The Storm

By now Kurt had been forced closer to where Marchetti stood. Joe and Leilani held a different spot. But the machines, or Otero, seemed intent on herding them together.

Kurt made a break to the right, but a blast from a welding torch stopped him. He went the other way, relying on his quickness.

The machine pivoted and released another blinding flash of plasma, but Kurt was already inside the machine’s reach. He felt the heat singe his back but not directly. He grabbed the first thing he could get his hands on and yanked until it broke off. Then he found another protrusion that looked like a camera and bashed it sideways.

The welding torch flared out over his shoulder again, and some other arm began to move.

“Do these things have an off switch?” he shouted.

“No,” Marchetti said. “I couldn’t imagine wanting to shut them off manually.”

“I’m guessing you can imagine it now.”

Kurt reached for what looked like a trio of hydraulic lines only to receive a blow to the chest that sent him flying off the machine. Some type of hammer used to drive rivets had extended and struck him in the ribs.

He landed on his back, only to see a saw blade dropping toward him from a second machine. He rolled out of the way and ended up against the huge circular window, beyond which the turquoise hue of the sea loomed.

Marchetti was there as well, and Joe and Leilani had been successfully herded into the same general vicinity.

“I have an idea,” Kurt said.

He lunged for the same machine he’d just been on, careful to avoid the appendages. The torch flashed again, almost blinding him. The hydraulic hammer came out again, but Kurt twisted his body to avoid it.

The machine lumbered forward with Kurt clinging to it. It pushed him back, banging him against the window like the captain of a football team might bang a geeky freshmen against a locker. The torch flashed again, carving a line in the acrylic window. A second swipe left another scar.

Kurt tried to push the machine back, but it shoved him against the window. He felt like his ribs were cracking from the pressure.

“I hope … these things … aren’t waterproof,” he managed.

He reached for the hydraulic lines again. Right on schedule, the battering ram of a hammer fired just as it had before. But with Kurt’s body twisted out of the way, it slammed into the huge oval window.

The eerie sound of cracks traveling through the acrylic caught everyone’s attention. They turned just as the window, designed convexly with all its strength focused outwards, failed from the inside.

The water blasted in like a crashing wave, hitting everyone and everything at once. It swept the people, the furniture, and the machines across the room, slamming all into the far wall.

Kurt felt several jarring collisions and struggled to free himself from the welder. Even as he got loose, the swirling water pi

Foam and debris were being blasted about by the gushing water. Kurt felt himself being pushed up by the rising flood as the room filled with liquid. As he neared the ceiling, the trapped air slowed the process, but it must have been leaking out somewhere because the space was collapsing.

Kurt looked around. Joe was there, holding Marchetti with one hand and clinging to the wall with the other.

Leilani popped up and grabbed ahold of a pipe that ran along the ceiling, which was now easily within reach.

“Any sign of the robots?”

“I never taught them to swim,” Marchetti said.

“First thing you’ve done right,” Kurt told him. “How far down are we?”

“Twenty feet.”

“We have to swim out.”

“I can make it,” Marchetti said, coughing as if he’d swallowed half a gallon of water.

“Leilani?”

“Of course,” she said.

“Okay. Get rid of your shoes,” he said, then, turning to Marchetti, added, “and lose that stupid robe. Not only will it drown you, it’s been giving me a headache since the moment I got here.”

They undid their shoes and pulled them off, Marchetti shed the wet robe, and they swam to the gaping hole where the window had been.

Before they went under to swim out, Kurt looked Marchetti in the eye. “Where do I find this Otero character?”

“The control center, in the main building, back near the helipad.”

“Can you override his access so I don’t get welded, nail-gu

Marchetti tapped the side of his head as if the idea resonated with him. “That’s the first thing I’m going to do.”

“Good,” Kurt said. He glanced at Joe, determination in his eyes accompanied by the energy surge that came with going on the offensive.

“I hope you’re rested,” he said, “because now it’s our turn.”

CHAPTER 13

IN A DARKENED CONTROL ROOM NEAR THE PEAK OF AQUA-Terra’s highest completed structure, Martin Otero looked from one screen to the next. Three large monitors sat in front of him. Two had gone blank, a third showed something moving and then pixilated out. In a few seconds it was blank like the others.

“What happened?”

Otero ignored the question. Blake Matson, Marchetti’s attorney leaned in closer. “What happened? Did the old man get it or not?”

Otero gestured to the blank screens. “You tell me. Obviously I can see only what you see. So how would I know?”

While Matson stared, Otero ran through the reboot program, hoping to get a signal from the construction robots. At the same time an alarm began flashing on the island’s schematic display.

“Water in the forward lab,” Otero said. Suddenly, he understood what happened. “The compartment’s flooded. Marchetti’s picture window must have fractured.”

“What does that mean for us?”

Otero swiveled in his chair, feeling better, more confident. “It means we’re in luck. They’re as good as dead. And now it looks like an industrial accident.”

“As good as dead won’t cut it,” Matson explained. “Only dead for certain works. We need bodies.”

“They’re twenty feet beneath the surface,” Otero insisted. “The pressure of the water rushing in will probably crush them, and if it doesn’t, they’ll drown trying to fight against it.”

“Listen,” Matson said, “you and I have made millions getting Marchetti’s design to Ji

Otero went back to his keyboard. He punched up a list of active robots and scrolled down to the section labeled Hydro. He tapped the down arrow until he found two submersibles currently deployed near Marchetti’s lab.

“What are those?”

“Hull cleaners,” Otero said. “They roam around the hull, clearing the algae and barnacles.”

“Are they lethal?”

“Only if you’re a barnacle,” Otero replied. “But they can give us a look.”

Otero switched the hull cleaner to manual control and directed it to section 171A: Marchetti’s lab. The machine wasn’t built for speed, but it only needed to travel a short distance.

“There’s the observation deck,” Otero said as it passed a long rectangular window. “Marchetti’s lab should be just ahead.”

A moment later the exterior of the lab was front and center.

The damage was obvious. What had once been a majestic portal often beaming with light now looked like a dark cave. The circular window was shattered. A few pieces of the thick acrylic clung to the frame like broken teeth in some giant mouth. No light came forth.

“Take it inside,” Matson ordered.

Otero had already pla