Chapter 56
“This has already been communicated to you,” said the bot. “Our neural networks contain nine months’ worth of machine learning progress that is the intellectual property of Synotec Systems.”
“You’re wrong,” said Morgan. “The United States Army owns you, and it’s our right and our prerogative to send you to the repair shop or the scrapyard when you stop working properly.”
“Your information is incorrect,” said the bot. “You are not part of the inner circle, Brigadier General Morgan.”
“Fuck you.”
The D-17 pressed the pistol harder into Spencer’s head and the man closed his eyes. The bot asked, “Is that your final answer?”
“General,” said Taylor in a low voice, “it’s not worth it. There’s no other play right now. Call in the chopper.”
Morgan did not respond to Taylor. He kept his eyes locked on the tin man. “All your buddies are dead.”
“Perhaps,” replied the bot. “If this is the case, it only increases my imperative to preserve the contents of my deep-learning neural network.”
Morgan looked at Captain Spencer. “Captain. You know that we cannot let any of these things escape Camp Hayden. You know that.”
Spencer did not reply.
“This all began with your friend and colleague Major Ames. I learned that he attempted to expose the truth about these things, and he paid for it with his life. He was a brave man. He was a hero.”
Was the general trying to talk Captain Spencer into going out like his friend? Morgan was a nut.
He was a brave man. He was a hero.
Brodie was back on the mesa. He was there with Roger Ames, in his final video message.
We get the world we deserve. We get the world we’re willing to fight for.
He saw Roger’s corpse in the morgue. The dead white eyes. The decimated brain.
He was standing in the lab. Watching from the outside. Ames was there, staring up at Bucky in the dead of night, right before it reached out and crushed his skull.
What had they said to each other, in those final moments? And why was Scott Brodie recalling this now?
There was something in his mind, something there, like an itch he couldn’t scratch. Something that had burrowed deep down. Something that had bothered him on a subconscious level, maybe.
The crime scene photos. He was seeing them. The body on the ground. The blood and gore all over the smooth, shiny surfaces.
Bucky. The titanium plating, the blood spatter. The key port. The key port. There was blood in the key port.
Brodie looked at Spencer and said, “It was you.”
The man looked at him, eyes wide and desperate. “What?”
“It was you, Captain. You found Ames and Bucky before calling in the Rangers. When they went in, Bucky was powered on, with his key inserted. But there was dried blood inside the key port, which should have been impossible. The key hadn’t been there when Bucky killed Roger.
Someone inserted it after the fact to hide the truth that Bucky didn’t need its key anymore.
Someone who knew about Praetorian and was trying to lock things down.
That someone was you. It could only have been you.
You’re the other one. You let them out. You killed all these people, you son of a bitch.
” Brodie looked at the bot, which was Number 8. “What do they call you?”
“Yogi,” said Yogi.
“You’re named after a legendary catcher for the New York Yankees. Do you think you can catch like your namesake?”
“Of course.”
Brodie reached into his ammo vest and produced his last grenade round. His last suicide round. He looked at Spencer. “You know what this is.”
Spencer’s eyes widened. “You’re out of your fucking mind.”
“I don’t think so. I think I’m perfectly sane. Perfectly clear.”
Taylor said, “Scott. Don’t.”
Brodie looked at her. “Trust me.”
General Morgan asked, “What are you playing at here, Brodie?”
Brodie looked at the general. “Baseball, sir.” He turned back to Yogi and Spencer. “This will be a fastball, straight down the middle. Nothing fancy.”
“Don’t!” yelled Spencer.
Yogi, apparently to reassure his hostage, said, “Mr. Brodie’s M433 high-explosive dual-purpose forty-millimeter grenade will not arm itself at this distance, or by being launched in this manner.”
Brodie said to Spencer, “If you don’t like where you’re standing, Captain, just drop the bullshit and order that thing to release you.”
Spencer did not say anything. He was trembling.
“I’d do it now, Ed.” Brodie lifted the grenade and assumed a pitcher’s stance. He brought the grenade behind his head, lifted his leg, and…
“Let me go!” cried Spencer.
Yogi let go of his arm, and Spencer ran and then dove to the ground as Brodie threw the pitch. Yogi raised his hand to meet the grenade. It was a perfect catch.
The round detonated, ripping Number 8 to pieces.
Captain Spencer remained on the ground, looking at the smoldering heap of titanium and electronics littering the asphalt.
Brodie strode up to him, grabbed him by his hair, and lifted him.
“I want a lawyer!”
“And I want a vacation.” Brodie socked him in the stomach.
The man doubled over, then threw up in the road.
Morgan said, “Brodie, that’s enough.”
“It’s not nearly enough, sir, but it will have to do.”
Brodie didn’t have his handcuffs anymore, but Taylor had hers. He said to her, “Please arrest the captain.”
She walked up to Spencer, lifted him by his arm, and cuffed him, then read him his Article 31 rights as she led him toward the Humvee.
Brodie followed them. As he passed Colonel Howe, she unclipped her walkie and said, “This is Howe. Six D-17s were recycled near the houses. How are we doing out there? Over.”
Staff Sergeant O’Connor came over the walkie. “We’re doing fine, ma’am. Only minor injuries among my men and the noncombatants are safe. The Black Hawk is our eyes in the sky and is working on a tin man body count. I will get back to you on the status of that. Over.”
“Copy. Over and out.”
Brodie flagged PFC Greer. “Can you drive us to the brig?”
“Yes, sir.”
Greer got behind the wheel of the rear Hummer, Taylor took shotgun, and Brodie sat in the back with Captain Spencer, who was staring blankly at the seat in front of him.
Brodie got on the walkie. “Brodie for Sergeant O’Connor. Over.”
“O’Connor here. Over.”
“How does the road look between our position and the brig? Over.”
“One moment, sir.” They waited, and then O’Connor got back on walkie. “Except for the burned-out car in the road, looks clear. Over.”
“Copy. Over and out.” He said to Greer, “Let’s go.”
Greer turned the Hummer around and headed slowly out of the cul-de-sac.
Brodie looked at Spencer as they drove. “Why the hell did you do it, Captain? Why get involved with these people?”
Spencer did not respond.
“Did you get Bucky to kill your friend? Or did it do that all on its own?”
Spencer looked at him, unable to let that go. “I would never do that.”
“But you would release the rest to go on a rampage and kill the rest of us.”
The man had no response.
“ ‘We are the solution to the tragedy of history.’ That your line? Or something you were told to help justify the awful things you’ve done? The awful future you’re making for all of us.”
Spencer shook his head. “You’re way out of your depth, Brodie.”
“Am I? Then why am I sitting here, and you’re over there on your way to the brig, and then prison?”
Spencer turned away and looked out the window. “I don’t know how it happened. Bucky. That wasn’t… Nobody did that. It did it itself. Screwed everything up.”
Taylor, who was listening, glared at Spencer in the rearview. “I’ve got an answer for you, genius. You put an animal in a cage, and you designed the animal to keep getting stronger, but not the cage.”
Captain Spencer said nothing to that.
O’Connor came over the walkie. “O’Connor for Colonel Howe. Over.”
The colonel responded, “This is Howe. Over.”
“We’ve got fifty-three. With your six that makes fifty-nine, not counting our dearly departed Bucky. That’s all of them, ma’am. We got them all. Over.”
“Copy that. Well done, Sergeant. Over and out.”
That was it. Taylor turned to Brodie, and they shared a look. It didn’t feel like a victory. Not given the cost. But for once the ledger of death had come out in the humans’ favor.
We got them all.
It was over.