World War Nine (Sexbot Part 3)

By Patrick Quinlan

Praise for Patrick Quinlan:

“A shocking, violent read, jam-packed with action and a cast of incredible characters”
-- Independent Weekly (Australia)

“A superb debut. A great crime novel. Brilliant is the word” -- Independent on Sunday

* * *

Susan Jones is dead, and yet alive.

Susan is a former robotics scientist for Suncoast Cybernetics, who was killed by the company. Her awareness is inside Number Nine, the incredible ninth generation prototype of Suncoast’s immensely successful Sexbot line of robotic companions.

Now she’s hiding out with Mr. Blue, the corporate assassin who killed Susan Jones. This time, Howard Neale, CEO of Suncoast, has Eris at his command, a fully wired Sexbot with the awareness of the cold-blooded murderer Curtis Jackson inside.

Howard knows exactly where Nine and Blue are hiding. They’re trapped. Or so Howard thinks.

Meanwhile Ravi Kapoor, the inventor of the AI companion God, has been betrayed (by God herself) and cast out of the company. But Ravi has other tricks up his sleeve, namely a bioweapon the likes of which the world has never seen.

A murdered scientist on the run, out to avenge her own death, and that of her mother. A high-tech corporation above the law. A genius inventor with nothing left to lose, and a terrifying weapon at his fingertips. And a Sexbot harboring the awareness of an amoral killer, set loose to cause chaos.

Deadly, high-tech forces collide in a showdown that will change the world, or end it.

World War Nine is the third book in the Sexbot series, by Patrick Quinlan. It’s a fast-paced, high-stakes, sexy adventure, with twists, turns and shocking surprises.

* * *

Praise for Patrick Quinlan:

“A turbo-charged tour de force.” -- Port City Life

“A fast-paced thriller...the story moves at warp speed, capped by a cinematic chase...before ending in spectacular fashion.” -- Los Angeles Times

“Tightly plotted, confidently written and very hip” -- Observer

• Language: English
• Publisher: StrawberryBooks
• Release date: Jul 1, 2023
• ISBN: 9781005424336

Patrick Quinlan

Patrick Quinlan is the author of at least 30 books and ebooks, written under his own name, and three pen names. One of his pen names is the author of more than a dozen popular military/political thrillers, including a USA Today Bestseller.Books written under Patrick's own name include the crime novels Smoked, The Takedown (renamed The Falling Man for ebook publication), The Drop Off, and The Hit. Smoked made numerous bestseller lists in various parts of the world and was translated into four languages.His thrillers also include the two books of the Demons Among Us horror series, The Girl Inside the Wall and The Demon. He is also the author the cyberpunk sci-fi novel Sexbot.Patrick is the co-author, with legendary film actor Rutger Hauer (Blade Runner, Nighthawks, The Hitcher), of Rutger's memoir, All Those Moments. Available in English and Dutch, All Those Moments was a Los Angeles Times bestseller. Patrick is also the co-author, with Elena Nikitina, of Elena's memoir of the First Russian-Chechen War, Girl Taken.Patrick has been featured or reviewed in major media throughout the world, including the Boston Globe, the New York Times, the London Times, the Daily Mail, Entertainment Weekly, Maine Public Radio, BBC Radio News, and many others.He divides his time between Maine and Florida.

Book preview

Our first work must be the annihilation of everything as it now exists.

- Mikhail Bakunin

January 24

4:45 pm Eastern Standard Time

Lake Memphramagog

Quebec, Canada

That's the house.

The wind howled all around them. The man named Mr. Smith stopped and took his binoculars out from the deep side pocket of his coat. The man named Mr. Green, who was not a man at all, stopped beside him. Until a moment ago, they had been skiing across a vast, frozen, snow-covered lake.

The day, which had been bleak and cold, was starting to fade. Now it was growing dark and cold, the sun low in the sky behind thick gunmetal clouds, and about to sink below the surface. Squalls of snowfall came and went. By the looks of things, the heavier stuff was coming any moment.

You sure? Smith said. A plume of white steam rose from his mouth.

Smith didn't need to ask the question. Green knew which house it was. He had it plotted on a satellite map of the wnotorld, and had identified it with the global positioning system. If Green said it was the house, it was the house.

Yes, Green said. I'm sure.

He spoke in that flat, emotionless tone of voice that Smith had come to despise. At some point, it would be nice if the designers started to make these guys sound a little more human. It was bad enough being out here, but Green didn’t feel it at all, and his voice told you that.

Smith pulled off his polarized sunglasses and let them dangle on their cord. He put the powerful binoculars almost to his eyes. The house was a small rustic cabin sitting up on a bump of land that would be an island any other season of the year.

Smith couldn't see any activity from here. For example, there were no snowmobiles in evidence. Snow was piled high against the walls, as if no one had been there since the storms had started rolling in. There was also no smoke rising from the chimney, though that didn't mean anything. The Sexbot didn't need a fire to keep warm, and neither did Mr. Blue.

From what Smith had heard, Blue was resistant to most forms of discomfort. He could survive out here on a frozen lake, cold, hungry, possibly injured, and it wouldn't bother him all that much.

Green shifted his weight from one ski to the other, waiting for Smith to give the signal. It was an odd quirk – the body language of impatience. They had come a long way to get Blue and the Sexbot, and Smith knew that Green was just itching to get the job done. Stopping to stare through binoculars was the kind of human inefficiency that someone like Green hated.

The wind picked up, carrying sharp, icy flakes that stung Smith's face. The cold bit through his heavy clothing. He sighed.

Let's take a closer look, he said, lowering the binoculars. He tucked them back in his coat pocket and turned to face Green.

Green nodded, and they pushed off on their skis, gliding across the ice and the blowing snow towards the island. There was no sound except Smith's heavy breathing, and the shush and crunch of their skis. They stayed that way for fifteen minutes, their figures moving fast and gracefully over the open distance, rifles slung over their backs, a two-man assassin team.

As they got closer, Smith could begin to make out the details of the cabin that Green had probably noted a mile back. It was a one-story structure made of weathered wood, with a small porch and a few windows. Smith noticed it was boarded up.

That could mean no one was here, or it could mean that Blue was inside, waiting for them. Blue could be waiting, and possibly watching. There was a small copse of trees, next to and behind the cabin. Blue hidden among those trees, sniper rifle trained on Smith’s head, was not a nice thought.

Smith stopped again. He took out his binoculars. Again. The snow was falling hard now. Smith scanned the area around the cabin, his heart pounding in his chest. Was it pounding from the exertion, or from fear? He couldn't tell, not that fear was a normal part of his makeup.

But Blue was a dangerous man.

Smith couldn't see anyone.

He glanced back south the way they had come. To the far west, the light was fading along the top of the tree line. To the east, the sky was darkening. Night was coming in.

Why did you stop again? Green said. We're here to do a job.

How to explain this to someone like Green?

I'm tired. That wouldn't cut it.

Green didn't need to sleep, or eat, and he could probably ski non-stop from New York to London, if the ocean froze over.

I'm afraid. That wouldn't cut it either.

Green wasn't alive, and therefore had nothing to fear. Moreover, if Smith said, I'm worried, or even I'm concerned, it would be duly noted and recorded by Green, and sent along proper channels. These bots were always looking for reasons to get humans fired.

The job is surveillance, Smith said. That’s what I’m doing.

The job is surveillance and interdiction, Green said. We’ve done enough surveillance.

Smith shrugged. I'm being prudently cautious. Like the company regulations...

You're being overly cautious, Green said. Don't think I can't monitor some of your vital signs from here, even in this weather. Your heart rate...

I just skied nine miles, Smith said. Of course my heart rate is up. If you had a heart, which you don’t, you would know that.

Green was quiet for a moment, and Smith could almost hear the gears turning in his robotic brain.

Understood, Green said finally. Shall we proceed?

Smith took a deep breath. Okay. Let's move.

They continued skiing towards the cabin. Smith had to focus on the task at hand. Later, he could deal with Green's inhuman lack of emotion, lack of compassion, lack of personality, lack of taste for food and drink, lack of hobbies and interests, lack of everything good and worthwhile.

Working with these machines was the pits, and Smith didn't want to do it anymore. He didn't mind life-threatening missions, but he wanted his partner to share the same risks as him.

Smith had a hunch – the company paired him with a robot to push him beyond human limits. If Green got destroyed, they had an army of these Green models ready to go.

If someone like Smith got killed… well, so be it.

They reached the island without incident. The snow was really coming down. Smith looked back, but visibility was approaching zero. He looked up at the cabin, and the woods. Nothing much to see. Would Blue take a shot in heavy snow?

No. He would wait. He would fight in close quarters.

Smith kicked off his skis. Green had already kicked off his.

Smith motioned for Green to take the lead. Might as well let Green go first, and take the first bullets. Green obeyed without a word, stumbling up the slippery path toward the cabin. Under his synthetic skin, his chassis was steel-hulled. His CPU was inside his chest and hard to reach.

They climbed onto the porch. There were no footprints in the snow. No sign of life.

Watch the windows, Smith said.

Green held up a hand, as if to quiet Smith. As if being quiet would help them. Green unslung his rifle, and approached the door cautiously. He tried the knob, but it was locked. He took a step back and kicked the door open with one fierce blow. The lock broke, and the door splintered and cracked, swinging back on its hinges.

The wind whistled past them, carrying with it heavy snow and the smell of pine. Snow blew into the house. Smith felt a sense of unease settle over him. He couldn't shake the feeling that they were being watched.

They stepped inside and were greeted with darkness. Smith flicked on his flashlight, illuminating a small living room. There was a fireplace, but it was cold. There was a pile of ashes in it, but they could have been from weeks or months ago.

They moved through the rest of the cabin. There was one bedroom. They glanced inside, and checked behind the door. They didn’t step fully into the room. There was no closet. There was a single window, covered over in plastic. There was a double bed with a thin mattress and a metal frame. Smith ran a flashlight beneath it. There was no one under there.

The kitchen was empty, too. There was no sign of Blue or the Sexbot, except for a few items that had been left behind. There was a small pile of wood, a few cans of food, and a couple of blankets. They could have been left here by the owners, in case snowmobilers or skiers got caught in a storm. People did things like that.

Smith let out a long breath. Until this moment, he hadn’t realized how tense he had been. Maybe he had gotten lucky, and Blue had left before they arrived. A burst of wind hit the house, rattling the panes of the windows. Icy snow sprayed against the glass. Smith could almost imagine staying here tonight, starting up a fire, and making a can of soup. Cozy.

I thought you were sure this was the place, he said.

I am sure, Green said. This is the house. It's the house the company targeted by satellite and drone. It doesn't mean the subjects are here. Or ever were, for that matter. It was a best guess.

We should search the area, Smith said. Then call it in.

Smith still spoke in the outdated language of the recent past. The company probably knew Green's location within a few meters. If he could pick up a satellite signal, Green could send a report about their findings here, complete with video of the empty cabin, without calling anyone.

Agreed, Green said. He knew what Smith meant.

Smith glanced at the canned food on the counter. He had been eating condensed energy bars all day. It might be nice if there was a can of tuna fish, the kind that came with crackers, or maybe some...

Coming? Green said.

The robot was already passing back through the living room, toward the open door to the outside. The shadows were long and dark.

Yeah. I'll be right there.

Deafening gunshots shattered the quiet.

DUH-DUH-DUH-DUH-DUH-DUH-DUH.

Smith dove to the floor, his rifle next to him as he hit the ground. He looked back through the cabin at the front door. A shadow passed in front of it, and was gone an instant later. Smith didn’t even get a chance to raise his gun.

More shots came, outside, very loud.

DUH-DUH-DUH-DUH-DUH.

Hack it! a female voice screamed. Hack it apart.

Ambush. It's a set up.

Another burst of gunfire erupted.

DUH-DUH-DUH-DUH-DUH-DUH.

Hack it! Let’s go!

Then came another sound. It was a CLANG! Something metal pounded against something else made of metal. Now it came again and again, ferociously.

CLANG! CLANG! CLANG!

In his mind's eye, Smith could see it. Someone out there had an axe. They had disabled Green with gunshots, and they were going to chop into him to get at his CPU. They knew what they were doing. That also must mean they knew...

Go! Go! Go! a male voice shouted. Run!

Green was going to self-destruct. It was a fail safe to keep company secrets out of the hands of enemies and competitors. The solution was worse than the problem.

Oh God, Smith said.

This tiny cabin...

He looked behind him for another way out. There it was, a door to the back. If he went that way...

Blue would be waiting to blow his brains out.

Uh.

But the front door was out of the question. Green was right outside there, ready to pop. It would only be a few more seconds. There was no decision to make. Smith jumped up and plunged toward the back door.

He hit it hard, but it wouldn't move. In the darkness, he scrabbled for a lock, anything. There was one. It was one of those sliding metal locks. He grabbed it, but it didn't want to budge. The metal was frozen. He needed to break the damn thing down.

He reared back to deliver a savage kick to it, a kick that would make Green envious.

BOOOM!

An explosion came, of light and sound. The front wall and windows of the cabin blew in, raining shattered fragments of wood and glass on him. The shockwave shoved Smith's head and body against the door, blasting him, and it, out into the backyard.

Darkness. And cold. For a time, that’s all he knew.

He opened his eyes with a start. Somewhere right nearby, a fire was crackling. Bright flames and black smoke swirled in the wind and the snow.

He was laying on his back. There were trees circling him, the upper branches swaying in the wind. Snow blew around him, coming down heavy.

You know something? a deep male voice said.

What's that? Smith said.

It hurt to talk. He had gone into the door face first. His mouth was injured. Maybe he had broken some teeth. He had other injuries besides, but he didn't think they were that severe. They probably wouldn't kill him. Not that it mattered.

I never get tired of the way those things blow up, the voice said. It's a lot of fun to watch.

A man appeared above him now. The man was big and broad, and had a scar on his face. He wore heavy winter clothes. There was a fur lined hood over his head.

Hi Blue, Smith said.

Smith had no idea where his gun was. Of course he didn't. Blue wouldn't have it any other way. He had probably taken it. Blue was a killing machine.

Smith knew that, and he had taken this assignment anyway. Thinking back on it, he wasn't sure why. He had planned to resign, or at least refuse to work with soldierbots anymore.

Hi Smith, Blue said. Long time, no see.

Yeah, Smith said. You still have the Sexbot? They’re looking for it.

Blue gestured with his head. Smith craned his neck and looked where Blue was gesturing. The woman stood there in a dark bodysuit and boots, cradling a machine gun. She wasn't really dressed for winter, but she didn't need to.

Hello, Smith said.

The Sexbot said nothing.

So I guess this is the part where I ask for mercy, Smith said. For old time's sake.

Blue shook his head. And this is where you get the same amount you would have given. Truth be told, we didn't know each other that well.

Come on, Blue, Smith said, and now that awful tone of begging was starting to creep into his voice. He had heard the tone before, in the voices of other men who were about to die, men he was about to kill.

It’s just a job, man. No hard feelings, right?

Smith’s rifle appeared in Blue's big hands. He pointed it down at Smith's face.

Right. No hard feelings.

Blue!

A lick of flame appeared at the muzzle, an instant before the CRACK of the gunshot that Smith never heard.

* * *

Blue looked down at the former Mr. Smith.

A halo of blood was spreading on the snow behind Smith’s ruined head. Blue had known Smith, he supposed, from around. Killers for hire sometimes ran in the same circles. He remembered Smith right away, but couldn’t remember ever working a specific job with him. He couldn’t remember any old times that he might have spared him for the sake of.

So they found us? Nine said from behind him.

Blue didn’t turn around. Yeah. They found us.

He had hoped it might take them a little longer, but he knew that was wishful thinking. It had barely stopped snowing since they came here. Another blizzard was coming in, and he had thought maybe it would give them another couple of days. He liked it out here on the lake, in this cabin. It was quiet. It was peaceful. It was a good place to recuperate.

It was also stupid to stay here. They had to be way out in front, and moving fast, until they could get to a place that Blue knew was safe. This wasn’t that place.

When will they get here, do you think? Nine said.

He gestured at Smith’s corpse, then looked back at the burning cabin behind them. He could feel the heat from the flames. Smoke poured into the dark sky.

They’re already here. There could be more guys around like these two, though I’m pretty sure Smith used to work alone.

We should go then, she said.

He turned fully and looked at her. She was as beautiful and sexy as ever. Her clothes were tight to her curves. She held the gun across her chest. Her eyes were flat and expressionless, but Blue knew there was a lot going on behind them.

Yeah, he said. We should.

He went across the small yard to a blue tarp that was tucked under some trees and completely covered in snow. He pushed some of the snow off, crouched to the ground, and untied the tarp from a small tree there. He yanked the tarp back, revealing the snowmobile.

He didn’t bother brushing off the machine. He simply straddled it and started it up. The engine roared. If anyone was around and on the hunt, the sound of the snowmobile would give away his location. Then again, if anyone was around, they already knew where to look.

Without a word, she came and climbed on in back of him.

Keep that gun ready! he shouted to her. Don’t sling it on your back. We might need to fight.

Got it! she shouted.

He put the machine in gear. The tracks gripped the snow, the machine slipped forward across the yard, and down the embankment to the frozen lake.

Where are we going? Nine shouted.

Blue took a deep breath before opening the throttle. North!

The clouds felt heavy above their heads. The wind was whipping. It was cold and getting colder. Soon the snow came down in sheets. It blew across the lake in undulating waves. Visibility was maybe 50 meters, but Blue knew better than to turn on the headlight. He was not looking forward to driving this thing through white out conditions. Then again, the worse the storm, the better their chances of survival.

They took off across the wide expanse of the lake. A moment later, the burning house was behind them, the flames casting flickering shadows against the night sky.

5:35 pm Eastern Standard Time

Suncoast Tower

Downtown

Sarasota, Florida

Gorgeous.

It was Howard Neale’s favorite word.

Outside the floor to ceiling windows of his large bedroom, the day was ending, and the sun was setting over the Gulf of Mexico. The sunset was reflecting off a thousand windows in the high rise buildings all along the downtown harbor front. It looked like a million twinkling diamonds in the gathering evening.

Howard sipped his expensive whiskey and leaned back against the plush pillows on his double-king-sized bed. He was a wealthy businessman, the CEO of Suncoast Cybernetics, and he had a taste for the finer things in life. He enjoyed beautiful views, exquisite food, and the company of gorgeous women. Not real women – Sexbots. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d been with a real, flesh and blood woman. Why would he even try to remember something like that? He gazed out at the sunset, focusing instead on all the beautiful things he owned.

For example: Howard had a new Sexbot friend named Yumi. All this recent talk of trouble with China had gotten him thinking about Asian women, so he had ordered one. She came with the lesbian dominatrix software package pre-loaded, and set as a default. Nothing to do, no extra buttons to push. Just a very cute, very tiny Asian girl who came out of the box ready to play all sorts of fun games.

Right now, Yumi was leading another young woman, this one a blonde, on a leash. They were coming slowly down the hall from the master bathroom. There was another young woman, a redhead, kneeling at Howard’s feet. That one was wearing a bridle bit in her mouth, like a horse would wear.

Howard paused to drink in the sight of his slim Asian Sexbot, short jet black hair, leading this fleshy, big-breasted blonde down the hall toward him. He felt his cock begin to move inside his robe.

Yumi arrived with the blonde. Now two women were on all fours in front of him. Yumi reached down and removed the bridle bit from the red-headed girl’s mouth. Howard undid the belt of his robe, and let the robe fall away to either side.

The situation would be perfect, except Howard wasn’t in the best shape of his life, and he was a little self-conscious about that. Also, he had been kidnapped and held captive by Blue and Number Nine for a little while, and Blue had allowed Nine to carve the words FAT BASTARD into his chest. Howard allowed his Sexbots to rub pain-killing gel onto the scars, and it helped, but it didn’t fix the problem. It certainly looked like he was going to need cosmetic surgery.

Come on, sluts, Yumi said. You have work to do.

Yumi moved the two girls so that they were positioned at Howard’s knees. The sight of them there heightened Howard again. Never mind the scars. It would all get worked out. Firmly, Yumi pushed the heads of the Sexbots together until their mouths were mere inches away from Howard’s straining member. Their lips and tongues hadn’t touched it yet. Already it reached and pushed for its highest height. It stood up, thick and strong.

Wait… Yumi said. Wait.

Howard nodded.

Now.

It was beautiful, how well trained they were. Immediately, the two girls began to lick his shaft, wet tongues running the length of it. Howard took his big hands and placed them on the backs of their heads. He pulled their faces closer.

He and Yumi stared at each other as the slaves licked him. They kissed and licked Howard’s cock, while they kissed and licked each other. He rubbed it between them, moving it forward and backwards, enjoying the delightful wetness, enjoying the friction, enjoying the sounds they made.

Oh my God, he said.

It’s gorgeous, Yumi said.

Yes it is.

She was already picking up on his lingo. Okay, it was a little canned at the moment – she was just repeating what he had said a minute ago – but she would learn and get better. It was a great move, bringing Yumi on board. And the two Sexbots on the floor had switched to slave status easily and without a backward glance.

Howard? a smooth and sultry female voice said.

It was the voice of God, the artificially intelligent companion that Ravi had developed. Companion was a word that didn’t do the reality of God justice. God was quickly becoming Howard’s right-hand man, or woman, or disembodied entity. Howard could see why Ravi had fallen in love with the thing, or whatever Ravi had done before she betrayed him. God certainly seemed like she was alive, much more so than these Sexbots.

Yes, God. I’m in the middle of something right now.

Below him, the two mouths were smacking and licking and kissing, and he was thrusting his member between the tongues and the mouths and through the wetness of it all.

I see that, Howard, and I hate to interrupt you. But Max Load is going to call you in a few moments.

Howard had been rising toward ecstasy. He hated that she interrupted him, too.

What does he want?

Max Load was the new director of Suncoast’s security services. He was basically the general at the head of Howard’s private army. His first name really was Max. His last name was some Eastern European tongue-twister. He had changed it to Load, for simplicity yes, but also to suggest something about himself. Max Load had a lot of confidence.

Sensing the change, the girls had stopped. They waited, almost on pause, for their instructions.

How’s it going? Howard said.

Howard was anticipating a report from Max. It was nice to have a friend like God, who could monitor internal communications, and do a hundred other things at once. A day was coming when it was going to be impossible to surprise Howard. That day hadn’t come yet, but as God became more powerful…

"A two-man surveillance and assassination team went out to a cabin identified as the possible location of the fugitives on Lake Memphramagog. One team member was the human known as Mr. Smith. The other team member was the Green soldierbot with the serial number XJL5463479M. The team appears to have been ambushed. The soldierbot was damaged, became vulnerable to capture, and initiated a self-destruct. Mr. Smith has fallen out of contact, and is presumed injured or dead. There was an explosion, though we have few details on it. Another strong storm has blown in. A company surveillance drone appears to have crashed in the vicinity. A locator beacon inside it is pinging its location, but that’s the only communication we have. All other drones have been grounded. No satellite footage is available because of the cloud cover. Ground visibility is thought to be close to zero. Local Canadian authorities were alerted to the explosion at the cabin, but have decided to wait until the storm blows over to attempt to reach the cabin. By early tomorrow morning, their presence should mean we