Machines of the Dead

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“Damn it,” Dr. Reynolds said when he looked through the glass into the containment room. Homeless person number 14 was d ead, the bots taking too much of the man’s energy, sucking him down to almost nothing more than a husk.

“I don’t understand why the programming isn’t working,” he said, and hit the kill switch, filling the containment room with enough electromagnetic energy to wipe out a small town ’s electrical equipment. “The bots worked perfectly in the rats.”

“Sir,” said Dr. Chan, his assistant. “The human brain is just too complex. Maybe we-”

“Maybe we what, t ell the military that their project is too much for us? That they should find another company to work on this project? We’ll just give back the millions upon millions we’ve been funded, and say sorry.”

Dr. Chan sighed and looked down. “I’ll have more test subjects rounded up. The city’s full of them.”

“ Get on that; tell C hambers I want at least twenty-no, thirty.”

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