RoboNomics

Chapter 38

Two years ago I was a schoolteacher, I think as I hurry down the top floor of the west wing. I hear the din as members of provincial parliament and the press crowd into the central chamber below. But the hall around me is empty.

The hall is lined with oak doors, each with the name of some television or radio station printed on it. When I cross from the light-filled west hall to the center of the building, wood paneled walls and floors surround me. And then I see it. A door with the name, "Canadian Broadcasting Corporation" written on it in bold, black letters.

I open the door as gently as I can and head into what looks like an office lounge. The cheap blue carpet, circular tables and coffee machine on the side counter all remind me of my teacher's lounge back at school.

The muffled debates about union abolishment rise from below me. But I don't want to hear them. I want nothing to do with the men and women who would take my fate in their hands. I place the handbag gingerly on the floor before I have second thoughts about what I'm helping to destroy.

I leave the room quickly and head back down the hall. The chiming has stopped and the building is quiet. But after I take only a few steps, I'm aware of a rhythmic crunching of metal on stone. It grows louder by the second.

"Excuse me," a tinny voice calls from behind me. "May I see your credentials?" I glance back over my shoulder. There's a spindly patrol bot pursuing me. It has a snow white plastic face and body. It's joints are covered with orange accents.

"Stop," it says mechanically.

Forgetting my phony press pass, I panic. I run awkwardly towards the stairs on the black pumps that are too big for my feet. As I glance back again, I notice that it has stopped following me. This gives me comfort for a fraction of a second until it turns around and heads in the opposite direction. I hope it won't find our pipe bomb, but I don't have time to go back. I clomp as fast as I can back down the steps and across the first floor to the bathroom. Once inside, I lock the door behind me.

"It's done?" Chris asks me as I turn around to face him.

"Yeah, it's done. But we have to get out of here. Now. A security bot saw me and I think it's going to tell someone."

"You're sure it's done?"

"Look, I did it, okay? What else do you want? A pledge of allegiance? A pint of blood? What?"

"All right! Calm down," he says. Oz, Joe and Shari are looking at me with wide eyes.

"I'm finding it hard to be calm when you force me to do things that are illegal."

"No one put a gun to your head," says Shari.

"Come on, Shari, shut up," Chris snaps at her. "She has a point. Now come on. That bot might pull the alarm and we still have to set it off. Let's go." The foursome throw their handkerchiefs up over their faces. But I don't have a disguise. "Come on." Chris gestures with an outstretched arm. I bury my face in his shoulder. As we scurry to the door Chris whispers in my ear. "Did you hear anything? What were they saying?"

"Not sure," I reply, raising my head only slightly. "I couldn't hear much. But I don't think they've voted yet."

"Perfect."

Chris leads us out the west exit and towards dumpsters nearby. They are behind a copse of trees and so we're hidden from the road. I can smell the garbage in the dumpsters.

"Brace yourselves." Chris pulls a FlexPhone from his pocket and looks around at us. He presses a button on the FlexPhone that is connected wirelessly to the bomb. Nothing happens. Chris waits, his eyes fix on the device and his forehead creases. He presses the FlexPhone again. But still nothing happens.

"f**k," he shouts. "Shari, are you sure this thing works?"

"I had my buddy wire it. Should be fine."

"Fine? Fine's not good enough. I need this to be perfect. Now everything's f****d up. We're going to miss the vote!"

"We gotta go," says Oz as a fire alarm reaches our ears. The sound is faint over the noise from the crowded park, but its insistent blaring is unmistakable.

Chris takes a long look at the door. "Yeah, okay. Split up. Oz, go with Shari. Go south." He points behind him. "Joe, go east. Anderson, you're coming with me. We'll go west. We can't be seen together until this thing blows over. We'll meet back at the office tomorrow."

I follow as he runs towards the lines of cars, heading for the university. There is honking and shouting on every side as we dodge people and cars. Protesters, police officers on horseback, and police men and women in riot gear fill the park and the surrounding streets. Chants overlap and protesters stomp out rhythms. I hear screaming and the pounding of feet on pavement as hundreds of people run from the riot squad. Suddenly, there is a muffled boom and the ground rolls beneath us as if we are experiencing a tiny earthquake. The crowd responds with a mass cheer as if their team scored a goal at a hockey game.

"It went off," Chris calls over his shoulder as we cross the road. He runs along a wrought iron fence, headed directly for the university campus labyrinth. I look back towards the mob. I wonder what's happened to Elizabeth, Miriam and Henri.

Politicians clad in business suits stream from the building. Groups of garbage collectors and firefighters in red and yellow shirts break loose from the crowd and are chasing the members of provincial parliament. The riot squad on their horses surround the crowd and bear down.

People are screaming and trying to flee. Water bottles and small rocks are flung at the police. They glance harmlessly off the plastic shields held at the officers on foot. There's mass cheering and whistling that rises from the crowd as some of the horses back away from the protest. I can see why, and it's not because of water bottles. It's because of what's marching down College Street: rows and rows of towering dark blue androids with riot shields and police insignias emblazoned on their hard chassis.

The crowd begins to trample each other as the seven foot tall bots spread out into the mob and began to pursue people. They glare at individuals with unyielding silver eyes. Clouds of tear gas spill from canisters and fill the street as commuters abandon their vehicles and take to their feet. Protesters run down University Avenue, away from the apex of the chaos.

"Anderson!" Chris tugs at me. "We have to go." Just as I look away I notice one of the droids break off from the crowd. Its metallic head twists in our direction. It strides towards us with an uncannily wide gait.

"Chris, there's one after us," I call to him as we run.