Page 168 of Dustwalker
It seemed fitting, but how high would that price be today?
He moved to the round window, pressing his shoulder to the wall opposite Dozer. The grounds below remained quiet. Grass and trees swayed in the wind, and dawn light crept in from the east. Beyond, the residences sat peacefully, indifferent to the conflict that would soon tear Cheyenne apart.
From this vantage, Ronin could see over the wall to the human slums, where the shadows remained deep. Though it was foolish, he clung to the hope that he’d spot Lara.
She’d only recently recovered from serious injuries, yet she was out there risking her life for all the people of Cheyenne, organic and mechanical, most of whom had never done anything for her.
“Still doing okay?” he asked Dozer.
“As long as we’re done by lunch time, I’ll be fine.”
“I’m sorry?—”
“No. You’re the reason I don’t have more holes in my casing. I’d look like Swiss cheese otherwise.”
“Swiss cheese?” Ronin’s processors poured over decades of data. “I understand, though I don’t recall having ever seen it.”
“Yeah, same here. Weird, the stuff that lingers when everything elseis wiped. Can’t remember if I had a name, or relationships…or anything else.”
A humorless chuckle escaped Ronin’s vocal modulator. “But we hold onto a cheese full of holes. It’s for the best, most likely. What good would it do for us to remember a dead world? Better to connect to the world we have and build it anew.”
“Old world must not have been too great anyway,” said Jensen, “else it wouldn’t have ended like it did.”
Ramirez laughed and shook his head. “I could imagine a few things better than living and dying in a concrete hole. Maybe one of those beaches, like in Anderson’s old vids.”
Jensen hummed. “They had some pretty tall buildings, too. Like, even taller than this one.”
“Everything was bigger back then,” Dozer said, staring out at the grounds.
A twitch crackled over Ronin’s cheek, but he ignored it. “Big enough to leave this mess when it all came down.”
The old world was gone, and this one was harsh and unforgiving, but it had Lara. Ronin didn’t need skyscrapers or beaches or automobiles or holey cheese; she was all he required, in this world or any other.
The chain of possibilities, of what might have been, spiraled into infinity, beyond the power of his processors to fully calculate. So many things could’ve gone differently, so many variables could’ve resulted in a world without his fiery Lara Brooks.
His optics detected movement on the road beyond the grounds.
Gearheads.
At least half a dozen approached from the east, and four more from the west, their forms visible through the trees at the edge of the lawn. The two groups met and headed directly toward the clinic’s front entrance. The trees disrupted Ronin’s line of sight, but the bots wouldn’t have cover when they crossed the large, circular driveway and the wide patch of grass at its center to reach the building.
Ronin adjusted his grip on his rifle. “Incoming.”
“Get ready, boys,” Dozer said flatly.
Ramirez released a shaky breath.
The gearheads, ten in total, emerged from the trees and hurried along the cracked pavement toward the patch of grass at the center of the driveway. Forty-five meters…forty-one…
They slowed, undoubtedly spotting their deactivated comrades and the barricaded front entrance.
“Now!” Dozer called.
She and Ronin shattered the window and leveled their weapons. He selected a target—the blocky gearhead called Boulder—and opened fire. More rifles went off to either side and on the lower levels. Bullets rained on the gearheads, piercing their casings and ricocheting to cut grooves in the grass and dirt. One gearhead went down immediately, its shaking limbs bending at unnatural angles.
The others, damaged but not incapacitated, returned fire. Bullets cracked into the face of the building, pulverizing the ancient bricks. Glass shattered, and the gunshots came so quickly that they were almost indistinguishable from one another. The gearheads retreated toward the trees.
Calculating Boulder’s projected movement, Ronin adjusted his aim and squeezed the trigger. The rifle boomed, muzzle flashing, and the bullet tore through the center of the gearhead’s torso. Blue fire sprayed from Boulder’s back and eyes before the bot crashed onto the pavement with smoke curling out of its casing.
