It’s been three years since the global uprising of the world's robots, three long years in which ordinary people waged a guerilla war that saved humankind from the brink of annihilation. But a horrific new enemy has emerged, and the resistance is called to fight once again. And in a world where humanity and technology are pushed to the breaking point, their one hope may reside with their former enemy—Archos R-14. "A galloping sci-fi account of a war between man and machine. ” — Entertainment Weekly     “Wilson’s imagination gains new heights. . . . Rife with promises we can’t wait for Wilson to keep.” — BookPage   “A near-perfect beach book for apocalyptic sci-fi fans.” — Richmond Times-Dispatch   “Terrifying.” —BoingBoing.net   “A solid read for anyone who likes . . . survivalist stories.” — The Pittsburgh Post-Gazette     “Raises intriguing and provocative questions about soul and sentience.” — Financial Times "An astounding novel." — Booklist (starred) "Thrilling." — The Oklahoman "Fiery action." — The Free Lance-Star (Fredericksburg, VA)    Daniel H. Wilson was born in Tulsa, Oklahoma and earned a B.S. in computer science from the University of Tulsa and a Ph.D. in robotics from Carnegie Mellon University in Pittsburgh. He is the author of Amped, Robopocalypse , How to Survive a Robot Uprising , Where's My Jetpack? , How to Build a Robot Army , The Mad Scientist Hall of Fame , and Bro-Jitsu: The Martial Art of Sibling Smackdown . 1. Parasite New War: Final Minutes In the last moments of the New War, the enemy Archos R-14 resorted to ruthless tactics. As exhausted allied soldiers finally reached the Ragnorak Intelligence Fields where Archos R-14 had buried itself, they were met with a nasty counterattack: scuttling, crablike machines that mounted the bodies of fallen soldiers. With titanium limbs buried in dead or dying flesh, soldier corpses rose again. These parasites dealt terrible damage to the bodies and minds of the living . . . but what was left behind when the battle ended was Archos R-14’s most horrific contribution to the True War. --Arayt Shah NEURONAL ID: LARK IRON CLOUD There was no way to win this war and we all knew it, but we marched anyway. I shove my checkerboard scarf deeper into my parka and hold my breath. Kneeling on the ice-kissed turf, I brace against a tree and press the cold rims of binocular-enhanced goggles against my face. The situation has well and truly gone to shit here in the godforsaken woods of western Alaska. The New War started when a thinking machine we call Big Rob turned our tools against us. In the madness of Zero Hour, some of us in Oklahoma found refuge with the Osage Nation. We survivors fell back to the rural town of Gray Horse and counted our lucky stars. But the machines evolved. Over months and years they crossed the Great Plains, slithered through the waving grass, and climbed our stone bluffs. So we fought then. And we fight now. Our bullets are chasing each other through black tree branches, tracers streaking like falling stars. The last lines of our walking tanks are arrayed defensively, spotlights glowing bright in the twilight, each four-legged hulk a pool of light spaced a half klick from its brothers and hunkered down to provide cover for ground forces. Dark enemy fire is whining out of the woods like mosquitoes. Most of their rounds are a flesh-burrowing variety called pluggers, but waves of exploding crawlers called stumpers are also skittering toward us. Letting the goggles flop on my neck, I get moving. My collar radio is hissing with cavalry calls from squads scattered over the rough countryside. Scrambling low through the trees, I ignore the clipped cries for help and head toward Beta squad. There are no reinforcements. There is nothing left now but metal and snow and blood. “Come in, Lonnie,” I pant into my radio. “You there?” “Go ahead,” comes the reply. The voice is measured and calm. It belongs to Lonnie Wayne Blanton, an old cowboy who happens to be our general. The man is important to me. He saved my life and put me on the right path and now I’m trying to figure out how in the hell to tell him that it was all for nothing. “All squads pinned down. Things are royally fucked. Moving to support Beta.” “Roger,” says Lonnie. A pause. “Hold on. Long as you can.” “Thank you,” I radio back. “Thank you for everything.” We made it this far only by reverse-engineering the enemy’s weapons. Gray Horse Army was able to march to within a thousand-mile perimeter of Big Rob. We left our blood splashed in the woods and we kept on marching. We broke the five-hundred-mile perimeter over the screaming of fallen soldiers. And here at the one-hundred-mile perimeter our force has splintered and broken and now we have lost everything. All we have left to fight for now is each other. Ducking stray fire, I close in on Beta squad’s position. The soldiers are back-to-back at the edge of a clearing. Most are lost in the dus