The Storm

“This conversation is going from bad to worse,” Kurt said. “Explain how they reproduce. And I don’t need a lesson on the birds and the bees. I’ve just never heard of it in regards to a machine.”

“Procreation of the bot is a fundamental need if you want it to do anything useful.”

Kurt took a deep breath. At least they were getting answers even if he didn’t like the details. “And just what useful purpose did you design these things for?”

“My original concept was to use them as a weapon against seaborne pollution,” Marchetti began.

“They eat pollution,” Kurt guessed.

“Not just eat it,” Marchetti said, “they turn it into a resource. Look at it this way. There’s so much pollution out there, the sea is literally choking on it. The problem is, even in places like the Pacific Garbage Patch, the stuff is too spread out to be economically cleared up. Unless the instrument that’s doing the clearing feeds off what it clears, turning the garbage itself into a power source that enables the cleanup.”

He waved toward the screen. “To accomplish that, I designed a self-sustaining, self-replicating microbot that could live in the seawater, float around until it found some plastic or other garbage and chow down once it did. As soon as these things find a food source, they use the by-products and the metals in the seawater to copy themselves. Voilà!—reproduction—without all the fun parts.”

Kurt had always been baffled by the world’s collective unwillingness to do anything about the pollution being poured into the marine environment. The world’s oceans created three-quarters of its oxygen, a third of its food. Yet the polluters acted as if this was a trifle. And until there was nothing left to fish, or no one could breathe, it was doubtful anyone would do anything about it because it just wasn’t economical.

In a bizarre way, there was a certain elegance to Marchetti’s solution. Since no one wanted to do anything about the problem, he’d proposed a way to fix it without anyone actually having to lift a finger.

Joe seemed to agree. “There’s some brilliance in that.”

“There’s also insanity,” Kurt said.

“You’d be surprised how often those traits coincide,” Marchetti said. “But the real insanity is doing nothing. Or dumping billions of tons of plastic and trash into the thing that feeds half the planet. Could you imagine the vociferous outcry, the wailing of epic proportions, if the amber waves of grain were choked with cigarette lighters, plastic bottles, monofilament line and broken bits of children’s toys? That’s what we’re doing to the oceans. And it’s only getting worse.”

“I don’t disagree,” Kurt said. “But turning some self-replicating machine loose in the sea and just hoping it all works out isn’t exactly a rational response.”

Marchetti sat back down, he seemed to agree. “No one else thought so either. So like I said, we didn’t produce any.”

“Then how did these things get on my brother’s boat?” Leilani asked bluntly.

Kurt watched Marchetti, waiting for an answer, but he didn’t reply. His gaze was locked onto Leilani. Fear flickered in his eyes. Kurt turned and he saw why.

Leilani held a compact snub-nosed automatic in her hands. The muzzle was pointed directly at the center of Marchetti’s chest.

CHAPTER 12

“I SWEAR,” MARCHETTI SAID, PUTTING HIS HANDS UP INSTINCTIVELY, “I don’t know how they got on your brother’s boat.”

Kurt stepped in between Leilani and the billionaire. “Put the gun down.”

“Why?” she asked.

“Because he’s our only link to the truth,” Kurt said. “You kill him, you’ll never know what happened. And as sad as it sounds, I’ll make sure you end up in prison for it.”

“But he built these machines,” she said. “He admitted it. We don’t need to go any further.”

Kurt looked her in the eyes. He hoped to see fear, doubt, and nerves, but he saw only coldness and anger.

“Get out of the way, Kurt.”

“Tired of being alone,” he said, repeating her words from the night at the hotel. “You pull that trigger, you’ll be more alone than you can possibly imagine.”

“He killed my brother, and if he’s not going to tell us why, I’m going to even the score,” she said. “Now please, get out of my way.”

Kurt didn’t budge.

“Listen,” Marchetti said nervously, “I didn’t have anything to do with your brother’s death. But maybe I can help you find out who did.”

“How?” Kurt asked.

“By tracking down those with knowledge, those with an understanding of the process,” Marchetti offered. “Obviously you don’t just pick up a screwdriver and a soldering gun and put these things together, it’s an extremely complicated endeavor. Someone co

As Marchetti spoke, Joe began circling in behind Leilani as quiet as a cat. “Keep talking, Marchetti,” Kurt said.

“There might be nine or ten people who know major parts of the system,” he stammered, “but only one guy knows as much as I do. His name is Otero—and he’s right here on the island.”

“He’s lying!” Leilani said. “He’s just trying to blame someone else.”

As Leilani ranted, Joe pounced. He knocked the gun away and grabbed her arm, twisting it up behind her back in a half nelson.

A loud bang rang out, and for a second Kurt thought the pistol had discharged. “Everyone all right?”

Marchetti nodded, Joe did the same, Leilani appeared upset but unharmed.

“What was that noise?” Kurt asked.

No one knew, but when another clanking sound reached them Kurt caught sight of movement in the back of the darkened lab. The acrid smell of electrical discharges came next. The welding robots had become active. They were standing up on their feet, knocking items out of their way and discharging blue arcs of plasma from their appendages.

Kurt turned to Marchetti. “Let me guess,” he said, “Otero’s your master programmer.”

Marchetti nodded.

“I have a feeling he’s been watching.”

The welding robots began moving toward the humans. Two of them had small tracks like a tank’s to roll on. A third had clawlike feet that were scraping on the metal deck.

Joe released Leilani. She turned to Kurt, apologizing.

“I’m so sorry, I just—”

“Save it,” Kurt said, his eyes on the menacing machines.

Marchetti raced for the bulkhead door. He twisted and pulled the handle, but it wouldn’t budge.

“Watch out,” Joe shouted.

One of the machines had begun to zero in on Marchetti. It charged forward on its tracks with one appendage reaching for him and a second arm spouting blazing white plasma.

Marchetti ducked and scampered to a new spot. The machine tracked him and began to close in again.

Kurt looked for the gun and spotted it across the room. Before he could move, a fourth machine came alive and stepped in his path.

He backed up, putting the couch between him and the walking machine. Joe and Leilani retreated as well.

“How do they operate?” Kurt shouted as one of the robots reached the table and carved it in two with a circular saw.

“Either autonomously or guided from a remote site,” Marchetti said. “They have pinhole cameras for eyes.”

The machines lumbered toward them like sleepy animals. Each time they reached something solid, their actuators spun and their claws extended. A chair was flung out of the way, a couch set on fire with the welding torches.

Kurt noticed that their movements were odd, only one machine at a time seemed to do anything out of the ordinary. “Could Otero be at that remote site right now?”

Marchetti nodded. Kurt turned to Joe. “Now would be a good time for a suggestion.”

“I’d say, let’s pull the plug,” Joe replied, “but I’m guessing they have batteries.”

With that, he grabbed a chair and hurled it at the closest robot. It caromed off the lumbering machine, rocking it backward a bit, but other than that it seemed to have no effect.