“Then save yourself and my five percent.” He slammed his palms onto the desk.

  Jake let out a cough. “Three percent.”

  He slammed his palms on the desk again. “My three percent. It’s time to end it.”

  “Quit?”

  “Yes, quit.”

  “Dad always said that Ashleys aren’t quitters.”

  “He was full of shit. Of course we’re quitters. We’re born quitters. I quit things all the time. C’mon, Jake, be a quitter with me.” Uncle Aaron smiled his uncle’s smile and sat back down. The smile faded into one of his rare serious moments. “Look, Jake. The business is dying. Not just ours, but the whole industry. They’re making bots better. And even the shitty ones come with a longer warranty. Pretty soon it will be just the corporate boys junking their mistakes. There’s no room for the little guy anymore.”

  The independent shops were closing. Or selling. Or failing. But Jake wasn’t ready to give up just yet.

  “I heard from a buyer, Jake.”

  “Who would want to buy this place?”

  “It doesn’t matter who they are. All that matters is that they’re interested and they’ve got more money than a whore after the Super Bowl.”

  Jake leaned forward in his seat. “I’m not quitting.” He stood and crossed the office.

  “Be honest, Jake.” Uncle Aaron stood and pointed to the phone on the desk. “When was the last time that phone rang?”

  The phone rang.

  Uncle Aaron dropped his arm. “Well that is just the worst timing ever.”

  Jake grabbed the phone. “Ashley’s Robot Reclamation.”

  “I mean a guy is just trying to make a point and the stupid thing just rings all over it. I hate machines.”

  Jake held up a finger to shush his uncle and turned back to the phone. He answered the caller’s question. “Yes, we’re junkers.”

  2

  The Beast was named for its size and lumbering gait in traffic. But that didn’t mean it didn’t sound like a beast, too. The engine roared. The brakes shrieked. And there was a growl from a source that Kat had never been able to quite pin down.

  The sixty-year-old vehicle charged through traffic like an elephant with hurt feelings, trumpeting over the quiet hum generated by the electric cars that filled the road.

  By law, passenger cars had to be aware of their surroundings, and a hundred sensors in each vehicle were screaming at their guidance systems to get out of the way of the big red truck as it barreled through town. Traffic parted before the team as the Travelall bullied its way to the edge of the city and into the night.

  They lined the bench seats and did their best not to bounce against each other as the Beast swayed back and forth on exhausted shocks. The interior smelled of fuel and exhaust and the odor mixed with the unending motion turned Jake’s stomach. He fought the queasy sensation and focused on what lay ahead.

  He made sure he knew where the window crank was and said, “Tell us what we’re looking at, Mason.”

  "Okay.” Mason produced a tablet and began to read the information. “Two hours ago some fat farmer walked into his cornfield and…”

  “Mason.” Jake interrupted and instantly recalled a dozen conversations that had started this way.

  “What?”

  “Forget the commentary. Just give us the facts.”

  “It is a fact, Jake. The dude weighed like three hundy.”

  “It’s irrelevant. And rude.”

  “Well, I’m sorry, Miss Manners, but I think it is relevant to know that the bot we’re looking for took down something the size of a buffalo with no trouble. Now, if it was me going in there, and it is by the way, I think that’s something I’d want to know.”

  Jake gave a reluctant nod and looked out the window.

  “This is about safety, Jake. And, honestly, I’m a little hurt that you’d think this was about anything other than the wellbeing of my coworkers.”

  Jake waved him back toward the tablet. “Just get on with it.”

  “No.” Mason set the tablet in his lap. “I’d like an apology first.”

  “Are you serious?”

  “Are you sorry?”

  Jake rolled his eyes. “Fine. I’m sorry I accused you of being insensitive.”

  “That’s more like it.” Mason lifted the tablet once more. “As I was saying, this fatty in the dell here waddles into his corn crop about two hours ago, possibly to check on a malfunctioning piece of equipment or, more likely, to make a sandwich.”

  Jake pounded the door. “Mason!”

  “They found him dead with corn embedded in his chest,” he read. “Oh big surprise, food killed him.”

  Jake pinched the bridge of his nose. It didn’t help the growing headache as much as he’d hoped. “Just tell us what we’re up against.”

  “It’s a ZUMR, Model number R34-P3R Organic Compliant Deterrent System.” He held up the screen to show everyone a blue-line schematic of the machine.

  “It looks like a scarecrow,” Glitch said.

  “Points for you, Tin Man. That’s exactly what it is.” Mason turned the tablet back so he could read more. “Here’s an ad for it. It suggests putting a hat and shirt on the thing for that old farm feel. Gives everyone a touch of the nostalgies I guess. But underneath the stupid hat it’s a state-of-the-art murder murderer. You can tell from the oh so clever headline, ‘Scares Crows Dead.’” He read further ahead to himself. “That’s weird. The thing’s brand new.”

  “It does what to crows?” Glitch asked. “How does it do that?”

  “It fires corn kernels at about 2500 feet per second from this mini-gun on its right arm. And cuts them up with the scythe-looking thing on its left.” He held the screen toward Glitch and waited for the cyborg to process the image.

  “That’s a terrible idea!”

  “It’s quite genius, actually. I can’t imagine corn makes a very good bullet. So, what better way to make up for accuracy than with an insane amount of volume?”

  “That’s not what I meant and you know it. I mean, how can they get away with killing the birds?”

  Mason shrugged. “It’s a part of ZUMR’s guilt-free farming line. The corn is all natural. So is crow blood. Crow feathers. Crow guts, too. So the crops remain completely organic, legal, and free of flying vermin.” Mason paused and chuckled. “Scares crows dead. I get it now.”

  “You think this is funny?” Kat asked from behind the wheel.

  “Pretty funny. Yeah.”

  “You’re a horrible person, Mason,” Kat said.

  Mason shrugged again. “Okay.”

  Jake turned back from the window and glared at Mason. “Enough! Just tell us where to hit it.”

  Mason tapped the pad several times before shaking his head. “I’m not really seeing any weak points. If the mini-gun overheats it will start popping the kernels. That seems to be the biggest beef on the forums. Actually, that could be kind of fun.”

  “Nothing else?”

  Mason searched the information. “No. It’s weatherized. But that shouldn’t be a problem for our disruptors.”

  “Good,” Jake said. “Let’s make this takedown quick. And take it easy on the equipment. Don’t pull the trigger any more than you have to. Most of all, stay safe.”

  Kat spoke to Jake without taking her eyes off the road. “If this thing is so new, why did they call us?”

  “The warranty team gave them a window of several days before they could come. I guess the farm decided that stopping a robot’s murderous rampage was something that couldn’t wait.”

  “We don’t get many of those anymore.”

  “Corporate calls or owners with a conscience?”

  “Yes.” Kat pulled onto the exchange and followed the ramp onto another freeway. A small car swerved out of the way, waking its sleeping passenger.

  It was another hour on interstates, highways and farm-to-market roads before the truck turned down the mile long driveway that led to the farm. Corn grew in fields on either side and Jake watched the stalks sway in the gentle, late-day breeze.

  He rolled the window down to let the smell of the field into the car and the smell of the car out. Cold air blew in. He fought back a shiver as Kat pulled into a parking lot and stopped the Beast beside a black SUV that was only a fraction smaller and newer than the Travelall.

  She killed the engine and waited for it to ping to a stop. She pointed to the black truck and spoke. “I thought you said they weren’t coming.”

  Jake watched as the door to the truck opened and a woman stepped out into the chilly night air. She shivered and pulled on a windbreaker bearing the ZUMR Robotics logo. She smiled at Jake and shut her door.

  “Hey, that’s…” began Glitch.

  “What’s this bullshit?” Mason asked.

  “Wait here.” Jake turned to Kat. “All of you. I’ll see what’s up.”

  The Travelall door squeaked as it opened and clanged as he forced it shut behind him.

  “Your team can turn around, Jake,” the woman said. “ZUMR will handle this.”

  “The hell you will.”

  “It’s our equipment, Jake.”

  “It’s our call, Hailey. You left them hanging.” He smiled for the first time. “Which doesn’t surprise me at all.”

  Her smile faded. “Well, I’m here now.”

  “You certainly are.” He looked over her shoulder. He knew she was hiding long and rich dark hair beneath her corporate cap. He knew it smelled like warm coconut. He shut out the memory. “But where’s your team?”

  A whirring sound came from inside her truck and a small robot emerged from the window. No bigger than a coffee can, the Whir-bert flew on small rotors and bleeped and blooped as it perched on Hailey’s shoulder.

  “Your team’s gotten smaller since the last time,” Jake said.

  “They’ll be here. There was some kind of mix-up at dispatch.”

  “Sure there was.”

  Before she could respond, a door to one of the office buildings flew open and a man in a suit jogged across the parking lot to the couple. He steered toward Hailey and stuck out his hand. “Ashley? Thank God.”

  The woman put out her own hand.

  Jake stepped in front of her. “I’m Ashley.” He tried to intercept the handshake.

  The man in the suit pulled his hand back. “You’re Ashley?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  The man offered his hand again, but with some obvious hesitation.

  “Is there a problem?” Jake asked.

  “I guess I just expected someone less mannish.”

  Hailey laughed at this.

  “Jake Ashley,” he said with emphasis on the Jake. “We’re here to help you with your malfunctioning equipment.”

  “Oh, I see. I’m Dan Forester. I’m sorry. I’m sure that happens quite a bit.”

  “It does,” Hailey said with a laugh.

  “You’re probably used to it then.”

  Jake shook his head. “You’d think so.”

  Forester turned to the woman with the robot on her shoulder. “So, are you with him?”

  “Hardly.” Hailey stepped in front of Jake and took the man’s hand. “Hailey Graves. ZUMR Robotics, Warranty department.”

  “But, I thought you couldn’t be here. I was told you couldn’t be here.”

  “They aren’t,” Jake said. “Miss Graves is alone. My team is here and we’re ready to go.”

  “My team will be here shortly,” Hailey argued.

  “But it’s moving.” There was panic in the corporate famer’s voice. “I told your company this, Miss Graves. We don’t want it to harm anyone else.”

  She nodded where she was supposed to nod, made a sad face at the sad parts and then responded with practiced confidence. “My team should be here in an hour, Mr. Forester.”

  “An hour!” Forester and Jake joined together in their disbelief.

  “It could be gone in an hour, Miss Graves,” Jake said. “We need to take care of this menace right now.”

  Whir-bert looked at Jake and blasted a series of angry bleeps.

  Hailey protested as well. “Sir, if you’ll just be patient, ZUMR will handle this situation.”

  “And what is the reward for his patience, Miss Graves?” Jake asked. “How many more have to die? And how many stories have to be written about all those dead bodies that piled up while we just stood here and waited?“

  “Jake,” she hissed.

  Jake turned back to the man in the suit. “We can have this taken care of in no time, Mr. Forester.”

  “Any actions taken by an independent contractor will void the machine’s warranty.” How she loved to lecture.

  Dan Forester cared about people. That was obvious. But the talk of capital investments shook his principles. Jake could see the hems and haws coming. He had to get in front of them.

  “Warranty?!” Jake said. “How can you think about warranties at a time like this, Miss Graves? What is the cost of a single machine versus a human life?”

  Forester wrung his hands together. “Quite a lot actually.”

  “Is it more than the price of integrity?” Jake asked.

  Forester shrugged with a nervous smile.

  Hailey showed Jake an invoice.

  Jake nodded. “Fair enough. That is a lot. But is it more than the price of a PR team to keep Happy Dell Independent Family Farms Incorporated off the news streams?”

  The man sighed. “Please take care of the matter, Mr. Ashley.”

  Jake turned to the Beast and yelled. “We’re up!”

  The doors opened and the crew filed out of the truck. They moved to the rear and began unloading their gear.

  “You unctuous jerk,” Hailey said under her breath.

  “I’ve asked you before, please don’t insult me with words I have to look up. We don’t have time for that. We have to stop this killer.” Jake started for the truck.

  “You’re a prick,” she said louder.

  He turned. “There. Wasn’t that easier?”

  Forester followed. “So, we’re all good now, right? I can go? Home? You’ll call when it’s done?” The executive farmer turned to leave.

  “Mr. Forester, before you go, there is one thing I have to ask you.”

  “Yes?” He bounced on the balls of his feet. Each bounce took him closer to the safety of his car.

  “Has the machine ever exhibited any artistic qualities?” Jake asked.

  “What… what do you mean?”

  “Has it ever written you a poem? Sung a song? Written a book?”

  “No.”

  Mason popped his head around the corner of the truck. “And it just shot the employee? It didn’t dress him up like a scarecrow and put him on a stake?”

  “What?” Forester squirmed. “No!”

  “It didn’t pin a sign to him that said, ‘If I only had a brain’?”

  “No! My God. Why are you asking this?”

  “It’s just something we have to do, Mr. Forester.” Jake said. “Sentience complicates things. But it sounds like we’re in the clear.”

  Forester looked more frightened by it all than annoyed by the technicalities. “Can I go?”

  “Yeah,” Mason said. “You can run away now.”

  Dan Forester nodded and jogged to his car. He slammed the vehicle’s door and sped away.

  Mason held up Jake’s disruptor pack and motioned for him to turn around.

  “‘If I only had a brain’?” Jake asked.

  “And then the robot takes the brains out of the farmer’s head. That’s poetic justice, Jake. Which is a form of poetry, and poetry is art.”

  “You know why no one likes you, right?”

  “Yep.” Mason held up the pack again.

  Jake slipped his arms into the shoulder straps and switched on the pack. He pulled the discharger from the holster and checked the safety. It was broken.

  3

  They stood at the edge of the cornfield, staring down the rows of the golden green crop as the sun began to set. The breeze danced through the field and the stalks swayed at its command. The motion and the darkness made it difficult to detect any movement that wasn’t corn.

  Jake didn’t like it. “Send up the drone, Mason.”

  “What drone?” Mason asked.

  “What do you mean, ‘what drone’?”

  “You mean the Seeker 4000 with thermal imaging and focal plane arrays capable of detection and pursuit?”

  “Of course I mean that one.”

  “Ah, well then you would also mean the one that is sitting in thirty-two separate parts back at the office waiting on a new focal plane array, firmware realignment and a valid operator’s permit.”

  “Perfect.”

  A gust of wind startled the cornfield and the stalks dipped further into the rows. A dozen shrill whistles rose from the field.

  “Do you all hear that?” Glitch put a hand to his ear and made an adjustment on a knob hidden behind his earlobe. “What’s that sound?”

  “That’s the wind whipping through the plains,” Mason said.

  “What?”

  Mason stared at the cyborg. “Didn’t you ever blow on a blade of grass?”

  Glitch shook his head.

  Mason grumbled, “Stupid kids,” before saying, “It whistles.” He pointed to the field. “Like that.”

  “Oh, good. I thought my ear was buggy again. I think a wire is loose.”

  “Does any part of you work?” Mason asked.

  “My fist works. Want me to show you?”

  Kat stepped between them. “Knock it off, the both of you. We don’t want this thing sneaking up on us just because you two can’t keep your mouths shut.”

  “We’d never hear it anyway,” Mason said. “This thing has sound baffling like you wouldn’t believe.”

  “For a scarecrow?” Kat asked.

  “The thing was designed to sneak up on birds, Kat. And a crow’s hearing is better than a human’s. And way better than Glitch’s, apparently.”

  “Shut up, Mason. I can hear you, you know.”

  “Perfect.” Jake ignored them both and peered into the rows of corn. He turned his head, listening for the silent killer. “So we can’t see it. And we can’t hear it. Any good news?”