Page 113 of Dustwalker

Ronin activated the infrared illuminators in his optics and switched them to night vision, cutting through the darkness. They were surrounded by concrete. This was a bomb shelter.

“Oh, fuck. I hope we don’t have to go through that again,” Lara rasped, her breath ragged. She groped blindly with a hand until finally taking hold of his arm.

He descended the steps slowly, allowing her ample time to feel them out. “That depends on chance, and where it is we decide to go.”

At the bottom, the stairs opened on a small room, three meters wide by four and a half meters long, with a door on the far wall. The ceiling was only thirty centimeters over Ronin’s head. To the left, a pair of bunks were bolted to the wall, piled with blankets.

Something shifted beneath the blankets on the bottom one. The soft sound of rustling cloth echoed off the walls.

Ronin stopped abruptly. Lara bumped into him with a gasp, stumbling back as he swung his rifle into his hand and pressed the stock to his shoulder.

“Ronin?” she whispered.

Holding the firearm in his right hand, he used his left to guide Lara back to the foot of the stairs, keeping himself between her and the beds. “We’re not alone.”

“I should think not,” someone said from the bed. A metal arm emerged from beneath the blankets, catching hold of them and drawing them aside to expose a pair of metal legs. Those legs swung over the side of the bunk, and the blankets fell away fully. The bot, a skinless synth with its interconnected torso and face plates on display, sat up, leaning outside the bed to avoid striking its head.

That voice—its tone, its inflection—was familiar to Ronin.

“There’s not much sense in pointing your firearm at me,” the synth said, brow plates dropping. “You were repurposed for military use in May of…well, the year doesn’t really mean anything anymore, does it? Regardless, your reaction time is more than sufficient to eliminate me before I make it within three steps of you were I to attempt to inflict harm. Not that I harbor any such intent.”

“I… What do you mean, repurposed?” Ronin moved his left hand to the rifle’s handguard, as though the gesture would bring clarity.

Lara settled her hands on his back and gripped his coat.

The synth caned its head, placed a hand on its thigh, and drummed its fingers. “Sometimes I forget most of us suffered memory damage. I’ve begun to wonder, in recent years, if you aren’t better off for what you’ve lost, and I disadvantaged for all I’ve retained.”

“I know your voice.” Ronin lowered the barrel of his weapon. “I knowyou.”

“Our brief encounter one hundred and eighty-five years ago was hardly enough to claim familiarity, especially as it appears we’ve both changed considerably in the time since.”

“You’re the Prophet.”

Lara inhaled sharply.

“Apparently, my reputation has spread beyond digital minds. That name was bestowed upon me, but it’s never been mine. I’ve alwaysconsidered it foolish for our kind to stoop to such…superstition.” The synth slowly stood up.

“Guess that shit’s more suited to mykind, right?” Lara said.

“My apologies. I meant no offense.” The synth moved to a box near the far door, limbs bending stiffly, and crouched beside an old lantern. “My name is Newton. After the English mathematician, of course, as I’m sure you’ve already deduced.”

“Who?” Ronin and Lara asked simultaneously.

Newton struck a match, and the brief flare blinded Ronin’s optics. Lara flinched as gentle light filled the chamber.

“Forgive me. I’d hoped things would be…closer to the status quo out there by now. I suppose civilization still lies dormant.” Newton turned back toward them, the corners of its mouth falling. “Have I offended you again, miss? I was often told my conversational skills lack a certain degree of tact. I’ve also been told that it would be more interesting to watch paint dry than to listen to me wax eloquent abo?—”

“What the fuck are you talking about?” Lara asked.

“Vulgarity is not becoming of you, miss.”

“What the hell does that mean?”

“The use of such vulgar language denotes a lack of sophistication and an inability to adequately convey?—”

Lara tensed against Ronin, growling. “Another damned high-and-mighty bot.”

Ronin placed his hand against her stomach to keep her behind him. “Lara?—”