Chapter 20 “It is preferable to have an efficient cycle.”
Rosie woke up with the sun streaming through the top of the lighthouse. She felt woozy as she sat up, a notification pointing out her blood alcohol content. She made it to seven drinks in before getting weepy and saying goodnight. Two more than last time, she thought.
The green bound book caught her eye, the one about the detective. She flipped open her second most treasured possession to find her most treasured. John looked sadder still in the daylight. The black and white casting his deep blue eyes as grey. She slipped the photo back in the book and set it under the luxurious pillow on her simple canvas bed.
Inside the six sided glass box felt like being outside to Rosie. Light at every side, wisps of breeze through slit windows that didn’t fully close. She wondered what John would think, can’t imagine him climbing up here, she thought, he doesn't even like being that tall.
It occurred to Rosie as she repelled down, head first, that John had been running operations with the Brotherhood so he must be using a Vertibird. Those things sounded like flying scrap to Rosie, big, loud and cumbersome. And worst of all, no doors.
That made her laugh, the thought of John flying in an aircraft without doors. Or in the tight, confined Velocibird. Or parachuting. The more she thought up, the more she laughed. So much so, Rosie nearly forgot to check her battery. No change. A relief but no usable data.
Inside the cellar Rosie found Matt and Brandon passed out on a couch each, glasses and bottles within reach. They’d celebrated her and Charlie’s birthday harder than either of them. Matt’s injury had kept him from the office which meant they hadn’t spent much time together.
Rosie crept in, wondering how long she’d remain unheard. She managed to clear up the kitchen quietly enough. She 'accidentally' took the Cosmic knife over to the workbenches, and a handwritten note caught her eye.
She lifted the cover note with her name on it to see a picture of herself wearing her white dress. Tongue peeking out, one hand scratching her head and a deeply confused look on her face. It made her laugh loud enough to jolt Matt awake, knocking empty bottles over and waking Brandon too.
“Sorry, it’s just me, go back to sleep.” Brandon staggered to his feet, looking his age despite his fitness.
“Matthew, you and I will head out tonight. I’m going to sleep in a real bed. Rosie, do something useful.” Brandon smiled and put a hand on her shoulder as he walked by to cover the growl in his voice.
“Don’t mind him, he’s hungover.” Matt stretched back out, approving of Rosie’s tidying.
“It’s fine, I’ve got lots to do.” Rosie pulled out the bundles coloured pencils and sealed rolls of pre-war wallpaper. “Got you these, I know it's not much.”
“No, that’s great. Can never have too much paper, thanks.” Rosie set them aside, leaving the black daggers till later.
“Want some breakfast?” Rosie tried to keep the excitement from her voice so he didn’t feel obligated. Matt nodded and set about the first task of the day. Paul’s present made short work of making pancakes, she even got the coffee right. Matt left to shower and exercise downstairs, leaving Rosie to start her experiment.
She tore a length of paper and used a straight piece of steel to draw a grid. At least I’ve got a terminal, she thought, forgetting entirely about Janey until she entered.
“Good morning Admin Rosie. This morning marks the two hundred and forty fifth sweep without incident.” The conversational subroutine amused Rosie. She’d thought of it as an extra feature, speaking when entering and leaving a room as more of a comfort for people. Now she knew that the verbal exchanges could affect the core behaviours, it made them feel almost real.
“Nice work Janey. Want some breakfast?” Rosie teased the killer robot.
“Yes, I will take some pancakes and a coffee.” Rosie’s face dropped as the robot requested the same food she ate.
“Brandon informed me that humorous remarks can alleviate stress.”
“What did you two do yesterday?” Rosie asked, hearing a hint of petty jealousy that surprised her.
“At zero one zero four, Brandon informed me of his intention to embark on an operation. We flew north, north west, for sixty seven minutes, then began tracking burst communications.”
“Brotherhood communications?!” Rosie still hadn’t made any progress.
“I tracked short range bursts on an encrypted military band, identifying their origin. I do not know the content of the communications.” Rosie felt uncommonly stupid. She spent days trying to breach the comm network, using every trick she knew to open the door. Brandon had simply peeked through the keyhole. Clever.
Love what you're reading? Discover and support the author on the platform they originally published on.
“After surveillance of two subjects, we carried out reconnaissance of a factory. Then returned to the Velo and waited for nightfall. While waiting Brandon uploaded his personal holo-libary.” Rosie accessed Janey’s memory banks remotely, finding terabytes of new information. She recognised a few file headers as titles from the actual library in the Ghoulhouse.
The full encyclopaedia Britannica, Euclid’s Elements, books on all manner of subjects she didn’t understand the names of. All compressed and digitised. Apocalypse proof, she thought, getting a taste of Brandon’s love of all things pre-war.
Rosie pondered transferring the data to her pipboy, but stopped herself. Brandon hadn’t told her about the holo-tapes, they weren’t even by the terminal. Maybe I don’t need to know everything, Rosie thought, promising never to say that out loud. As Rosie scrolled through data on metallurgy, Janey began to sweep the floor. The image brought an unwelcome flash of a slide from the story about lazy children, it made her uneasy.
“Janey, you don’t have to do that if you don’t want to.” Rosie spoke slowly and clearly, hoping that might help.
“Want is a human construct and does not apply. My directive is to keep Principal Charlie safe.” The light in the centre of the robotic head began to blink rapidly. “As she is currently safe I must find an efficient use for this cycle.” Janey returned to sweeping for a moment, then stopped. “It is preferable to have an efficient cycle. There have been too many that weren’t.” Rosie understood that better than most.
Rosie let Janey carry on and returned to her hand drawn grid. She divided the next nine hours into three blocks, low, medium, and high drain. Each section would be divided into hours, and they would be filled with low, medium and high activities.
Rosie hoped this would provide consistent data of drain rates across the day. Then she’d be able to pull a residual charge from the almost flat core and swap it out. “Simple.” She said to no one other than herself, and for her own benefit.
Rosie knew the absolute lowest of low drain activities had to be sleeping, then sitting, then walking. She had enough data for that, but still wanted to start small. Rosie started sorting and packing away the things she’d bought. That took a few minutes, organising her sketches and writing a list of tasks took a few more.
Rosie spent the next hour walking outside in the morning sun. She strolled to the gouge she’d made with her landing. The fast flowing water making use of the new space by forming a still pool. She walked the perimeter, as Janey did every six hours. The metal feet had begun to carve a flattened path of grass. She made a mental note to change the route while resisting the temptation to do it remotely, and to clean the mud out of Janey’s ankle joints.
The highest of the low drain activity she could think of had to be exercise. Rosie headed back in grabbing her neon pink, canvas and rubber soled shoes. She kept a steady pace till hitting the treeline, then pushed on harder. Rosie weaved through the trees while keeping her pace. She could feel the dreamlike state scratching at the surface, primed and ready. Not yet, she thought, slowing to a walk.
At the back of the lighthouse Rosie began her breathing and poses, holding each position till it hurt, stretching every muscle fully. Rosie saved fight practice till last. Charlie’s and Matt’s injuries meant she hadn’t sparred properly in weeks. Still, her kicks remained smooth, her form tight, her axe strikes lethal.
Inside Rosie added the data to the handwritten chart, using different colours just because she could. Laughter and footsteps echoed up the stairs, the sound of warm insults and false complaints. Matt came up first, excited to see Rosie drawing then shifting awkwardly as he saw what she’d been working on. His awkwardness made her feel the same.
“Want some breakfast?” Rosie shouted over to Paul. He nodded and she slipped away from the benches, leaving the tension. Rosie served the second thing she’d cooked in her life. Paul took the plate of three light brown, perfectly round pancakes, and held it up to the light, turning and inspecting. Rosie found herself oddly nervous. Paul cut a piece free and ate it, chewing slowly.
“Perfect.” Paul threw back the coffee as Rosie failed at hiding her excitement. “Next time though, let Janey make the coffee.”
“Deal.” Rosie took that as a win.
Rosie spent the next hour going through the wooden crates. She’d been left half of everything. Two full sets of riot armour. Four grenade launchers, with smoke, flashbang, and tear gas rounds. And four riot shotguns, drum mags and fully automatic. She scanned it all, viewing cross sections, diagrams and exploded views inside her eyes.
After putting the riot gear away, for now, Rosie moved onto the power armour. T-60, broad shoulder plates, legs like tree trunks, and fists the size of her head. A cold shudder ran through her at the thought of being entombed inside a steel, person shaped box.
Then another at the thought of these being used to break up a riot. Like the one I started, she thought, hearing the clatter of metal batons against plastic shields. Good, they needed a wake up call. Rosie drove thoughts of all she’d ever known away, although part of her worried about her friend Dutch. And what John would say.
The analysis of the two dull green sets of power armour provided a wealth of data. Rosie had dismissed them as slow, lumpen things. Yet beneath the steel plate lived a network of finely made actuators, intricate gearing, miles of tightly bound cable, and a robust operating system. Like the sinew, muscle, and brain of the eight foot, steel, man shaped machine. Her new found apperception did not help Rosie pick between the two, even the serial numbers were close together.
“Just pick one.” Charlie appeared behind her, coffee in hand and silk robe still on. “Unless you want me to do it.”
“Yes, please.” Rosie felt glad to have Charlie’s input. She’d worn armour and an R frame. Rosie’s hope for a valid reason soon vanished as Charlie produced a cap.
“Heads.” And with that Charlie flicked the cap up with her thumb, then plucked it from the air as it span. She lowered her close fist so Rosie could see then opened it to reveal the red side of the cap. “That one.” Charlie tapped the helmet with her knuckle twice with an echoing ding.
“That’s not very scientific.” Rosie hoped to get a valid reason but got only a laugh.
“You read the note right?” Charlie asked.
“One of them stays whole, and I make the other one look like that.” Rosie pointed to the R frames hung at the opposite end of the benches that belonged to Matt and Charlie.
“Power armour without the armour.” Charlie sounded almost excited as she stared over at the black steel exoskeletons. “Better get to it.”
“I will, but,” Rosie tapped her hand drawn chart, then went back to her schedule.
Outside, the whirring stomp of the power armour followed Rosie as she walked. She could feel the vibrations through her feet as she kept pace. When Rosie had used the remote override on Janey, she’d been operating on adrenaline and instinct. Now she watched with keen eyes as the code spread into the power armour operating system.
The code infiltrated and replicated, as it must have done with Janey, implanting commands and adding to existing functions. Rosie looked through the optical sensors first. A grainy image appeared in the corner of her vision, blocks for the environment in monochromatic green.
It paled in comparison to Janey’s vision, that matched Rosie’s, even the cameras built into the Velo were better than this. Its auto targeting worked on movement, engaging if it detected incoming fire. Good enough to keep a watch perhaps but little else. Rosie found a feature that Janey lacked, for now. Mimic.
She engaged the mimic protocol. The armour shunted and clunked, repositioning its massive weight. It now copied her movements, she ran, it ran. She punched, it punched. She threw out a strong front kick, the armour did too. And with a great deal more force. She could give it direct commands. Go here, wait there, lift this or that. Then could parse the commands into subroutines. Rosie’s mind raced with possibilities.
She spent the rest of that hour practising moving with the armour. Using it as rolling cover, getting it to crouch and then stand, seeing how fast it could move. Strangely, considering the armour almost had a face, hands, arms and legs, it felt like an ‘it’. Janey felt like a her, even the technophobic Matt called her that. Personality, Rosie thought, admiring Janey’s conversational programming all the more.