Silicon Dawn (Silicon Series Book 0) Read online

  SILICON DAWN

  A SILICON MAN PREQUEL

  By William Massa

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  Copyright © 2015 William Massa

  Published by Critical Mass Publishing

  All characters appearing in this work are fictitious. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental. All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book or portions thereof in any form.

  No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any form without permission. Please do not participate or encourage piracy of copyrighted material in violation of author’s rights. Thank you for respecting he hard work of this author.

  Also by William Massa

  SCIENCE FICTION

  SILICON MAN

  CROSSING THE DARKNESS

  THE OCCULT ASSASSIN SERIES

  Occult Assassin #1: Damnation Code - Amazon US Amazon UK

  Occult Assassin #2: Apocalypse Soldier - Amazon US Amazon UK

  Occult Assassin: Ice Shadows (A Novella) - Amazon US Amazon UK

  HORROR/DARK FANTASY

  FEAR THE LIGHT

  GARGOYLE KNIGHT

  MATCH: A SUPERNATURAL THRILLER

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  CHAPTER ONE

  LOS ANGELES, 2084.

  TEN YEARS BEFORE THE EVENTS OF SILICON MAN.

  The San Francisco Spaceport bustled with activity. Two spaceplanes had arrived in quick succession, one from the Luna colonies and another from the IMS space station, and weary passengers thronged the arrival hall. Sunlight streamed through the large, oblong windows, and the space travelers basked in the welcoming heat. Feeling the sun on their faces signaled that they were back on the homeworld. The outer colonies had their charms, but nothing beat good old Mother Earth.

  Among the new arrivals was someone who’d never before visited the birthplace of humanity. He wore a gray suit and a fedora, the brim of the hat cloaking much of his face in shadow. The look had been popular in the first half of the twentieth century and was in vogue again.

  As the man in gray waited his turn in the long line snaking its way toward the security portals, he studied his surroundings. Most of his fellow travelers were barely awake, their slightly atrophied muscles still readjusting to Earth’s gravity, but the man in gray was fully alert. The arrivals area energized him with a sense of wonder. Everything seemed new and different somehow.

  Exciting.

  He couldn’t quite put his finger on why he felt this way. Maybe it was the sunlight shafting through the windows and the glimpses of azure sky. Or perhaps there was a different energy here on Earth, a confidence and carefree attitude that came with the awareness of being home.

  Earth gave life, space claimed it.

  One false move or malfunctioning system could easily become the difference between living and dying. Out in the colonies, mankind struggled to carve out a home for itself in an environment seemingly designed to eradicate life at every turn.

  The man in gray took note of another detail—mechs were everywhere. For every human servicing the spaceport floors, there were two synthetics. They worked mostly as bag checkers and sanitation workers. These animated mannequins went about their routine, mundane duties in what seemed like a trancelike stupor. They might move like humans, but their frozen features were lifeless, plastic. They were second generation X-2000s, and unlike the first generation, boasted synthetic skin.

  As he moved past them, the androids halted their workflow, blank gazes trailing after him. His presence stirred something in them—was it curiosity? Surprise?

  The travelers continued their patience-testing journey through an endless series of security checkpoints. A female customs agent divided her attention between the incessant stream of data on her 3-D holo-screen and the flow of humanity before her. When the man in gray’s turn arrived, she said in a perfunctory voice, ”Hmm, the Luna colonies. First time on Earth?”

  “Yes,” he answered.

  The woman returned the I.D.

  “I hope you enjoy your...”

  She broke off, eyes filling with disbelief as she caught a better look at him. Before she could say anything else, he’d pocketed his card and was on his way.

  He’d been forewarned that he might encounter such a reaction upon his arrival. People would treat him differently on the homeworld than on Luna, but he was steeled for the worst. At least he hoped he was.

  Once cleared through customs, the man in gray headed for the spaceport’s nearest exit. Unlike the other travelers, he didn’t carry any luggage. Walking briskly, he stepped through the sliding doors and eyed a nearby cab.

  As he approached the vehicle, the cabby kept checking the TV monitor on his dashboard, entranced by some sporting event. The man’s attention barely wavered as the door opened and the man in gray slid into the back.

  “To the city, please.”

  “You got it,” the cabby replied, barely looking up from the screen. Like the woman in the terminal, he was just another human being dulled by his robotic routine.

  The cab glided into traffic. The football game played in the background as the driver guided the cab out of the spaceport. To the cabby’s dismay, a flashing news bulletin interrupted the sporting event. Images of a monolithic industrial complex flashed onscreen. Police hoverships and security drones circled the jagged factory buildings. The voice of a news anchor grew audible.

  “In late breaking news, a group of terrorists have seized control of one of Synthetika mech manufacturing plants. Police are already on the scene, ready to deal with the situation. This is the latest escalation in a series of hate crimes directed against Synthetika. It follows the recent announcement that production on the new line of X-3000 models is scheduled to expand later this year.”

  The footage showed a mob protesting in front of the sleek corporate headquarters of Synthetika. With fists held high, they brandished placards with anti-mech slogans. A ring of cops tried to keep the crowd in check.

  “The X-3000s have met with great success throughout the colonies, and Synthetika feels the new model will prove just as popular here on Earth…”

  Images of the X-3000 appeared, driving home the difference between the earlier AI models. These synthetics looked for all intents and purposes human. Only when they tilted their heads did their true nature become apparent. Power bars embedded in the back of their necks sparked with electronic life. A subtle but unmistakable distinction between man and machine.

  “Atari Raspell, head of the HDL, had the following comments...”

  The Human Defense League’s magnetic leader appeared on-screen. His height, weight, and features seemed average, even plain, but the fierce firebrand conviction of his words wove a hypnotic spell.

  “Every day, about three hundred Americans lose their jobs to androids,” Atari explained. “As we speak, there are a million mechs operational in San Francisco alone. Synthetika’s slave race of machines already make up twenty percent of this city's population. What do you think will happen once the X-3000s hit the market? The time has come to stand up for our human rights.”

  The cabby nodded his head in vigorous agreement.

  “Damn straight. If ya ask me, I think we should just scrap `em all.”

  The cabby fired a backward glance at the man in gray, seeking approval and…froze. His passenger wasn’t a man but the spitting image of the X-3000 mo
del showcased in the news bulletin. Shimmering red-green light emanated from the back of the android’s neck, exposing his true nature in the dimly lit cab.

  The cab swerved, nearly veering onto the shoulder, and the man in grey said, “You better keep an eye on the road,”

  The cabby's attention jerked back to traffic as the self-driving system kicked in, straightening the weaving vehicle.

  His creators had named him Adam, being one of the first of his kind. He had expected to encounter intolerance on the homeworld, but not quite so soon after his arrival. He remembered a line from the classic twentieth century movie The Wizard of Oz.

  You’re not in Kansas anymore…

  Well, he wasn’t on the colonies any longer. Earth suddenly seemed a lot less appealing, and he wished he could tell the cabby to take him back to the spaceport.

  Adam studied his reflection in the cab’s rear-view mirror. He could definitely pass as human especially if one didn’t pay too close attention. Unlike the X-2000s back at the arrival terminal, his features were animated, lifelike. Synthetic skin had given way to an organic bioshell grown in amniotic tanks, which perfectly hid the steel endoskeleton and sophisticated electronics underneath.

  Synthetika could’ve easily perfected the illusion, but the exposed power bars in the back of his neck served a distinct purpose. It wasn’t a flaw in his design but a conscious choice on his creator’s part to differentiate him from humans. They wanted a machine that was able to appear human but could still be identified as a machine.

  Fortunately, it was a difference that could easily be downplayed in social interactions. Adam pulled up the collar of his trench coat, hoping that by obscuring his electronics it might put his driver at ease. He didn’t want to end up in a car accident on his first day.

  Synthetika had assigned him to Earth to be an ambassador for a new generation of mechs. In the near future, the X-3000s would be as prevalent here as they were out in the colonies.

  An incoming message from his superiors pulled him out of his thoughts. He was receiving new instructions to proceed to the manufacturing plant.

  “There’s been a change in plans. I won’t be headed to the city after all.”

  The cabby stole a cautious look at him in his rear-view mirror.

  “Don't worry,” Adam said. “This won't affect your tip.”

  CHAPTER TWO

  SYNTHETIKA’S MECH MANUFACTURING plant resembled a warzone. Police cars surrounded the industrial complex while choppers buzzed overhead, the thump of rotors infusing the air.

  Near the factory’s main entrance, a mobile command unit had set up shop. 3-D drone footage shimmered like ghosts in the shadowy tent, distorting the faces of the police officers analyzing the incoming data stream. The crackle of voices emanated from the various comm channels. Cops were rapidly suiting up for the impending assault on the factory building, donning tactical body armor and checking weapons.

  One of them was Inspector Jane Malveaux. She was a tall woman at five-foot-nine, especially considering her Italian-French heritage. She stifled a yawn. She’d been finishing up a grueling twelve-hour night shift when the call came in instructing all available officers to head to the factory. Terrorists had seized control of the facility and were threatening to execute a worker every hour until their demands were met.

  Taking a deep breath, Malveaux snapped a magazine into her handgun and smoothly slipped it into her holster. Layers of arachnofiber armor encased her body, designed to stop even a high-caliber bullet at close range. As she scooped up her shiny black helmet, she felt invincible and ready to take on the world.

  “Figures I'd find you here,” a voice said behind her.

  “You know me, always at the center of the shitstorm,” Malveaux said as she turned toward her partner with a grin.

  Robert Neeson was in his late forties, six-foot-one without a hint of a paunch and only a touch of gray in his beard. His eyes shone with good humor.

  She’d worked with Neeson for five years now. Next to her father, she’d probably never been closer to another man that she hadn’t slept with. Over the years there had been a few moments of temptation, the stress of their tough jobs creating an intimacy between them but nothing ever happened beyond that. Neeson was happily married with two daughters and Malveaux was no homewrecker.

  Neeson bleakly regarded the mech plant. “I guess Synthetika's latest announcement didn't go over well.”

  “Big surprise,” Malveaux said and concentrated on the tactical readouts in the command tent. Footage from inside the mech factory was being streamed simultaneously to the command post and all the major news outlets. Millions of viewers now had front row seats to the dark tragedy unfolding within the walls of the Synthetika plant. The HDL fanatics didn’t want them to miss a single moment of the bloody spectacle.

  One of the terrorists turned the camera toward a downed factory employee. A pool of blood framed blank features, empty eyes aimed at the world that was watching.

  The cam pulled back, revealing a maze of conveyor belts and assembly lines. The terrorist leader, who had identified himself as Silas, strode into frame. He was dressed in the blue worker overalls of a Synthetika factory employee-the terrorists had entered the facility disguised as workers. The only signs of his true affiliation were the machine pistol in his hand and a red armband inspired by the Nazi aesthetic. Instead of a swastika, it featured a white circle with a black DNA helix at its center-the symbol of the Human Defense League. None of the terrorist wore masks. Masks dehumanized, turned men into machines. The HDL never wanted the world to forget that their members were men and women fighting for their human rights.

  Silas circled a group of hostages who cowered next to the dead worker in petrified silence. His voice shook with raw anger as he addressed the camera. “Our work won't be done until every mech in this city has been destroyed. Synthetika is the enemy.”

  Malveaux balled her gloved hands into fists and pursed her lips, feeling helpless rage. Why don’t you pick on someone who can fight back?

  From the corner of her eye, Malveaux suddenly caught sight of a newcomer on the scene. The tall man approaching the command tent wore a sharp suit, a trench coat with the collar raised, and a fedora, his attire making him stand out in the sea of beetle-black combat armor. Taking the newcomer for a Synthetika executive, she snapped, “Sir, you can't be in here…”

  “I'd be damned... Adam,” Neeson said.

  She paused, having spotted the look of recognition in Neeson‘s face. Did her partner know this man?

  Adam tilted his head toward Neeson. “It's good to see you again, sir.”

  Neeson gave Adam a quick, warm hug. “What are you doing here?”

  “I’m on an Earth assignment for the next six months.”

  Malveaux flashed Neeson a questioning look. “You two know each other?”

  “This is Adam, the detective who helped me track down the Mandel gang a few months back on the Luna colonies.”

  Malveaux remembered the case well. Ten months ago, she and Neeson had been investigating a series of murders linked to an offworld contraband ring. Drugs and guns were flooding the Luna colonies, and all the evidence had pointed toward a grade-A sleazeball by the name of Mandel. During their investigation, one of Mandel’s cronies had taken a shot at her. The flesh wound had forced her to sit out the rest of the case while Neeson headed out to Luna to track down the perp.

  “Sorry,” Malveaux said and flashed Adam a sheepish grin. “Didn't know you were a cop. You picked a hell of a time for a reunion.” She offered Adam her hand. “My name is Jane Malveaux.”

  “A pleasure. Neeson has told me a lot about you, Inspector Malveaux.”

  “Really now?”

  He failed to mention you, she thought.

  New 3-D images of Silas filled the command center, bringing an end to their conversation.

  “Synthetika thinks it can get away with anything in the name of profit. We won't tolerate this wide-scale mech infiltration any
longer.” As if to prove his point, Silas brought up a machine pistol and targeted the line of X-2 androids dangling from the ceiling on steel hooks. Squeezing the trigger, he unleashed a volley of bullets into the robot bodies. Metal pinged on metal in a furious rain of sparks, and one of the robots came crashing down to the factory floor. The sharp impact popped off its head, sending it rolling across the floor.

  The terrorist’s camera zoomed in as the severed robot head smacked into a wall. Lifeless features filled the screen. A wild growth of cables and circuitry protruded from its sizzling neck. For a crazed second, Malveaux thought she was looking at a human head and had to remind herself otherwise.

  The screen went dark.

  Malveaux turned toward Adam. There was dark humor in her voice as she said, “Welcome to Earth…”

  She broke off.

  Adam had vanished.

  CHAPTER THREE

  TWO ARMED TERRORISTS stood guard atop the roof of the main factory building. One of them scanned the night sky with a pair of electro-binoculars. He shifted his attention from one of the circling police hoverships toward the nearest web of catwalks that linked the various structures of the plant.

  The air pulsed and crackled with sudden flashes of electricity. Shock rippled over the terrorist’s face as reality warped and shimmered, shadows coalescing into the silhouette of a man. Adam’s fist snapped out and the terrorist went down.

  A second sentry spun, gun up, as Adam's legs swept out. The sentry was sent flying before he ever got a chance to squeeze off a round.

  Two men down, Adam thought. So far, so good.

  Back in the command tent, he’d received new orders instructing him to engage the enemy. His orders were clear: disable the threat without jeopardizing the safety of the hostages. He would do his best to justify the trust his makers had put in him.