mammoth was intelligent, but his intelligence wasn't human, and it was impossible to know what he was thinking. So Fisher decided to believe the mammoth understood what he wanted.

Click whirred. “It is a pity I was not given a stronger body. My ability to help Ark-preserved species survive would be easier if I could physically restrain you.”

“Just make sure Protein doesn't go anywhere with my rope.”

Fisher tucked his hand ax in his waistband along with his resin-dipped sticks and a few of his flint chips. He gripped the rope and began lowering himself, hand over hand.

“How are you doing, Fisher?” the robot called out after a minute.

“I haven't really gone anywhere yet. I'm only about four feet down.”

“How about now?”

“If I fall to my death, I promise to let you know.”

Click hissed.

By the time Fisher's feet touched ground, his muscles burned with exhaustion. Shakily, he called up to Click: “I made it! I'm okay!”

“I am surprised,” came Click's voice, drifting down. “What do you see?”

Fisher struck sparks with flint chips and lit one of his resined sticks. The glow only extended several feet around him, but that was enough to reveal a row of long, box-shaped objects elevated off the ground.

Fisher moved closer.

The technology wasn't exactly the same as the stuff in his own Ark, but it looked similar enough for Fisher to be certain: these were birthing pods.

He took another step closer to them, but then stopped short.

Birthing pods, yes, but they were dark. And the only noise he heard was the sound of his own hard breathing.

Fisher couldn't bear the thought of having come so far, only to find another dead Ark.

But he had to know.

Another step closer.

Then, from above, a trumpeting squeal. The dangling end of the rope skittered across the floor. Protein must be running, and he was taking the rope with him.

“Click, what's he doing?”

No answer from the robot. The end of the rope lifted off the floor. With a running leap, Fisher stretched for it and grabbed on with clenched fingers. He shot up like a striker taking flight. The movement was smooth and too fast for Protein to be causing it. What, then?

Fisher had his answer as he was hauled over the edge of the platform.

The rope was held in a claw, and the claw was connected to an arm, and the arm was one of many belonging to a giant robot.

“Hello, human,” said the machine. “I have been waiting for you.”

CHAPTER   13

Click and Protein stood behind the machine. They both looked all right, though Protein's head shuddered with agitation. Fisher cocked back his hand ax.

The machine's surface was some kind of gleaming, black material that seemed to ripple like maggots on rotten fruit. An assemblage of arms and joints rested on hundreds of legs, like a giant millipede. In the middle of the machine's back rose a curving neck that moved fluidly, like a snake. And at the end of the neck was a face more human than Click's, but less human than Fisher's.

It broke into something like a smile.

“Hello! I see you have a stone. Do you wish to throw it? Hello!” It spoke not with one voice, but with a thousand little voices.

“Are you okay?” Fisher said to Click and Protein.

Protein shivered, as though he might charge.

“We are unharmed,” said Click.

“Yes,” the machine said. “I will never let any harm come to you. Hello!”

“Move out of the way and let me stand with my friends,” Fisher said.

“Yes, I will do this. Hello!” The machine scuttled back, its hundreds of legs tapping against the plasteel floor.

Fisher was very aware of all those arms towering over him as he moved past the machine and joined Click and Protein. He rested his hand on Protein's shoulder to calm the mammoth.

“What are you?” Fisher said.

The machine's smile grew broader. Tiny black things squiggled between its black teeth. Fisher's underfed stomach squirmed.

“I am the Intelligence, an
I
constructed of
we
. I am many forms combined into a single form. This arrangement allows me to serve humans with great effectiveness. Hello!”

“Ah, very interesting,” said Click. “You are a composite machine, one machine made of many. I presume you are composed of nano constructs?”

“Hello, yes!” the machine—the Intelligence—said brightly. A few tiny black wormlike things broke off from one of its legs. They wriggled on the ground for several seconds before returning to the leg and flowing back into it. “Each of my nanobots is made from millions of molecule-sized machines, and I am made of millions of nanobots. Combined, we can assume any shape and perform any function.”

To demonstrate, the Intelligence became a crane. An instant later, it was some kind of wheeled vehicle. Then, a giant drill. And then it cycled back to its original form.

“See?” the machine said. “Very useful! Hello!”

“Why does it keep saying hello?” Fisher asked Click.

The nano-worms in the Intelligence's mouth shifted. It looked like a faltering smile. “You have not returned my greeting. Would you like to return my greeting? Hello!”

Fisher didn't quite understand the purpose of a greeting. It made sense if you were coming back to camp and wanted to let your companions know you weren't a predator. Maybe the Intelligence was trying to say it wasn't a predator. Or maybe it wanted Fisher to say that he wasn't a predator.

Fisher said nothing.

The Intelligence's smile grew very wide. “Hello! There is danger.”

Protein's ears perked up. Soon Fisher heard it too. A distant noise quickly rose in volume to the now-familiar sound of gadget engines. Strikers were coming, and they were close.

“Do not worry, human and his unlikely friends! I will protect you! Trust me!”

Fisher had no reason to trust this strange, cheery, oddly stomach-churning machine. Instinct and reason both told him the Intelligence was dangerous. But his slingshot and hand ax were useless against a patrol of strikers.

And then the strikers were there, zooming down the tunnel. They opened fire at the Intelligence, guns clacking away. In the confines of the tunnel, the sound was loud enough to hurt.

“Remain behind me, plucky band of adventurers!” the Intelligence said. The machine widened its body, forming a wall to catch the strikers' missiles. Then it folded in on itself. Muffled bangs and pops came from inside the machine's body. When it unfolded itself, spent missile shells clinked against the floor.

“Hello, primitive little machines!” the Intelligence called out. “You will not harm the human being and his odd cohorts!”

A cluster of nano-worms flew off the Intelligence like a bee swarm. The worms struck the strikers and wriggled under their metallic shells. Seconds later, the gadgets tumbled to the ground. They lay still, and nano-worms emerged from them, like maggots eating their way out of a dead animal. The worms melded back into the Intelligence's body.

“There. Primitive machines of nuisance have been slain and all are safe now for happiness.”

The Intelligence's smile grew so wide Fisher was afraid he'd fall into it.

“Now, come with me for food and shelter,” said the Intelligence. “I will devote my incredible abilities to your comfort and not for harming you. Hello!”

“Hello,” Fisher said.

The Intelligence changed one of its arms into a complicated claw and slid back a plasteel wall panel to reveal a cozy, warmly lit chamber. In the center of the floor was a table laden with piles of berries and plump red fruit and wild green vegetables. The food called to Fisher so strongly he imagined he could hear it. Even the table itself made an impression. How did the legs join to the surface? How much weight could it bear? How many times had Fisher wished he'd had something so solid to sit beneath during a rainstorm?

Off to the side, up against the wall, was piled a heap of leaf-rich tree branches and roots—just the sort of thing Protein loved to munch.

Fisher's stomach clenched with hunger, but he resisted rushing the table and wolfing down food.

“You knew we were coming,” he said.

“Yes, your approach was visible from many miles away, so I had time to prepare for your arrival. I have been saying ‘Hello' for quite some time. Please, devour this food. And plug your batteries into my power supply, broken automaton. You will find sockets of various kinds all throughout this structure.”

Protein began shoveling roots into his mouth, but Fisher still held back. The Intelligence knew what they ate, so it knew what they were. But Fisher still didn't know anything about it.

The Intelligence noticed Fisher wasn't eating. “Are you fearing poisoning? Please don't. It is my job to protect you and make sure you continue existing.”

That sounded almost like something Click would say. Click released the smallest of pneumatic hisses. To Fisher, it sounded like a hiss of suspicion.

“What is this place?” Fisher asked. “And what are you?”

The Intelligence rearranged the food on the table, as if trying to make it more attractive to Fisher. Its face rippled a grin. “I am the defense system of the Southern Ark,” it said. “For many thousands of years, I have protected my Ark-preserved specimens. Because of me, their continued existence is certain.”

Fisher's mouth moved, but he couldn't find words. Had he really done it? He'd found the Ark, and the Ark had power, its defense system was working, and it hadn't been crushed to rubble. Did this mean he wasn't alone? Not the only human left? Not the last? Hope surged through his body, like the boiling water of a hot spring.

Click clicked. “You are unlike the defense systems from our Ark.”

“Yes, noisy human-shaped machine, I am far more advanced. But I was not always this way. Once I was many machines made of nano-worms, but all locked into rigid forms. Gates, barriers, detectors, guns. But I altered my programming. And then I changed my form so that I could assume any shape. I evolved. Hello, I am clever! Much more clever than the annoying little flying machines from your Ark.”

“From
my
Ark …?” Fisher said.

“Yes, yes, perplexed human. Did you not know? That is how the defense systems from your Ark evolved, from guns and devices that shot at anything threatening your Ark, to guns and devices that went looking for threats, to guns and devices that became threats. They did not evolve very well, if you are to ask me.”

“This answers several unknowns,” Click said to Fisher. “It is … what I feared.”

The defense systems from his Ark had hunted and killed Stragglers. They had tried to kill Fisher. They had destroyed his Ark. Because they had evolved. Or became broken.

Fisher turned away from the table, the food forgotten. He turned away from the Intelligence and Click.

“I saw the birthing pods below,” he said. “Where are the humans?”

“Do not worry, scowling human,” said the Intelligence. “They are very safe. I keep them away from harm, and they will continue forever. Please eat now, so that you may continue as well.”

“What about the Stragglers?”

“I am not familiar with this term. This is a kind of animal?”

“They're humans,” Fisher said. “From outside my Ark. They came down the Whale Road—the big river—looking for this place. Looking for other humans.”

The Intelligence's smile again grew too wide. “Ah, yes, Stragglers. A very apt term for scrappy travelers! All humans are kept away from harm such that they will continue forever.”

“I want to see these humans,” Fisher said.

“Soon,” said the Intelligence. “Your presence is a new thing, and new things and humans do not always go well together. Preparations must be made. So, now, please, human-with-growling-digestive-system, eat!”

Fisher lifted a small piece of fruit off the table. He needed nutrition. He needed strength. He sniffed the fruit and took a shallow bite. It was delicious.

CHAPTER   14

While the Intelligence went off to make preparations, Fisher pretended to sleep. He listened to the machine scuttle across the floor of the darkened chamber, slide the plasteel wall panel away, and then slide it back in place.

He opened his eyes.

“It is gone,” Click said.

“Whisper,” Fisher said with a
ssh
.

“I cannot whisper. My voice box is not designed for whispering. Whispering requires controlled movement of air through—”

“Just talk softer, okay?”

“Ah, yes. Testing volume. Is that soft enough? Testing volume …”

“We need to get out of this room. I want to go back down to the birthing pods. Also, Protein is starting to make this place stink.”

The mammoth snuffled.

“You do not trust the Intelligence?” asked Click.

“Why would I? It's an evolved Ark defense system, just like the gadgets.”

“But its programming has not become corrupt in the same way as the gadgets'. It has not destroyed its own Ark.”

“We don't know what it's done.” Fisher felt along the wall panel. He shoved on it. It didn't budge. “Help me, Click.”

Click leaned against the wall and pushed. “I find I am generally not helpful in situations such as this.”

“Yes,” Fisher said. “I have found that too.”

Protein ambled over. He touched his broad forehead to the wall and stepped forward. The entire panel fell over with a plasticky
crack.
Fisher stared at the mammoth, his mouth open. But then he saw that Protein had run out of food. He was probably just hoping to find more to munch outside their closed room.

“That was much louder than a whisper,” said Click.

“Yeah. Well, if the Intelligence tries to stop us from looking around, then we'll know it's hiding something.”

They went back out on the platform. The old rope was no longer there. The Intelligence must have removed it.

“I presume there is another way down,” said Click. “The Intelligence must be able to access the lower level somehow.”

“Maybe it just oozes wherever it wants to go.”

But Click insisted there must be an elevator. Fisher's Ark had elevators, after all, and even if the two Arks had been built at different times and by different people, they couldn't be entirely unalike.

The robot began examining the guardrail more closely, all the way around the platform.

“What are you looking for?”

“Without any other obvious way down, it is possible that … Ah, yes, here.” He tapped something on the rail. With a mild hum, the entire platform descended. Moving without needing the power of his own tired muscles felt miraculous to Fisher. Ancient humans must have had a lot of energy to spare.

The platform settled on the floor of the lower level with a small
clank
. The companions stepped off.

All this noise, but still no sign of the Intelligence. Fisher kept his eyes on Protein. He hoped the mammoth would smell or hear the machine approaching and give warning. And then what? He'd seen what quick work the Intelligence had made of the strikers. And the gadgets had missiles. All Fisher had was his hand ax and a slingshot and his fire-making toolkit.

Protein moved to a cluster of metal tanks and sniffed.

“The mammoth will want to be careful with those,” said Click. “They contain cryonite gas. It is one of the components of the gel that keeps Ark-specimens preserved. Combined with other substances, it is safe. But by itself, it is highly combustible.”

“Combustible means …?”

“Large explosions,” said Click.

“Why is he so interested in cryonite?”

“He is not,” said Click. “But the paint used on cryonite tanks smells similar to grass. As usual, the mammoth is hungry.”

Protein nudged a tank with his trunk.

“Hey, try not to blow us up,” Fisher hissed.

The mammoth grunted and dumped dung.

“If you know so much about the technology here, why didn't you know about the Southern Ark's existence?”

Clicked whirred. “I … am not certain. Perhaps my builders did not have friendly relations with the builders of this Ark. Perhaps my knowledge of it was lost in the damage I sustained during the Ark attack.”

Fisher continued across the floor to a cluster of pod beds. Raised on pedestals, they were higher off the ground than the ones in his own Ark. He would have to stand on his toe tips to peer inside them.

He approached one. It was large enough to hold a modest-sized animal. A goat. Maybe a large dog. He stretched and looked in. The pod was full of gel, but the gel wasn't bubbling.

Through the gel, he saw the face of a human, younger than himself. A girl. Her lips were white as marble. Delicate veins were visible beneath pale flesh. The veins moved, like languid pond grass.

They weren't really veins, Fisher realized, watching in horror. They were strands of nano-worms.

Fisher lowered himself. “She's human,” he said with a rough voice. “Can you wake her up?”

Click was examining a control panel on the pedestal.

Fisher held his breath, waiting for an answer.

Finally, the robot said, “No.”

The small word felt like a kick to the stomach.

“She is un-alive,” Click continued. “No vital signs. But yet, on a cellular level, she is intact.”

“That means …?”

“She is dead, Fisher. Yet perfectly preserved.”

“Yes, broken automaton,” boomed a cheery voice. “I have devised the best means to protect Ark-preserved specimens.” The Intelligence came out from around a bank of equipment.

“You killed them,” said Click.

“Yes. I also injected cell-repairing nano-worms into their bodies. I have found this to be the best method of protecting Ark-preserved species. I have removed the threat of death by removing their lives. They will continue forever. It is very clever. Hello!”

There must be dozens of pod beds in the Ark. Maybe hundreds. Fisher thought about all the perfectly preserved dead things they contained. Dead and preserved like a salted squirrel.

One of the pod beds sank on its pedestal to ground level. The lid opened. It was empty.

The Intelligence's face split apart in a wrap-around smile. “I have prepared a place for your protection, Fisher. Step inside the pod bed and we will begin your preservation process.”

Fisher wanted to scream his rage at the Intelligence. He wanted to use all the profanity in his collection of words. He wanted to rip the Intelligence apart with his bare hands, worm by worm. But none of these things would help him survive.

“Run,” said Fisher.

The three companions broke for the elevator-platform, but flowing like a gleaming black mudslide, the Intelligence blocked their way.

“Fisher, you are going in the wrong direction. Your preservation pod is
behind
you. Hello!” The Intelligence formed two of its arms into long, grasping appendages. They telescoped out, coming toward Fisher's face.

Fisher backed up.

“My goals are the same as yours, Fisher. Without me, you will last only a few decades. Given your primitive state of development, probably much less than that. But with my assistance, you will exist forever. Please let me help you.”

“You want to help me by killing me? Is that what you did to the Stragglers?”

“Yes. To preserve your existence, I must first end your life, as I did theirs. It is very clever!”

Fisher continued to back away from the wormy appendage hovering before him. His heel struck something. One of the cryonite tanks. He fumbled for his fire-starting kit and withdrew one of the resin-tipped torch sticks.

“Very well, Fisher. If you will not comply by lying in the pod bed, I will improvise. I am capable of change.”

The arm rushed out and encircled Fisher's throat. It didn't squeeze hard. Instead, worms began to separate from it. They crawled up the back of Fisher's neck.

Fisher stuck the torch stick in his mouth and grabbed for his flint chips. Holding the chips above his head, he struck them together. Once, twice, a third time.

“You will not need your tools, Fisher. I will provide for your every need.”

Worms tickled the back of his ear. If they got inside him, there'd be nothing he could do. The Intelligence would have him.

On the fourth try, the chips sparked, and the sparks fell on the tip of the torch stick. The end glowed with flame.

“Do you fear the dark, Fisher? Fear is a useful survival tool. It helps you avoid dangerous situations. But there will be no danger in your pod bed. Nothing will ever happen to you there.”

A worm crawled up Fisher's earlobe.

In a swift motion, he reached down to the cryonite tank and turned the valve all the way to the left. He hoped that was the correct direction. He wouldn't get a second chance.

Gas hissed into the air.

“Hello, Fisher, what are you doing—?”

With all his might, Fisher hurled the tank into the Intelligence's face. Then he flung the torch stick like a dart. Twisting around, he covered his head with his arms.

The Intelligence widened its body and engulfed the tank and torch, just as it had done with the gadgets' missiles.

Bad move, thought Fisher, breaking loose from the worm-appendage. But maybe it was the Intelligence's instinct.

He got himself a few steps away before the cryonite tank exploded. Most of the flame and force were absorbed by the Intelligence's body, but a hot wall of wind singed the back of Fisher's head and shoved him to the ground.

The Intelligence came apart into thousands of flying fragments. Scattered worms wriggled violently. Fisher scraped them off and scrabbled to his feet. He staggered over to Click and Protein.

Click took a position at the elevator platform's controls. “Quickly,” he said, “before the Intelligence reforms itself.”

Already, the worms were reorganizing, flowing into each other. Fisher saw the beginnings of an arm.

“You are being unclever, simple human.” The Intelligence's multivoice sounded different, sharp-edged as glass shards and no longer in synch. It sounded angry. “Your only chance was with me. With us. You will never survive. You will perish alone. The earth will reclaim your flesh. You will be forgotten. You are nothing. You will never find the Western Ark before the gadgets do. You will never survive long enough. And if you do, all you'll find is burning wreckage. It is hopeless, Fisher. Hello.”

Fisher and Protein rushed over to join Click on the platform. Click touched a control and the platform lifted, but not fast enough for Fisher. He wanted away from here, from this vast Ark full of death.

He and his friends rose up into the light.

“Good-bye,” Fisher said.