Power in the Hands of One Read Online Free Page A

the left, three banks of them. The few that are on show surveillance of the first room and the parking lot.
    Ray gives the monitors a passing glance before stopping at another door. He turns to me. “Are you ready?”
    I shrug with what I imagine is an uncertain look. Ray’s refusal to be forthright has been nothing short of unsettling, such that my desire for answers is matched only by my apprehension. Do I want to see what’s on the other side? Am I enabling Ray’s behavior? These are questions which don’t have clear-cut answers…
    “OK, then,” Ray says before entering a sequence of numbers into a keypad. There is another beep followed by a green blinking light, and then the door opens with a solid clunk.
    On his heels, my steps are quick into the remaining breadth of the hangar. The steel arches continue along the walls and ceiling. Rows of fluorescent lighting illuminate large machinery littering the expanse of floor; several forklifts sit idle.
    These are dwarfed by three immense support structures on the right. Comprised of red tubing and crossbeams, they climb near the ceiling. All three are linked with scaffolding.
    The first of these stands empty. The third is veiled in opaque plastic sheets secured from the top of the scaffold-like framework. In between, the second serves as the bay for a mechanical monster.
    Flat black, its angular, bipedal form stands rigid—a silent guardian in this secret place. Skeletal feet grasp the floor, each tine supported by a hydraulic piston.
    The legs are slightly bent, suggesting the machine is agile and balanced, though the joints in the knees are shielded with interlocking panels. At the torso, the legs become less substantial and disappear into another network of panels.
    The hulking body is laden with intricate armor plating—larger, more layered versions of what protect the joints in the legs. Vents near the beltline reveal what appears to be a giant gear or turbine wrapping the inner circumference of the torso.
    Similar openings in the upper portion of the armor expose rounded mount points from which powerful arms hang lifeless. Shielded gauntlets secure four-pronged hands. Each digit is segmented and flexible, as if ready to take hold of something and crush it.
    The helmet-like head sits atop massive shoulders. Set within is a humanoid face, its eyes devoid of life, its mouth a severe pout. This is the most troubling aspect of the machine—its ability to look down upon you.
    I turn to Ray, his expression one of reverence, or fear—I can’t tell. “Is this real? I mean…does it work?”
    Ray responds, though he is still fixated on the machine. “They are all operational, as far as I know. I assume that’s why one is missing.” He traces a path with his index finger from the empty bay to the sliding doors at the far end of the hangar.
    Wary, I step closer. “What, it just walked away of its own accord?”
    “No, they’re not completely autonomous. Each requires a pilot. Thomas was adamant about that.” Ray peers from beneath his brow, sheepish. “I read all of Thomas’s notes. Unfortunately, there are gaps. Thomas kept a lot in his head. It’s unknown how sentient the machines actually are.”
    “Are you saying they can think?”
    “On a certain level, yes—but I don’t understand what commands or directives can or cannot be overridden, of if there is a set of core procedures of which they cannot violate.”
    I scrunch my face in confusion.
    Ray notices. “What I’m saying is, the line between what these machines can or will do and how much input is required of the pilot is blurred. The sparsest notations were on the A.I.”
    “So someone—someone piloted one of these things out of here? How can you be certain?”
    “Well, I imagine this thing wouldn’t have bothered opening the hangar doors to get out. No, someone opened the doors and then closed them when they left.”
    “But where would they have taken something that big? You wouldn’t be