Chapter 5 - THE SECTOR SWEEP
The low, rhythmic grinding of the autonomous sanitation drones echoed up the asphalt avenue, their wide, industrial rollers churning against the pavement with an industrial inevitability that sent a cold shiver down Julian’s spine. The twin LED headlights of the primary sweeper cut through the misty air, casting long, distorted shadows of the two police officers and the immobile wheelchair against the brick wall.
“Come on, connect!” Julian sobbed, his thumbs flying across the cracked glass of his mother’s phone as he desperately tried to force the local node bridge to accept the data transfer. The progress bar crept forward at a torturous pace: 88 percent… 89 percent…
“Time’s up, kid,” Officer Miller said, his voice dropping all pretense of bureaucratic routine as he took a firm grip on the handlebars of Clara’s wheelchair. “We have to move her to the containment zone. The sanitation sweepers don’t recognize pedestrian override codes once they’re in motion.”
“Don’t touch her!” Julian snarled, throwing his small body over his mother’s lap, shielding her with his arms. “You’re not putting her in any containment zone! We’re going to the hospital, the bridge is almost finished! Look, 49,990! Ten more! Just ten more followers!”
Officer Vance grabbed Julian by the collar of his blue polo shirt, lifting him smoothly away from the wheelchair with practiced ease, setting him down a few feet away despite the boy’s flailing kicks and muffled cries. “Stop fighting us, you little idiot! We’re trying to keep you both from getting crushed by a machine that doesn't even know what a human life is!”
“Let me go! Mom!” Julian shrieked, his fingers clawing at the concrete as Vance held him firmly in place.
Clara clutched her swollen belly, her eyes wide with terror as the massive metallic silhouette of the sanitation drone loomed less than twenty yards away, its rotating steel brushes sparking against a discarded soda can. “Julian… keep streaming… don’t let… the signal drop…”
“Node merge complete!” the automated kiosk announced with a cheerful, high-pitched chime that sounded obscenely joyful against the roar of the approaching machine. “Total verified engagement: 50,001 followers.”
The massive steel bollards blocking the hospital entrance dropped into the pavement with a sharp mechanical thud, and the pedestrian signal flashed a brilliant, uninterrupted green.
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But as Miller released Julian and turned to wheel Clara forward, the lead sanitation drone suddenly veered off its track, its navigation system locking onto the sudden surge of data and pivoting directly toward their exact coordinates.
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