Clio and Cy: The Apocolypse

By Christopher Lee

A thousand years into the future — what would you do? Alone in an unforgiving and vicious planet, World War III starts and finds twelve-year-old Clio caught in the middle.
Crumbling on a global scale, fire spits in epic destruction, the height of civilization is cast into darkness. The few remaining Resistance forces battle against machine and monsters.
Cy, a lone cyborg is mankind’s closest thing to perfection. With flesh and graphene, he fights his own demons.
Evil would watch the last lights of a once great people smolder out and trail up in a gray smoke.
Clio and Cy and the Resistance must battle to save the ones they love, to save the world.

• Language: English
• Publisher: IndieReader
• Release date: Apr 30, 2014
• ISBN: 9781499326345

Book preview

enjoy.

Prologue

Historic

Give me but a firm spot on which to stand, and I shall move the earth.

― Archimedes

Sometimes technological advances take time. Inventions nap, lying dormant before waking and leaping vengeful, in ferocious marvel from their sleep. It was like that before they were born, before they rose to power. Smartbots were just over the horizon.

Washington, DC, 2989: Dr. Seth Pavlov patents Q.A.I. (Quantum Artificial Intelligence). To cope with the rigors of Pavlov’s new cutting edge retrieval systems, robotics came up to speed and advanced to handle the calculating demands. Next, the robots were tested and designed around the lighting rod of brilliant QAI.

From building cars on an assembly line to performing delicate surgery procedures, robots had been part of our workforce for over a thousand years. In every area, they made life better. That too took a quantum leap forward.

Savannah, GA, February 2991: Dr. Seth Pavlov’s Global Autonomics Corporation, Inc. completes its first QAI driven prototype. Later that year, the first autonomic production model rolled, or rather walked, off the assembly line. Usher in Smartbots.

Dr. Pavlov didn’t try to re-create the human brain. He intended QAI as an improvement over evolution. Their data centers weren’t modeled after the human mind either; his metal creations used sophisticated sensors, cutting-edge algorithms, and seamless processing in mechanized learning patterns. Smartbots could perform single tasks alone, or work together in groups, like bees – harmonized, melding as a single united force.

Pavlov’s robots resembled the human form, but they weren’t cyborgs. Smartbots were all machine – metal and energy, devoid of souls. They could do the heavy lifting and outwork any human. Slowly, the orders started coming.

One by one, businesses purchased them. QAI Smartbots came in two models:

Design One: - A.I.L. Model #0091 (Automaton Industrial Loader) The massive and powerful Heavy-Duty workhorse.

Design Two: - A.R.U. Model #0092 (Automaton Personnel Retirement Unit) The nimble, man-sized, office couriers.

At first, the machines’ biggest crime was knocking off low-level factory workers. Nicknamed, Al, Industrial Corporations gobbled the Heavy-Duty A.I.L. units into their commercial arenas. The smaller A.R.U. model was soon nicknamed Art, and became bona fide office staff in many of the businesses that could afford to purchase them.

Year 2997: Global Autonomics Corporation, Inc. supplies over half of the world’s businesses with Smartbots. Increased purchases meant decreased production costs. Every profitable small business bought one. They trickled down… Wealthy individuals began owning them.

Pavlov’s Smartbots pervaded every continent, living among us and seen as super workers. Mankind viewed Smartbots as the catalyst to a thriving global economy. Recognized as saviors to some, they were regarded as proprietors of prosperity. Inhabitants of third world countries worshipped them as if they were gods; other primitive cultures saw them as shiny devils.

Not that it mattered since the damn things were almost bullet proof, but Global Autonomics Corporation Inc., had a strict company policy: Don’t tamper, alter, or attempt to disassemble one single bolt from one single bot. Doing so immediately caused the ten-year warranty to expire.

Like the desktop computer in the twenty first century, Smartbots became necessity. The world’s armed services got in on the action. As much as soldiers and airmen, Al and Art became familiar residents on base as if they were uniformed service members. And like jets and Hum-Zs, the Smartbots were acclimated as part of earth’s military, highly regarded by enlisted and officers alike. One group, however, kept them at arm’s length.

United States Marines are famous for doing without, as much as they are for their distrust of outsiders. Camp Pendleton and Camp Lejeune were the only two major military installations not equipped with the new autonomic workers. Budget aside, they didn’t want the damn things roaming in their midst. The metal bastards were too creepy and lifelike.

The Department of Defense and its contractors saw the robots potential for a more aggressive application. They tried to come up with their own designs. Time and time again they failed. The DOD’s attempts at recreating Dr. Pavlov’s QAI driven robots were embarrassingly unsuccessful. The DOD asked nicely, but the doctor wasn’t going to give up his secrets as to how the machines worked. The government stole Pavlov’s patents, which were later discovered to be useless to them.

Defense contractors could recreate the robotics well enough, but the QAI systems baffled them. Pavlov designed it that way. If the DOD and CIA couldn’t control the Smartbots like chess pieces on their private game board, they wanted them gone.

Luckily for Dr. Pavlov, lobbyists were powerful and businesses weren’t going to give them up without a fight. Taking away the robots was akin to going back to the Stone Age. You might as well do away with the wheel and electricity in the minds of corporations that profited from their non-stop, never-bitch, never-get-tired work efforts.

After the DOD continued to come up empty handed, blunder after blunder, The Joint Chiefs grew increasingly restless. Inside the Pentagon and behind America’s clandestine walled agencies, this new army of Smartbots was seen as a continuously growing threat.

Chapter 1 - Seeds of Revenge

"I don't care that they stole my idea…

I care that they don't have any of their own"

― Nikola Tesla

Year: 3000:

Savannah: GA:

The DOD, CIA, and NSA watched Dr. Pavlov’s every move, or so they thought. The government grew tired of asking and the President signed the order to raid Global Autonomics Corporation, Inc. We’ll take that now sir, thank you.

The assigned task force descended. In the name of God and Country, troops stormed Seth Pavlov’s laboratory in Savannah, GA. Marching through the lobby and bursting into Dr. Pavlov’s personal office. The task force wanted inside a secured area that housed the Smartbot’s secrets. Global Autonomics Corporation, Inc. R&D was on the other side of an armored vault.

Need you to open that door, Dr. Pavlov, commanded the task force leader Colonel Brad Wigington.

This is private property! You have no right here! Pavlov yelled.

Dr. Pavlov’s wife screamed and cursed the soldiers. Get the hell out of here you goddamn monkeys!

The Colonel nodded at two of his men. A soldier grabbed Dr. Pavlov’s wife from behind as another placed his rifle barrel to her head. Open the door Dr. Pavlov… Now!

Take that gun off my wife you son of a bitch and get the hell out of here!

The Colonel nodded again. The soldier released the bolt and chambered a round, pressing the rifle harder into her temple. That’s the last time I’ll ask nice Dr. Pavlov!

Scowling at the Colonel, Dr. Pavlov reluctantly punched the code. Chhhp, the secure door popped open, and the soldiers released his wife.

You fucking bastards! Get the fuck out of here you goddamn monkeys! Mrs. Pavlov screamed, like the bat-shit-crazy woman she was. For once, she was warranted in her lunacy.

A soldier reached out putting his palm on her chest. Relax ma’am, he instructed doing his best to keep her at bay.

You fucking monkeys! Get the hell out of here!

Calm down Mrs. Pavlov! the Colonel shouted, watching her flail about like a headless chicken. Watch her, he ordered.

The task force moved inside the R&D vault and Dr. Pavlov followed, as did his wife, hitting soldiers and yelling. Get the fuck out of here you goddamn monkeys.

Uniformed men unplugged computers and rummaged through everything inside the no longer secure lab. Simple-minded thieves! You have no goddamn right to do this, Dr. Pavlov shouted.

In a rage, Pavlov’s wife picked up a sharp metal instrument that lay next to a prototype.

Colonel! Watch ou…

The Colonel spun around as Mrs. Pavlov barreled for him with a raised glove, holding the tool like a knife. Crack! Crack! The officer shot her twice in the chest. Jesus Christ Colonel… you just shot an old woman…

No! Dr. Pavlov screamed and leapt for his fallen wife. Before he could reach her, two soldiers tackled him as more piled on to restrain.

A medic jumped to the woman’s body, holding his finger on her neck, looking up at his officer and shaking his head. She’s gone sir… she’s dead. CPR was useless. Shredding her heart, bullets left a grapefruit sized exit hole in her back.

Colonel Wigington knew he’d overreacted but it was reflex. What a cluster fuck, he thought, looking down at the scene. Medic… Go ahead… he ordered, nodding at Dr. Pavlov struggling under the pile of men in dark fatigues.

Just to make sure he was following, the medic held up a prepared syringe so the Colonel could see. Yes, do it, the Colonel ordered. The medic shook his head, knowing how wrong this felt. Roger that, sir, he affirmed.

Dr. Pavlov squirmed and fought with rage. Old bastard’s strong, one of the soldiers barked after being popped in the face by a momentarily free hand. Seth Pavlov moaned and wept as his strength began to dissipate.

The Army medic moved in. Look out… move over… he requested. Don’t want to get stuck with this, he said holding up a syringe, squatting between soldiers. He stabbed the scientist’s gluteus muscle.

After plunging the medication deep, he yanked out the needle, capped it, and then tossed the syringe. The empty plastic ticked across the laboratory floor and Dr. Pavlov faded unconscious.

What a goat rope, huh sir? a soldier professed.

Total, Colonel Wigington responded. The doctor was out like a light and his wife was dead before she hit the floor, now soaked in blood.

Let’s get to work and get the hell out of here! the Colonel ordered.

Like a team of determined IRS agents, the task force soldiers cleaned out the lab. They took every computer and every drive. Soldiers confiscated prototypes and every piece of hardware Dr. Seth Pavlov stored at Global Autonomics Corporation, Inc. They even took the furniture. The United States Government and its military were now in possession of the greatest weapon it could ever hope to wield. But they made one fatal mistake in their haste; among other things, they left the doctor alive.

Chapter 2 - Darkness Eve

Animals don't behave like men,' he said. ’If they have to fight, they fight; and if they have to kill they kill. But they don't sit down and set their wits to work to devise ways of spoiling other creatures' lives and hurting them. They have dignity and animality.

― Richard Adams, Watership Down

Year: 3001:

1:00AM: RAF Croughton:

70 miles North West of London:

A rectangular landmark was staked in the ground. Painted dead center of the sign was a blue bull’s-eye, sandwiched between words. The inscription read: Royal Air Force, Croughton. Fields of manicured grassland surrounded the landmark and the base, all resting quietly in the late hours.

Above, no star was twinkling. Thick British clouds hung in the sky, rolling overhead in billows, like giant orbs of dirty cotton.

Riders of death were coming down from high atop the cover.  Four horsemen descended through our cosmic shore, wading deep and pulling the reins at their final stop, now arriving; they were knocking at our door. Judgment day was here. And letting slip the metal dogs of war; Pavlov’s machines erupted in thunder, galloping.

First, dozens of Heavy-Duty Smartbots hit the armory; next, teams skirted beyond the airfield’s outer edges, pulling security.

Mate! the guard shouted at the bot while it smashed through the armory front door. It was a surreal vision. Stop… he ordered, confused. The Al model didn’t obey. Stop! he shouted with greater conviction.

Looking down a barrel, the guard accepted that there was a weapon now aimed at him. Zzzzzzwhhhap, was the last sound the guard heard before folding on the deck in a hot coagulated mess.

Another guard ran out from inside the armory locker, shouting. Al… Stop! Baffled, the guard aimed his weapon seeing his dead comrade on the floor and not believing his eyes. He froze and never got a shot off.

Zzzzzwhhhap, the second security officer dropped onto the deck, liquefied.

A year before the war started, Dr. Pavlov began installing weapons inside the shell of the larger Al models. Most bots carried an energy pistol, but a few had more conventional side arms designed for killing people more than for disabling equipment. He remotely programmed his war mission into the Smartbots that were already in place for the last few years. Unarmed and on the fly, the older machines would have to steal weapons during the assault.

Smartbots patrolled along First Street outside the hangers and some were grounded along the roads B4031 and A43. They surrounded the base along its outskirts as the interior units raided and plundered.

In eerie two by two cover, the Smartbots dispensed viscous hardware, conveying weapons to each other in a mechanical assembly line. Dozens of Al and Art models were armed and now loaded, brimming with hundreds of thousands of rounds. Using the heavy-duty freight trucks that served as their daytime work vehicles, Smartbots began loading them. Now, the machines were in possession of the greatest, most terrible, collection of ruthless firepower east of the States.

Infiltrating base-housing flats, they savagely killed every creature that breathed. Dreaming a final dream, never to wake again, most people died in their sleep. The machines pounded through the airfield clutching their new assault rifles and shoulder-mounted rocket launchers.

What the hell? Mate… Hey… Stop! ordered the security officer walking out of the radar center. Peppered with bullets, the husband and father of three splattered onto the lawn, dead.

Armed to the teeth, the machines opened up, throwing hot lead down range. The Smartbots even wasted the pets. They destroyed anything that moved. Aircraft were blitzed. They sacked and toppled massive white radar dishes. Air traffic control towers were ousted and sent crumbling. The siege happened in a flash. It took only a few minutes to lay waste to the majority of RAF bases around the United Kingdom.

World War III had begun.

What could only be deliberated on a mythological scale, Smartbots attacked the globe in a perfectly coordinated campaign. The United States, France, Israel, Japan, Germany, and other Nations endured the same fate.

It was just the beginning.

They targeted airbases for their jets and bombers saved for later. Some of the planes were not damaged and spared during the initial attack, reserved for the man-sized Art bots: they would commandeer the war-birds during the second assault wave, minutes and counting.

The smartest machines in the world boarded the deadliest flying weapons on earth. Afterburners fired down runways amidst the embers and smoke. Again and again, sonic boom penetrated the night sky as the bots hit Mach-1. Simple yet deliciously wicked; they flew on a basic mission. Swooping like ten thousand dragons plunging from the sky, epic fire spit destruction across the planet.

Simple in theory, however, the finest plans of war are always best when dummy proof. Confiscate numerous jets and strategic bombers from dozens of airbases and fly over the borders of Europe, the Middle East, and Asia. The bots navigated war-birds like seasoned pilots. Their blue eyes glowed inside cockpits while passing each other flying Soviet Migs, British Tornado’s Eurofighter Typhoons, French Dassault Rafales, and American F41s to name a few. Unleashing hell, the bots fired on nations.

Robots fully armed each jet before takeoff. Carrying every piece of available ordinance, releasing it all, they dropped the hammer on mankind. Naval Bases, ground installations, Capital buildings, and major cities burned. Most were leveled. Hundreds of Smartbots posted inside bases were killed alongside the natives. Many robots were lost in the attack. Casualties were planned; Dr. Pavlov knew some could not be avoided.

When the Art bots were down to firing blanks, they ejected out, landed, and resumed killing on the ground. Robots infiltrated Silos containing weapons of mass destruction. Few nukes remained after the treaty was signed in 2071, but few were needed. Humans panicked in the turmoil; Commanders gave the green light after war-birds crossed over their demarcation lines. Buttons were pushed. The ground opened and rockets fired out carrying thermonuclear warheads.

The Russians launched their WOMD as did China. Israel turned the Middle East into a parking lot. After the bomb exploded – its landscape changed a tiny bit, though, not by much.

The war raged in America as it did in Europe and the Middle East. Nukes cut the United States in half. The East and West Coast were left intact and a band of fallout separated the continent. As expected, the U.S. Military put up a better fight than Europe. Dr. Pavlov assigned European fighters to raid and help destroy the interior of America.

Robots flew over the Atlantic and Indian Oceans, leaving garrisons behind to mop up on the turf. Going door-to-door, the machines continued slaughtering under the cloud of nuclear fallout.

The United States couldn’t scramble enough fighters to intercept every robot flying over the Atlantic. A few slipped by. Surprisingly, Art bots fared well in dogfights. Before they were taken down, the Robots that made it over U.S. ground hit several key targets.

Only a handful of American fighters made it back. The Marine, Navy, and Air Force pilots had nowhere to land when it was all over. They flew home to find their bases smoldering and their runways demolished. Home didn’t exist anymore. Bobbling across cornfields and civilian airstrips, less than a dozen men landed intact. Out of ammo, the jets sat useless.

Washington D.C. was the crown jewel, Dr. Pavlov’s ultimate fantasy target. He was finally doing what so many millions joked about for the last thousand years. Dr. Pavlov was about to turn the Capital into a wasteland and bury it under the political elite. Done deal, like the Middle East, Washington DC and the United States Capital were turned into a parking lot.

Chapter 3 - Darkness Seven

"And starward drifts the stricken world,

Lone in unalterable gloom

Dead, with a universe for tomb,

Dark, and to vaster darkness whirled."

― George Sterling, The Thirst of Satan

Year: 3008:

Jekyll Island:

Seven years after the start of World War III:

Disguised as a rich man’s sanctuary, the modernity of the home’s walls hid the malevolence below its foundation. Its secrets lay underneath. As every other manmade structure in the world, it sat, covered in patina. The exterior maintenance left to its defenses, oxidizing helplessly against the untiring forces of nature. The onslaught of vegetation only mitigated by the constraints set by father time. Ivy grew wild and covered the home’s walls in a leafy blanket that danced in the wind. Green things towered higher than they’d ever imagined, dreaming to reach the sun.

The surrounding landscape appeared the same as it did throughout the rest of the world. Eyes of the remaining survivors saw nature conquering the land and taking over. Every spot of land was marked with distinct footprints of the wild.

Abandonment flashed like a raging inferno and passed the baton of decay, winning a slow and steady race, spreading over all things not born of this world. Cronus began to forget, day to night, to dawn, with each turn the world’s surface changed into the wasteland of an alien planet.

People were few and far apart. The world’s population was decimated to a relative handful; a few thousand souls, maybe… It wasn’t a fair fight. Man was no match against them, not in brute strength anyway; not one on one, not even five on one. They were stronger and faster than before.

A year into the war, Dr. Pavlov upgraded the design of his robots as well as their appearance. Now, they no longer resembled harmless, oversized lugs. His Smartbots looked the villainous part. Robots were the Destroyers of men. Earth’s survivors nicknamed them - Ker.

Four commandos stalked the home. The end of World War III was within reach. Grasping to steal it back, fate rested in their hands. The elite team of freedom fighters converged on the secret lair. Finally, Dr. Pavlov’s hideout was known.

The quad moved through dense brush, hearing waters fizz in gentle rhythms around the brink. Earth’s moon hovered low and close, pulling blue waters into the mysterious ocean deep. Frothy liquid churned over the shoreline, retreating, and grappling down the sand in bubbles. Salt and dampness filled the air, penetrating beyond the Atlantic hem. The warriors could smell it drifting inland over the dunes.

The laboratory home on Jekyll Island was kept close to the vest. From the time he perfected his QAI designs, Dr. Pavlov kept it secret, even from his wife when she was still among the living. Through many dead scouts, the resistance eventually found the goddamn place.

Fighting in all seven years of the campaign, LT Jonathan King had become a drunk. He loved his family but wasn’t the father and husband he should have been, not that he was around much. A hollow shell, the man slipped from his former self. He couldn’t help being that way; it was just the way things were. War, seven long years; it changed people.

LT King was the second man in the patrol, following his point and leading the elite team on the assault. Their mission of destiny was in sight. The grand old home sat in a tired and beaten vision.  Stalking from behind, they aimed their steps toward a ventilation shaft that edged the woods. An underground passageway was one hundred twenty yards from the back of the house.  The team gained closer and scanned for Ker, swallowing fear with each step.

Courage of warriors who put their feet on the ground was no less important than it had been a thousand years ago. Old things still rang true in this desolate world. Men’s guts and bravery still won the battles. So, too, the weapon of surprise was still the ultimate tactic. Their plan: sneak in undetected and enter the tunnel. Ironically, breaking and entering Dr. Pavlov’s lab would stop the war this time.

The commandos closed on their mark. Skirting the tree line and gingerly booting down with each step. The point man suddenly raised a fist and halted, stopping the three men behind him. They waited… Patiently, the men covered their assigned area of security, aiming their rifles outward.

The lead man signaled again with two fingers toward his eyes. We’re here, the point’s gesture affirmed. Twice more, he pointed at the airshaft grate and then his eyes. We’re here. LT King nodded, open it. Squatting over the grate, the point man went to work. The others took a knee and aimed their weapons, keeping their shifting eyes peeled.

The moon shined like a pretending sun, casting shadows off their bodies

Reviews for Clio and Cy

[doclee40 · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

CLIO AND CY, THE APOCALYPSE takes place in a future in which humankind is under attack by robots and genetically engineered man-eating humanoid creatures, all of which have been created by a mad genius, Dr. Seth Pavlov, who is determined to make the military, and the world, pay for killing his wife and stealing his secrets. The story focuses on the remaining survivors of this WWIII as they try to not only find a way to survive, but to also connect with other survivors such as themselves. Clio, a 12 year old girl, is trying to locate her mother, while Cy, a human friendly cyborg, is attempting to aid his creator, Dr. Pressfield, in finding a way to stop the mad genius responsible for the war.
The structure of the novel is well balanced, with varying moments of compassion and terror, as the survivors try to navigate a landscape filled with threats. The pacing is excellent, and the battle descriptions vivid; it definitely is a page turner and does keep the reader engaged. However, it does seem to take a while, approximately to chapter 4 before the reader gets to meet one of the protagonists that they will follow in the novel.
Lee demonstrates a firm knowledge of the military and its workings, including technology and terminology which often comes into play within this exciting piece of science fiction. There are a few times the action seems to moves a tad too fast when discussing Dr. Pavlov’s ability to create the monstrous robotic devices attacking humanity. More time in describing exactly how Dr. Pavlov was about to create these robotic devices in the time given once the war has begun might have helped make them more accessible to the reader. Other than this minor observation, the novel moves quite well and the description of the characters, especially Cy, Russ, and Clio are quite vivid and moving, and it’s easy to identify with them and to care about them.
Time flies when reading CLIO AND CY – a well paced, well written, science fiction tale.
Reviewed by Carlos Perez for IndieReader.