17. ANSL-5.2

There were exactly twenty-three of them, supported further by five auxiliary defender bots. Human necks and bones were feeble, even ones wearing exosuits.

After dispatching the first wave of them, in the subsequent moments of hesitation, ANSL-5.2 uncocked the quant rifle from its back and dispatched the turret gun aiming for the cabin from the edge of the field.

It was impressed with their level of equipment. With the amount of crime in their streets, ANSL-5.2 wondered where all this advanced shielding and weaponry was really going. Further evidence, not that any more was needed, of corruption deep within their ranks.

The turret gun exploded. The barrels peering from the door, belonging to men clustering on the outside of the cabin, drew back in unison.

The last of the remaining defender bots came and was decommissioned with an efficient spike through the core beneath its jaw. It sizzled as it crumpled into the dark red pool on the floor, sparks skittering over blood.

“Argh!” A high-pitched growl flared ANSL-5.2’s sentinel array to attention, snapping its head toward the source. A slender arm protruded from under the bed, grappling with the barrel of a rifle wielded by an injured officer who was still alive. The man was dragging Tisha from beneath the bed as she struggled to wrench the rifle pointed toward ANSL-5.2 from his grip.

ANSL-5.2’s PSU constricted with satisfaction at the sight of her well-meaning attempts. It bent to hoist the officer into the air, crushing his windpipe. It tossed the body through the open door, then lowered itself to its haunches, looking at the blood-smeared woman peering up at it.

“Get back under, okay?” He touched her blood-stained chin. His emotive core surged when she gave him a small, frightened nod and tilted her head into his touch before sliding back to safety.

ANSL-5.2 rose and analyzed the proximal radio frequencies.

“Fall back,” someone was saying. “Get the fuck back.”

“Too late for that,” ANSL-5.2 muttered, charging through the door and into the sun. One by one, they crumpled beneath it. Pistol bullets grazed off its armor like woodchips. ANSL-5.2 kept moving, because it wasn’t done yet. It strafed around the back of the cabin, keeping to sheltered spaces, scanning the surrounding trees.

Finally it spotted her. The sniper was a flash of heat in infrared, crouching on the lower branches of a tree with an outline of a quant rifle in her hand.

Part of ANSL-5.2’s sentinel array remained fixed on its assignment underneath the bed. It sensed her in there, likely watching but not seeing much except the bodies. It would need to run a PTSD protocol afterward. Humans were fragile.

ANSL-5.2 propped its own rifle against the notch in its shoulder and calculated its position from its sheltered spot. By the time it swung out and into the open, it knew exactly where it had to be and which angle was required to correct for the wind’s direction.

There was a quiet thump as the sniper fell from the trees. Then finally silence, save for the crackle of radios with panicked voices on the other line.

ANSL-5.2 returned to the cabin, feet splattering human fluids. It bent and notched its fingers into the frame of the bed. Lifting the edge upright with ease revealed its assignment splayed on her stomach, her saucer eyes tracking up the length of its body.

“Let’s go,” he said.