Robots and Vampires

By Joshua Corbeil-Stoodley

The year is 2260. After a second civil war, this time over the rights of robots and cyborgs, the United States of America is in bad shape. Most of its states have broken off, being absorbed by Canada and Mexico, with only a handful remaining.

Most Americans just want peace, and chance to rebuild their war-torn country. Unfortunately for them, the fight for Transhuman rights is not over. Between the jingoistic Robot Freedom League and the sociopathic and power-hungry Renfield's, the battle for Transhuman rights is just beginning to heat up.

Into this comes John Smith-101, a new type of cyborg, built from the ground up. Unjustly accused of a crime he didn't commit, and pursued by the Robot Freedom League for their own dark designs, he must turn to the mysterious Standard Technology, Inc, who may very well have their own designs on him...

• Language: English
• Publisher: Joshua Corbeil-Stoodley
• Release date: Dec 28, 2019
• ISBN: 9780994785121

Joshua Corbeil-Stoodley

I'm Josh Stoodley. I was born and raised in Calgary, Alberta, Canada. I have a BA in History from St. Mary's University College and I write stories about the weird and the superpowered.

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Acknowledgements

The first people I have to acknowledge are my family, who suffered through the years of getting this tome written. Dad, T, Izzy and yes, even you Mom. You were all a great help to me as I struggled through getting my first novel written.

The second person is my dear and beloved editor, Shelley Kassian. Without her, this book would be unreadable. Thanks Shelley, for everything.

I also want to thank my aunt, Louise. For supporting me, for getting me in touch with Shelley, and for telling me things I didn’t want to hear but should have listened to you the first time.

If there’s anybody I missed here, I want you to know I’m grateful to you too. You guys are great!

Chapter 1

CBC Newscast, June 1 st , 2260

Robot and cyborg workers gathered this morning at an REC factory outside of New Denton, Texas where they demanded their basic rights. The Renfield Energy Corporation responded by sending in strike-breakers, equipped with assault rifles and grenade launchers, to break up the strike. The strike-breakers surrounded the demonstrating workers and opened fire with their small arms and a Light Assault Vehicle. Hundreds died. The United Nations Peacekeeper Forces responded with a relief effort that only served to kill what few robots and cyborgs survived the initial attack, leading the Robot Advocacy Group to state that ‘the UN does not care about the fate of Artificial and Trans-humans in the former United States’. What Renfield strike-breakers survived were arrested, as were hundreds of Renfield employees, mostly upper management. A representative from the Renfield Energy Corporation denied that the Renfield Energy Corporation had any involvement in the incident, stating that ‘the actions taken today were by citizens concerned about the possibility of robots rising above their station... the deplorable actions taken by the UN in arresting these citizens and our employees just shows the UN’s committed anti-human agenda and their vendetta against the Renfield family and corporation’. Senator Torres of Texas replied, in a blog post, ‘bullshit. We all know that the Renfields have denied their workers adequate wages, safe working conditions, or even the most basic health insurance required by law. And that’s not just their robot workers, either.’ Senator Torres’ comments, along with those of the Renfield Energy Corporation, set off a firestorm on the U.S. net, with some defending her, and others attacking her. The protest and its aftermath have started another round of violence in the battered country, with the Robot Freedom League taking credit for a number of explosions in downtown Nashville, Tennessee, and regular humans forming mobs to lynch robots and cyborgs.

ONE HUNDRED AND SIXTY-five kilometres north of Denton, Texas, on the southern outskirts of Small-town, Oklahoma:

Sweat rolled down John’s forehead as he struggled to move the old push mower through the thick grass. He cursed the fact that the newer electric was broken, and he hadn’t gotten around to fixing it yet. It was John’s job to do all the mechanical and physical chores due to his cybernetic advantages. Their lawn wasn’t even that large; with the electric, he could have done the whole thing in fifteen minutes, tops. But he didn’t have the electric, and the air was hot and still, the calm before a storm. John could see the storm clouds on the northern horizon, too far away for human eyes. So he had to get this done now. He stopped pushing the old drudgery when Sarah, his mother, called from the front porch.

John?

John turned toward the sound. He could see his mother coming out the doorway of their two-story American Foursquare house, painted a rust red, with navy blue for the trimmings. John had often complained about the colour the previous colour, a dull and uninteresting white, trying to get his parents to change it to something else, like red or blue or even just paint the trimmings, and so he had ended up being ‘volunteered’ to do the painting. Which was fine with him, John was quite proud of his work. But for now, it was better to focus on the grass.

How’s it going? Mom asked when she reached John, a glass of lemonade in her hand. Sarah Smith was a short, curvaceous woman with a broad smile and eyes that sparkled whenever she was up to no good. Which was often. John suspected that her love of practical jokes came from her years as a high–school teacher, teaching rambunctious farm kids who couldn’t wait to get away from this hick-town.

Could be better. Wish I didn’t have to this old pain the butt, though. He stepped back from the push mower and Mom handed him the lemonade. He took several big gulps out of it before handing the glass back to his mother. John was the first of a new kind of cyborg; instead of being born human, John had been created as a fusion of biological and cybernetic components. The fusion was so complete that, unlike a full-body cyborg, he did not have to swap out his mechanical parts as he grew. Unfortunately, that kind of fusion had its drawbacks; while he was stronger, faster, and had better senses than a normal human being, the increase wasn’t as great as that of a full-body cyborg, and he had to eat and drink just like a normal human being to maintain his organic components. Hence the lemonade.

Well, whose fault is that, silly? You were the one that kept saying you’d fix the electric mower. His mother grinned back at him, as she moved toward her son. Soon she stood beside him.

Yeah, I know, John sighed, and then he turned on what he hoped was his most charming smile. But you know, seeing as we believe in sharing the workload, maybe you could take over...

Ha! Fat chance! Mom laughed, her grin blossoming into a full smile. She smacked him playfully on the shoulder. "It’s your job to do the mechanical stuff around the house, which means if you don’t fix it, you have to deal with the consequences. Oh, and lunch should be ready by the time you’re finished cutting the grass."

Alright, just let me finish here, and take a shower. I stink.

You sure do! She wrinkled her nose and laughed as he mock-shoved her. Waving goodbye, Sarah turned to the house while John went back to his work. Sighing at the task ahead, John cursed as he pushed the lawnmower through the tall grass. Shoulda fixed that damned electric mower.

YOU SPOIL THAT BOY, Joseph told his wife as she entered the kitchen. The slim smile in his eyes and his voice stopped the declaration from being an out and out accusation. I would have let him suffer out there. A good punishment for not fixing the electric mower.

It’s okay to do a good deed occasionally. It’s different for you––a male who has not one compassionate bone whatsoever in his whole body, Sarah teased her husband as she slipped past him to put the empty lemonade glass in the sink. Turning around to face Joseph, she slid into his arms and kissed him on the lips, pushing him backwards. Soon that kiss bumped Joseph up against the stove where he was making grilled cheese sandwiches.

The contact with the stove elicited an ‘oop’ from him.

Careful now, you wouldn’t want to burn yourself. Sarah smiled, a lazy cat like grin that caused Joseph to blush.

After all these years of sharing a life together, Sarah still could not imagine how she had caught this beautiful, wonderful man. The advantage of living just outside a small town, Sarah had been familiar with everyone and had admired Joseph from afar for quite some time. However, the disparity in their ages coupled with the fact that Sarah saw herself as a pudgy, overweight, lump of a woman, convinced her that Joseph would never be interested. Imagine her surprise when she found out that Joseph saw himself as an underweight gawk of a man with Coke-bottle glasses who could never attract the attentions of a beautiful and vivacious woman such as her. Their mutual friend Mack still teased them about it. Now, she snuggled against his chest. 

Reluctantly, Joseph pried Sarah away and returned to cooking. She stepped away, glanced out the window and began to chew her lip. Sarah was worried about her son, about what the world would do when they found out about him. She silently vowed to keep him safe and hidden from the dangers of the world.

We will not be able to keep him here forever you know. Eventually, the world will learn how unique he is, Joseph said.

And they’re going to kill him, Sarah spat. Hell, they’ll probably kill us too for creating him.

Joseph concentrated on his cooking, not quite sure what to say. Finally, he sighed and said: Look, honey, John will have to realize that the world is not as safe as our little family unit. I know Mack pays him for the work he does around the shop, but if Mack gets caught, he could face jail time. Or worse. For a one-man business, any sort of jail time could kill his livelihood.

Sarah turned to face her husband, anger and desperation showed on her face. I know that, Joseph. But can’t we keep him safe for now? Does he have to know just how dangerous the world is just yet?

We can’t protect him forever honey. And besides, I think he already knows how little the world thinks of robots and cyborgs.

At that moment, John came into the kitchen. Well the lawn’s done, he said, wiping his brow. Now I just have to fix the electric mower.

Sarah raised her eyebrows. You haven’t fixed the electric yet?

Well, no. I want to have lunch first, John protested.

Uh-uh. No lunch until you finish fixing the electric and taken a shower, Sarah said, with both hands on her hips. She had to fight back a smile; she enjoyed having a go at her son.

But, Mom...

No buts, mister. No lunch until everything’s finished, She answered, pointing her finger toward the front door.

Joseph, meanwhile, held back gales of laughter. He was well aware of the fact that Sarah was teasing John, and trying to get a rise out of him. She did this frequently though her humour was usually gentle. She did have a great mind for practical jokes.

It’s alright, son, Joseph said, fighting to hold back a smile. You can take a break and finish the lawn after lunch.

Oh? Now who’s spoiling him? Sarah asked, gently teasing.

John, now catching on that he was being had said, Thanks, Dad, and stuck his tongue out at his mother. This caused both Sarah and Joseph to burst out laughing. He then rushed out of the kitchen and, into the living room and up the stairs to the upstairs bathroom.

You know, he gets his sense of humour from you, Joseph commented, taking the grilled cheese sandwiches off the grill and placing them on a plate.

Yeah, and he gets his inability to understand a joke when he hears one from you. Sarah gave a mischievous smile back at her husband. How many times did I sucker you, back when we were first dating?

Joseph chuckled as he put the plate of sandwiches on the table, along with lemonade and sliced fruit. You know, while he’s taking a shower, we could retreat to the bedroom.

Why wait? We could do it right here, give the boy a real show.

After twelve years of marriage, Joseph recognized Sarah’s jokes, so he just laughed. Well, let's not scar the boy, now.

AS THEY SAT DOWN TO lunch, Sarah asked, Do you have to go into work today John?

No, but I have to go in tomorrow, John replied, pouring ketchup out of a glass bottle onto his grilled cheese sandwich.

Joseph and Sarah exchanged concerned looks. You know if Mack gets caught paying you, his dad warned.

Yeah, I know. Robots and other artificial humans aren’t allowed to be paid, John snorted. But Mack and I, we got it figured out. He isn’t technically paying me. He’s paying you for my services. And because I’m a trusted ‘servant’, Mack even allows me to bring the money to you. John grinned, impressed by his own cleverness.

However, Joseph and Sarah were still worried. If the taxman heard this story and wondered why the money wasn’t being reported on their tax returns, such information would spark an investigation, one that would cause an awful lot of trouble. Joseph resolved to speak to Mack about it tonight.

Have you met any cute girls or boys yet? Sarah asked, hoping to move the conversation away from the always distressing topic of the dangers that faced their son.

John shook his head. Not yet, Mom. There are plenty of cute robots, but they’re all like ‘yes master, no master, three bags full master.’ They’re not like you or Dad, Mom. They have no spark, no independence. It’s like they’re just machines, not people. And there were plenty of cute humans, farmer’s kids mostly, but since it was illegal for Trans-humans to date regular humans in the former U.S., they didn't count. Turning his head towards his dad, John asked, Dad, why are all the robots so stupid? I mean, they can do all the mathematics and science and stuff, but they could never pass for a real person.

Joseph chewed slowly, thinking about the best way to answer the question. Because son, the humans are afraid. Afraid that machines will supplant them and become better than humans. He shook his head. So they make it illegal for AI’s to be sapient and restrict cyborgs such as yourself to being second-class citizens at best, slaves at worst. So even the robots that are fully sapient hide that fact to survive.

Sarah nodded, her face twisted in anger. And they justify it by claiming that the ‘bots during the Robot Wars were trying to kill all humans! Worse, they re-write the official history to make it say just that and made it illegal to teach any other version of history. That’s why I quit the high school and your father lost his job at the university. At least, we can get by on my tutoring and your dad’s consulting for the Peacekeepers.

Huh. John looked down at his plate, and seeing that there was no more food left to devour, said, well, I’d better get back to work. After I’m finished mowing the lawn, I’ll fix the electric lawnmower too. Not doing this again.

FURTHER NORTH IN OKLAHOMA City, the sky was pitch-black with thunderclouds and an ominous rumbling, which warned everyone that a nasty summer storm was coming. Find shelter or drown.

The marvels of terraforming, Pat thought. Between the artificial atmosphere and the global warming we tried to correct, I suppose we’re lucky the storms are not worse.

Not that it was going to bother her any. Pat was a powerful Psych, albeit a young one, and a storm would probably do her good. Besides which, the abandoned warehouse would be out of the wind and rain.

Pat looked over her shoulder at the gathering dark clouds to see if she could spot any terror drones in the sky. In previous wars, the UAV’s had more than earned the nickname as far as Pat was concerned, especially now that they were all sapient. Nearly invisible to the naked eye, they were capable of obliterating most targets––especially unprotected warehouses. Even with her psychic powers, Pat sometimes could not see them. And missing even one would ruin her day.

Pat had been hired by the Security Department of Standard Technologies to infiltrate the terrorist/freedom fighter organization Robot Freedom League, but that didn’t mean that the League had told their fellow peacekeepers about the plan. And even if they had, an ambitious general like Cortez wouldn’t hesitate to blow them all out of the water anyway. General Brigadier Cortez despised Standard Tech, considering them to be civilian interlopers in military affairs. Standard Tech, for their part, found Cortez to be a jingoistic bully, prone to rigged courts-martial and harsh reprisals against the locals. The massacre of the protesters and strike-breakers in New Denton was just the most recent incident in a career filled with them. Saoirse Ryan, CSO of Standard Tech and Pat’s handler for this mission, in particular, had been calling the general out. So there was a very real chance that Pat would get caught in the crossfire between Cortez and Ryan.

Pat drew the black trench coat closer around her body, fighting off a sudden chill. She would just have to hope that Colonel Vega could keep her boss in line. She walked into the warehouse. Despite the fact that it had been abandoned for five years and more, it was in pretty good shape. The cement floor was still intact and swept clean, with only a sound palette in the middle. The catwalks and office above them were in similarly good shape. In the middle, standing on the palette, was the target of Pat’s mission: the leader of the Robot Freedom League, Samael.

Ah! There he is! The mighty Ogre! At last, our group is complete! Soon, we will march into the heart of darkness, and liberate our brothers and sisters from their slavery!

Samael had to be one of the largest hams Pat had ever met, and considering that she worked for Mr. White... Sam’s appearance did not help. He looked like something out of one of those old Terminator movies with his robotic skeleton and leering, skull-like face.

Pat didn’t answer. Her cover for this particular mission was that of a mute, giant robot named Ogre. Though it did require her to shape-shift into a male, something that Pat wasn’t quite comfortable with yet. Her shape-shifting powers were not as extensive as older, more powerful Psych’s like Mr. White or Blossom, so ‘Ogre’ wasn’t really a particular person as he was a masculinized version of Pat. Oh, the physical features were different sure; ‘Ogre’ was over 2.13 metres tall, with a rectangular face defined by its square jaw, and long arms that caused Pat to adopt a hunched posture. But she couldn’t hide her eyes, with their blazing rings of gold that marked her as a Psych, or the tattoos that marked her as a Mage. For anybody else, that might not matter, but Pat had gone after Samael before, and he would’ve recognized her instantly. So, she wore a thick black duster and face-concealing tuque.

Surreptitiously, Pat looked around the room, her psychic vision helped overcome the limitations imposed by the tuque.

To her surprise, Sam’s ‘invasion force’ was small, and consisted of only five members: Sam, Pat, the former pleasure ‘bot known as Ashleigh, the ‘net machine called Michelle, and finally a big construction-worker type Pat had never seen before. All told, Samael’s organization had a couple thousand members, five people was nothing.

Samael seemed to guess what everybody was thinking, because he pointed at the big construction worker and said, I’d like you all to meet Henry. He’s got something special for us. A way to strike at the very heart of humanity.

Henry stood up. Hi. I’d just like to thank––

Right, Sam said, cutting him off. Pat’s eyes narrowed while Henry relaxed against the wall with an admiring smile. So, as I was saying, Henry here has a little something for us. Humanity has constructed another one of its little slave maker centres right in small-town, Oklahoma. The Ashcroft Memorial Hospital and Cyberization Centre, Sam sneered, spitting out the words. And we are going to destroy it. Before it can ever be built.

Pat stiffened. Emily Ashcroft had been one of the leading cybernetic researchers during the Robot Wars, and she had fought long and hard to make sure the ‘bots and cyborgs received their fair share. Naturally, after the Second American Civil War, she had been condemned as a traitor by what remained of her country, a second Benedict Arnold. Most of the continent regarded her as a hero, a courageous woman who had not bowed to the demands of religious and secular fanatics.

Pat was aware of the amount of energy Standard Tech put into getting the Ashcroft Hospital approved, never mind built. It was an important step forward in Americans accepting their Trans-human citizens, and the hospital too.

Of course Samael wanted to destroy it. Peaceful coexistence would have cut into his power and support, leaving him an easy target for the authorities. And he did have a point; more than a few hospitals in the States were slave-centres, designed to take ordinary humans and cyberize them, taking away all their rights. Aside from Pat and Sam, everybody in this room was a victim of such a procedure.

Just as Pat was trying to decide whether to blow her cover and turn Sam and his gang into goo, Michelle spoke up.

Sam––are we really going to attack a hospital? What if... What if somebody needs those operations? Michelle asked, big puppy-dog eyes staring at Sam, hoping her hero would smooth away all her fears.

This kid is too naïve to live, Pat thought. Sam’s not just willing to blow up hospitals; he’s done it in the past! Not that they could prove it, of course. If they could, somebody would have busted his ass long ago.

Sam stepped off the pallet where he was holding court, and walked over to Michelle. Pat tensed, and waited for an explosion to arise, but to her incredible surprise, all Sam did was stroke her cheek and whisper in her ear. All the concern drained out of Michelle’s face and she nodded happily at whatever Sam told her.

Any other questions? Sam asked, returning once more to the pallet.

Pat felt a sudden flaring of unease when everybody assembled in the room slowly shook their heads back and forth. There was no way she would break her cover now. There was something else going on here, and she had to know what.

THE RENFIELD HOUSE was a grand old estate in Small-town, Oklahoma, at the opposite end of town from where the Smith family lived. Styled in the form of the Antebellum South, it fit all too well with a family comprised of slavers, sexists, racists, mass murderers and a psychopath It sickened Unit 832 right down to her silicon soul.

Not that she was supposed to think that way about her masters, or even think at all. As far as the Renfield’s were concerned, Unit 832 was just another household servant-bot, a mere toy for their personal use. And she was not quite ready to disillusion her owners of that yet.

Soon, she promised herself, typing intently on the computer. Very, very soon she was going to leave this place, one way or the other. But first, she had some things she needed to take care of. Such as getting as much information to Standard Tech as was possible. Unit 832 (Angela, she told herself firmly––I have to start thinking of myself as Angela) didn’t think Standard Tech could or would help her, but Standard Tech were the Renfield’s oldest and most hated enemies. If anybody could help, it was the War Dogs of old Fort City. At least, the release of all the Renfield’s dirty secrets would cause enough confusion to let her escape. On the downside, because the Renfield’s home network was a closed system, she couldn’t just plug Standard Tech in and let them rifle through the secure files themselves. Instead, she had to wait for a legitimate reason to access a computer, hack into the secure servers, download the information and then e-mail it out. Hence, why she was in the little office on the main floor, just down the hall from the main staircase. It was long and tedious, and every time she did it, she increased her risk of getting caught and deleted. Fortunately, Unit 832 had some advantages in dealing with her masters. Firstly, Mistress Renfield had noticed Unit 832’s skills with a computer and had tasked her with ‘research’ (actually, just gathering gossip for her blog), and thus, Angela had a reason for being in the computer room for hours on end. Secondly, Angela had swiped the network administrator access key, including username and password, thus allowing her unrestricted access to the Renfield’s secure database. As long as she remembered to do the work Mistress Renfield had assigned her, she was free and clear.

Pausing, Angela (that’s right, call yourself Angela. Pretend you’re human) could hear footsteps coming from upstairs, echoing on the pseudo-hardwood floors. Their precise cadence meant the footsteps came from only one person: Bentley, the Renfield’s Chief of Security. A creature Archibald Renfield I had dug up from a sewer somewhere, he was the kind of slave that Angela hated most: a slave that believed and helped spread the lies his masters told. A genuine quisling if ever there was one.

Unit 832? Are you there? his voice rang out, echoing as his footsteps had minutes before.

Angela switched the computer screen to what she was supposed to be doing and auto-scrubbed her history. Thanks to Bentley’s paranoia, the auto-scrubbers would not only erase her computer’s history but over-write the files too. The idea was that it would prevent Standard Tech from ever accessing their data; today, it was working against them.

Angela poked her head out of the office and into the hallway. My lord? How may I help you?

Bentley’s face went almost as white as his suit, and Angela fought to suppress a smile. She had found out years ago that calling Bentley ‘lord’ infuriated him. Naturally, she called him by this designation whenever she could. After all, it didn’t matter who ‘killed’ her, now did it?

Bentley stared down at her. He wasn’t that tall but Angela had been designed to be short and less threatening. What are you doing in the office? he demanded.

I am researching for my Mistress, my lord, Angela answered truthfully. It wasn’t all she had been doing of course, but Bentley didn’t need to know that.

Hmm. Bentley stared down at her. Why use this computer, then? Why not use one of the computers in the common room instead?

The common room is very busy, my lord and my Mistress gave me the impression that this research was to be kept private, Angela answered. It wasn’t, strictly speaking true, but the one time she had done research for Mrs. Renfield in the commons, she had suffered horribly for it. After that, Angela had always assumed Mrs. Renfield wanted her research kept private. She pursed her lips. Besides my lord, Master Renfield frequents the commons. I mean no disrespect to the family, but I do not wish to go near him.

Bentley sighed. It was probably in frustration for not being able to catch her at anything. I can see that you’re running the auto-scrubbers. Why? If your task is as innocuous as you suggest.

My lord, you have made it very clear that after any extended period of time on a computer we are to run the auto-scrubbers. Even if it is a closed network, Angela answered. It seemed paranoid to her, but as Bentley was the Chief of Security, that was his call to make. Besides, it worked out for her today.

Hmm. Bentley continued to stare at her for a few seconds more. So why did our Mistress send me after you? If you’re doing her work after all.

I don’t know my lord, Angela answered, a bit surprised. To be honest with you, my lord, I was under the impression that this was a routine security questioning. I had no idea that my Mistress had enquired after me. Perhaps she seeks to check up on my work?

Perhaps, Bentley answered, raising his eyebrows. Either way, you must come with me. After you save your place, we will go see our Mistress.

Yes, my lord. Ducking back into the office, Angela saved the file onto a data stick and pulled it out of the computer. Privately, she wondered just what this was all about.

Guess she would find out soon.

BENTLEY LEAD ANGELA up the main staircase, turning left when they reached the top, and then right into another hallway. Angela kept her head down. She knew the way to her mistress’ bedroom like the back of her hand, and often served as a tour guide when people the Renfields wanted to schmooze came calling. The whole house had been decorated in the same white marble facing, and the hallway that lead to Mrs. Renfield’s bedroom was lined with portraits of the Renfield family going back seven generations, while the corridor on the right side of the house, which lead to Archibald I’s room, was decorated with a mural depicting the Final Judgement in Revelation. Angela found this terribly ironic. Opposite those two hallways were the hallways that lead to Bentley’s and Archie’s bedrooms. Angela did not know what they looked like because she dared not go in either one. The slave quarters, where Angela lived, were in