Chapter Eighteen – Meeting of the Greats

Chapter Eighteen – Meeting of the Greats

“They’re idiots.

If we create AI and they’re not entirely alien to us, then we will know that we’ve failed.”

-Robert Vernes, head of the Open Institute for AI Research, 2029

***

Once I got back at the mall, Manic in tow, I sat around and started to look over our options.

I also started to nurse a migraine.

It wasn’t a period migraine or the kind of thing that happened when you drank a high-addiction soft drink once and then didn’t keep drinking it, but it was instead the far less fun stress-induced kind of pain that throbbed across my head.

Do you want something for that?

Myalis didn’t even need to ask for what. “Yeah, medicate me,” I muttered low enough that only she’d hear. A tiny box appeared on the table before me, and I reached up and pulled my helmet off.

Manic glanced my way, and I found myself being observed a lot more closely than I’d usually be comfortable with. “You’re younger than I thought,” she said.

“I’m legal,” I shot back as I opened the box Myalis gave me, took out a colourful pill, then tossed it back. It had a nice citrusy aftertaste. Nothing happened for a few long seconds, then it felt as if someone were carefully and slowly pouring cool water down atop my head and the pain washed away. “Oh, that’s nice.”

It’s not chemically addictive, but try not to overuse that kind of medication. The last thing either of us need are permanent changes to your brain chemistry.

That was sobering. I sat up in the cheap plastic seat–bolted to the floor, of course–and glanced around. “Where’s Gomorrah and the others?” I asked.

“Sprout’s right there,” Manic said with a nod to her left.

I glanced that way and saw Sprout jogging over. He was wearing a labcoat over a more skin-tight armoured suit, the hems and front of the coat stained green and brown by what looked like dirt and plant stuff. “Sorry,” he said. “I wasn’t too close when the call came in. What’s going on?”

“Give Gomorrah and Johnny a minute,” I said. “She’s the punctual sort, so she won’t be too long in showing up. But… yeah, we’re kinda fucked, so I wanted to hand out new orders and see what we could do to unfuck ourselves before we all die heroically.”

Sprout stared, then nodded. “Okay then,” he said before taking a seat as far from Manic as he could manage. Maybe that was because Manic was sitting on one of those dividers, knees folded up to her chest and fake plants arrayed behind her.

The next to show up was General Wilkinson and Miss Baker, whom I hadn’t realized had returned to Downtown. Gomorrah and Johnny arrived a minute after, so we were spared having to do any sort of small-talk.

“Alright.” I said as I stood up. This didn’t feel like the sort of conversation that should be had sitting down. I flicked a setting on with my augs and a map of the city sprung to life on the tabletop, a topographic map that outlined the extent of the hive beneath Burlington. “This is what we’re dealing with,” I said.

“Those don’t look like sewer tunnels,” Sprout said.

“No. It looks like the hive’s been avoiding those, as well as any maintenance tunnels. Their passage pokes in, sometimes, but then they tend to divert away,” I said. I probably sounded a lot more professional than I am. “My guess is that the hive’s trying to be stealthy, which… well, it’s worked so far.”

“So, we go down and kick their asses?” Johnny asked. He grinned and shifted in such a way that his chest was puffed out even more and the muscles of his arms bulged. “I got to live up to my new name.”

“New name?” I asked. This was a distraction, but I couldn’t help but be curious.

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His grin turned smug. “Babe Gomorrah gave it to me. I’m now known as Arm-a-Geddon. Oh yeah! Check out my nukes!”