Story code: ST-000794
Part 4: Errors in the System
The red optical lenses whirred, adjusting their focal length to lock onto the blue glow of the tablet in Vance’s hand. The machine’s internal logic gates had processed the failed network handshake. Vance wasn’t a recognized agent. He was a biological target occupying a restricted zone.
The drone’s damaged secondary arm jerked upward. The heavy brass nozzle sputtered as the internal compressor forced the remaining defoliant through the compromised lines. The hissing sound grew sharp and rhythmic, ready to release a second, wider wave of toxic green fluid into the suffocating space.
Vance stared at the cracked screen of his tablet, his eyes fixed on the bold text declaring his immediate termination. Ten years of service. Ten years of manual apprehensions, tracking bounties through sun-baked mud, breathing in pesticide dust, pushing through torn ligaments and broken ribs for a division that had just erased him with a silent, automated script. He wasn’t even worth a phone call. He was a variable the algorithm had optimized out of existence.
He looked up at the looming black chassis of the drone. It was the future of the orchard, just as the AI was the future of the agency. Both of them were cold, efficient, and entirely indifferent to the flesh and blood they were designed to replace.
The drone surged forward on its heavy treads, crushing the remains of a wooden pallet into sharp splinters.
Vance didn’t run. He tightened his grip on the edges of the tablet. The device was actively attempting to ping the drone’s local network, acting as a digital beacon in the thick, blinding chemical smoke. The drone’s sensors were tracking his transmission.
“Get down!” Vance roared at Mateo, his voice tearing through his burning throat.
Vance lunged straight at the massive machine.
The drone’s primary harvesting arm swung in a brutal, sweeping arc, meant to cleave him in half. Vance threw his weight forward, sliding on his knees through the pulverized dirt and the slick, black hydraulic fluid pooling on the floor. The heavy steel shear-blades whistled inches above his head, the sheer force of the swing kicking up a gale of dust that stung his eyes.
He slid directly under the drone’s primary sensor cluster, stopping beneath the damaged secondary arm. The 9mm round he had fired earlier had shredded the braided hose, but it had also cracked the carbon-fiber housing around the drone’s central processing unit. Blue sparks arced wildly in the gap, illuminating exposed relays and grease-coated circuitry.
The machine’s treads locked, its gears grinding as it attempted to reverse and angle its nozzle downward at him.
Vance didn’t give it the chance. He slammed the agency tablet directly into the open, sparking wound in the machine’s armor. He drove it deep into the wiring, shoving it past the severed hydraulic lines. The tablet’s screen caught against a jagged piece of metal. Vance flipped his empty pistol in his right hand, gripping the hot barrel, and brought the heavy, machined-steel butt of the grip down onto the tablet like a hammer.
Once. Twice.
The cracked glass shattered completely. The reinforced steel grip of the sidearm punctured the tablet’s casing, driving straight into the swollen, high-capacity lithium-ion battery.
A blinding flash of white-hot light erupted inside the drone’s chassis. The punctured battery violently reacted, sparking a localized chemical fire that instantly ignited the leaking hydraulic fluid.
Vance scrambled backward, kicking furiously through the dirt to put distance between himself and the machine.
Thick, black smoke billowed from the drone’s cracked housing. The automated, aggressively cheerful voice from its external speakers distorted into a horrifying, low-pitched mechanical garble. *”Quarantine… err-or… bio-logical… un-regis-“*
The red optical lenses flickered rapidly, strobing like a dying emergency light, before popping with a sharp electrical crack. The massive machine let out a deep, structural groan. Its hydraulic pressure failed all at once. The heavy harvesting arms slammed into the dirt floor, and the towering chassis sagged forward, completely dead.
Silence crashed down into the barn, broken only by the soft hissing of the emerald defoliant eating a gaping hole through the rear aluminum wall. Sunlight and fresh air poured in through the corroded metal, cutting through the toxic haze.
Vance let his empty pistol slip from his fingers. It thudded softly against the dirt. He sat back on his heels, his lungs heaving, his uniform soaked in sweat and black grease. He stared at the smoldering wreck of the drone, watching the melted, burning plastic of his government tablet drip from its internal wiring.
A few feet away, Mateo slowly lowered his arms from his face. The farmworker coughed, wiping tears from his dust-caked cheeks as he stared at the defeated machine. He looked at the gaping hole in the wall, then back to Vance.
“They will send more,” Mateo whispered, his voice trembling as he pulled his knees to his chest. “When it does not return. The company will send more machines. The police will come.”
Vance looked at the empty holster on his hip. He looked at the badge pinned to his tactical vest, realizing it was now nothing more than a worthless piece of tin. He had no authority to arrest the man sitting across from him. He had no dispatch to call for backup. He had no division to report back to, and no paycheck waiting for him at the end of the week.
The algorithm had run its course. The orchard didn’t need Mateo to pick its fruit, and the federal government didn’t need Vance to hunt him down. They were both just errors in the system now, lingering in the dirt where the machines had left them.
“No,” Vance said quietly, pulling his badge from his vest and tossing it into the dirt beside his empty gun. “Nobody’s coming for us.”
He leaned back against the rusted aluminum siding, staring into the drifting smoke, and waited for the heat of the afternoon to finally break.