Rise of the Machines: Book 1: Once Awakened

by Briana Ervin

  “Our only problem is being caught, right?” I began. My comrades turned their attention to me, making me nervous, but I went on: “The fog is thick; what if the Superiority models can't see us well?”

  There was a brief silence. Cyrii looked at me attentively. “What are you suggesting...?” the largest model asked slowly.

  “If we organized ourselves in order of model number, but don't break position, we could see if we agitate one of the Superiority models,” I said, “yet we won't cause enough harm to be punished.”

  Cyrii's eyes lit up with the idea.“That's... not too bad of an idea,” she said. The other models exchanged glances with each other. The largest grey one scrutinized me the same way Garenede does.

  “You think that'll work, 767?” the 56 model asked me, but Cith quickly nodded in agreement.

  “Yeah... and if nothing happens, we'll just charge right in!” he said.

  “That's equally stupid,” the female retorted.

  “Hey, unless you have a better idea, we're going with it, Tris-... 199,” he corrected himself, squinting at the number printed on her shoulder. “Whoa, only 199?”

  “New model,” she snapped, bristling at his near-correction.

  “I thought Pushers were being discontinued?”

  “Only 56 models,” she glanced at me, and I turned to look at the other 56 beside me. What was wrong with us...? Granted, for a Pusher model we were a bit weird, with a Traverser model trait and our unusual size... Most Pusher models were smaller and lighter so they could take cover behind the Tanks they protected. It wasn't like we were inefficient though.

  “Your guess is as good as mine,” Cyrii responded to my thoughts, before pressing the comm button: “Should we go in descending or ascending order?”

  “Who cares? Let's just see if the babysitters are watching.” Cith pushed his way between 199 and someone else, earning an orange glare from her. It wasn't really decided what order we were going in, but we unanimously decided on ascending. That put me in the middle of the front three, with the largest 49 model to my left and the other 56 to my right. 199 was on the back right end, with Cith still behind me and the remaining model to his left. Nothing really changed, it seems...

  “49, 56, 56, 63, 66, 74...” Cyrii counted, turning my head to assess everyone. “All right, anyone see any Superiorities flying around?”

  We all swiveled and pivoted, looking for any mechs, but even the thinner parts of the fog revealed nothing new. No drones, no mechs, not even an indicative flash of metal or debris overhead. The humming of the drones around us continued on uninterrupted.

  “We're in the clear,” the 56 reported.

  “I... guess they didn't see us?” the light brown 63 model said cautiously.

  “I don't believe that for a second,” 199 snorted derisively.

  “If this is a simulation, we should have been warned for doing a task other than the one we were given, no matter how trivial,” the 56 pointed out.

  “If this is a simulation, we would be warned for standing around like idiots!” she retorted.

  “But we we're ordered to do so... but we were taught not to... but we were ordered to do so...” the 63 tried to reason. Cyrii frowned, sitting back and keeping her thoughts to herself.

  “Don't think about it too hard or you'll fry your circuits,” the 56 model warned. I winced at the idea.

  “Yeah, stop thinkin' Gilus,” 199 teased.

  “But it's all I'm good at!” he protested

  “SHUT UP,” the gruffer 49 model suddenly barked. We all grew stock still and quiet. I stared straight ahead, waiting for something. “...You hear that?”

  “What are we listening for?” Cyrii whispered to me, even though my hull was virtually soundproof.

  I don't know, I said honestly, as puzzled as she was.

  “Am I supposed to be hearing something?” Cith asked. The 49 model turned to stare at him. “...What?”

  “I can't hear anything different,” Gilus agreed.

  “60-range models...” the 49 grumbled, but instead of explaining what he noticed he looked at the other three of us. I strained to pick up anything unusual, staring off where the Tanks were last seen.

  I don't understand...

  “Wait!” Cyrii suddenly jumped.

  What?

  “Turn back a bit. Just a smidge.”

  I twitched a whole nicroQ to the left. Cyrii started increasing my microphone's sensitivity.

  Oh no, I stiffened as even the soft whirs of movement became deafening, this is a bad idea. She ignored me, raising the sensitivity even higher. Cyrii, I can't hear without-!

  “Hold up, all right?” Cyrii snapped quietly. “Listen to the background noise!”

  Hoping no one spoke with my mic sensitivity so high, I tried to pick out the different frequencies in the background. There was the now-deafening thrum of the drones above us, the pounding of the others' engines, and the crackling of the embers. Every time someone moved I heard a loud whir right next to me. I started filtering out the sounds I knew to clarify the noises I was hearing. More whirring, more humming, some shuffling, more crackling, some pebbles settling on the ground... Wait... what was that?

  “You hear that pulsing?” Cyrii whispered.

  Yes! A pulsing impact.

  “It's almost like someone is banging his head against a wall. Or maybe walking.”

  No, it's too slow and too regular.

  “An Enemy device??” Cyrii mused. I tried to study the frequencies further, but something shifted – who knows how far away – and fell with the clang. A horribly loud screech translated through the mic.

  Cyrii and I both shrieked, and I fell backward into Cith!

  “WHOA!” he shouted. Everyone else jumped too, weapons at the ready.

  “What's going on?!”

  “Were you shot?!”

  “767!”

  The 66 model braced himself, keeping us from both falling over. The clamoring sounded like we were in the a thunderstorm! Cyrii yelped and spun my microphone sensitivity all the way down, gasping. “I-I really hope I'm okay...!”

  I couldn't hear her through my own feedback, shaking my head with a squeal. “I....!” I squeezed my blast shield shut for a moment, trying to adjust my tone. “It was LOUD!”

  “What was loud?!” Gilus cried in exasperation. “What's everyone hearing that I'm not?!”

  The other 56 model jerked suddenly while Cith pushed me back onto my feet. “Whoa... what's that?”

  Gilus groaned in frustration along with 199. Cyrii was doing something with her head – checking for damage, maybe – so I took a moment to readjust my mic sensitivity to an appropriate level.

  “Are we the only three that can hear that pulsing?” the 49 rhetorically asked.

  “I have a giant gun on my head and you're asking me if I can hear well?” 199 snapped.

  “Don't you have microphone sensitivity?”

  “It sounds like a drill,” the 56 model's comment halted any potential arguments. We all stared at him, and he switched his green gaze to each of us in turn. “Doesn't it? Like an impact drill.”

  “The copper mine is tons of anoT away!” Cith huffed. “Besides, we're still standing around out here while we have Tanks inside undefended!”

  “No,” I corrected him. They all looked at me.

  “'No'?” Cith asked, as if it wasn't an appropriate answer.

  “My sensitivity was very high,” I explained, “ I heard no mechs or drones inside. Only the drones above us.”

  199 twitched. “Wwwhat?”

  “Oh Gryn, these bloody mind-games!” Cith complained, “Isn't war straightforward? You point at the thing, shoot the thing, and kill the thing!”

  “Apparently it's not that easy,” the 56 model said, studying me.

  “Ryte and the other Tanks have to be in there,” the 49 model argued, “we watched them go in. I heard them go in!”

  “And I recall a distinct lack of 'bang bang',” 199 pointed out, “I c
ame out here for 'bang bang'. I'm gettin' some!”

  “She's right,” the 56 model said, “for skillens in a crate, we sure are composed and sneaky.”

  The confusion ultimately sunk in. This situation wasn't any clearer than that lab I had to go clean! We really were skillens in a crate, but there was a distinct lack of action. The outpost was swarming with Enemies; so where were they?

  “This is maddening,” 199 growled, “I'm going in!”

  “Wait, what? You can't just march in!” Gilus objected, but she ignored him, pushed past me and promptly trotted toward the outpost. There was a defeated wall that allowed even larger mechs to simply walk in, and although the pile of bricks outside of it wasn't very stable, our Tank models had no trouble climbing inside. So 199 confidently began to scale it, not keeping a very good eye out for Enemies. Gilus sighed. “Why is she always like this?” he mumbled.

  “Well. I'm not standing around to see what superior's scales we just rubbed backwards,” Cith decided. “See you in Alkinest!”

  Off he went, following 199. I looked at the remaining three mechs before pursuing him.

  “767!...” Gilus's words died in his speaker. “Oh Gryn, now what...?”

  “You realize this is stupid, right?” Cryii mumbled. She sounded as though she was still recovering from that blast of microphone feedback.

  No more stupid than idling around, I decided, hiking up the pile of bricks and rubble. I heard some scrambling behind me, but didn't turn to see who it was. Evidently all six of us were going in. Well... “in”. The building was so torn apart it was hard to tell what it was for. You would be lucky to find a room with more than three walls standing. Luckily the outpost's design was roomy enough that it wasn't cramped for us – even the 49 model – but there was still a distinct lack of both foes and allies; only a few smoldering fires populated the area. Suspicion heightened in our group, except for 199, who was stomping around looking for anything to blow up. If Cyrii wasn't semi-incapacitated, she would probably be urging me to do the same thing; instead, I kept an eye out for movement, playing the role of caution since this was only my second, real battle in a war zone. The rest of my fighting experience was localized and heavily balanced in my favor in comparison to this constant danger of being swarmed and overtaken.

  “Empty,” Cith observed upon entering. “Maybe the drones are all out taking a flight.”

  “Any trace of Ryte and the others?” the 49 asked, coming through the hole in the wall. Gilus ran out in front of him and peeked around.

  “I don't see anything,” the 66 model shrugged all six arms. “Unless you magically notice something.”

  “Gilus?”

  “No one. Every room is trashed and empty,” Gilus reported. His red eye betrayed the amount of worry he had. I scanned the marred concrete floor for any clues, but picked up nothing unusual. I felt Cyrii take my controls again and turn me to look around.

  Are you okay? I asked her immediately. There was a pause before she responded.

  “I'll be fine,” she said. She hardly sounded convincing.

  If we're ambushed let me take care of them, I insisted.

  “767-”

  Cyrii.

  She didn't bother arguing with me, just flattening her mouth into a thin line. She already looked exhausted, and I knew Xinschi-uual didn't do well with loud noises; mechs had built-in sound normalizers for that. I didn't want Cyrii to trip me up mid-battle from trying to help before her equilibrium was reestablished.

  “767.” The 49 model caught my attention. I looked up at him. “Anything?”

  “Not yet,” I answered. He let out a low growl.

  “How does one lose a three-ton Tank?” he grumbled.

  “Four three-ton Tanks!” 199 corrected from the back of the room.

  “You tell me, Sirun,” Gilus said uncertainly. Sirun turned his bright blue eye to me, then to other 56 model.

  “Your scanners can detect recent disturbances, right?” he asked.

  “We can detect traces of things. Time-wise, don't think so,” the other model answered for me. I double-checked my scanner's capabilities, and he was right; in terms of time we used our best judgment and simply guessed. Sirun muttered a curse.

  “All right, everyone split up and find a Tank!” he ordered. “Try not to engage with anything; we don't have the defenses to fight whatever the Enemy planted in here. And try to hurry before we get a Superiority model on our tails!”

  199 groaned aloud. “What am I, a maiden to be posed? What are these guns for?!”

  “Stuff it and go!” he said sternly, “Unless you want to be torn limb from limb by a Thrasher!”

  The 74 model groaned even louder. I exchanged looked with the other 56 model. “'Thrasher'?” I echoed.

  “Pyramids with barbed wires. Sneak fuel to their buddies, tear us to pieces,” he explained, scanning me. I winced. The barbed drone I was pinned against... Without Cyrii's help with severing the right “tentacles”, I could have been torn apart. That explained why its limbs had leaked so much fuel.

  As 199 took her complaints elsewhere, going to the far end of the room and exiting out a large hole, Cith went right and ascended a ramp going up to the second level. The 56 model went in the opposite direction, going down a ramp leading to a basement level. Gilus looked nervously at Sirun and I.

  “Should we really split up?” he asked in concern. Sirun sighed, as if he expected such a response.

  “If you really worried, stick to me,” he said, before looking at me. “767, you should probably go with Stratien. He can be... reckless at times.”

  “The 56 model?” I verified.

  “Yes,” he said. He studied me for a bit. “...What Row are you from again? I don't recognize you from Row 1 or 2.”

  “Row 4. My-” I stopped myself just in time. “... I. I'm Cyrii.”

  “Nice save,” Cyrii mumbled in my head. She slumped a bit, and I tilted my head up to make her sit up straighter. “I'm fine,” she objected.

  You're not fine.

  “...Huh. Must be a recent manufacture,” Sirun assumed, not openly acknowledging the pause. “Your speaker is tuned wrong. You sound too happy. Polite.”

  “I know.”

  “Can we please get out of here?” Gilus pressed, looking nervous.

  “Yeah yeah yeah,” Sirun said testily. “Go find Stratien, Cyrii, before he runs into a burst pipe,” he sighed again; it must have happened before. Multiple times. He and Gilus then went to the other end of the room and took a left turn down an unseen corridor, Gilus continuously casting glances back at me. I looked away at the downward ramp.

  Are you okay, Cyrii? I asked.

  “Yes, I'm fine!” she snapped. Her annoyance reached me through the DIAS, and I held back a hostile retort.

  I don't think so, I said, choosing the more concerned response, You don't LOOK good.

  “What use am I if I pass out on a mission?”

  I couldn't argue with that; we weren't trained for so long for nothing. I knew she was lying to me about how good she felt though. Maybe she needed less stress? I recalled that she was as receptive of my feelings as I was to her's.

  In proof of this, my worried silence as I idled at the top of the ramp started to annoy her. She forcefully moved me forward, but I fought against her.

  No! You're not doing well, I argued.

  “What are you to judge?” she shot back.

  I'm built to PROTECT you! I'm not running off into danger unless you're okay!

  “We're in here because we doubted danger!”

  I kept fighting her will, becoming more annoyed, resulting in a strange stalemate that looked like I was pulling against an invisible rope; thank goodness the other Pushers had left! When I refused to stand down Cyrii finally groaned aloud, letting go.

  “Okay okay, fine! I'll take a break!” she said angrily at me, suddenly throwing off the DIAS. It removed her ghost presence in my head and made me feel more detached from her. I stared at her, grumpy that
she had to be so stubborn.

  I'll let you know if I find anything, I said. She just grumbled, no longer visible to me. My enthusiasm dropped, knowing that I had made her upset by choosing to be overprotective.

  Figuring I was on my own for the most part, I descended the ramp. It was pretty long, going down at least twenty-five q and twisting underneath the main floor. Some embers and debris had fallen near the top, but otherwise it was vacant of activity and evidence of fighting. It opened up into a decent-sized room: a sub-level.

  Dark. That was the first thing I noticed. The only light came from some slit windows along the right wall, and even then a lot of rubble, soil, and sand had been kicked up from outside, clogging some of the windows and hazing the air. I could see the large, brown-striped shape of Stratien in the room, scanning tables, hovercraft, and the assortment of overturned furniture. He glanced up at me when I entered.

  “Sirun sent you?” he assumed.

  “It seems he knows you quite well,” I observed. He huffed.

  “If we didn't have a General, Sirun would be leading us all by the nose,” he claimed.

  In mild curiosity I opened up a document and began recording information on these Pusher models, including Stratien's claim. The mentioned model looked around, adjusting his cameras to the darkness.

  “All of the doors are barricaded in here, so I'm guessing somewhere in the complex there's a group of soldiers staking out; probably the very ones we're meant to retrieve,” he continued. “The whole place looks mech-compliant though, so the corridors should be big enough. And hopefully straightforward...” he muttered the last part to himself. I saved the document and looked around. Two doors on the left wall and one straight ahead. The window at the end had been broken and the wall partly-destroyed, as though an Enemy drone tried to excavate its way in, blocking the end door. The other two doors were shut, but free.

  “Right or left?” Stratien asked. I studied the two doors.

  “Right,” I decided, heading for the choice door. He moved to the left door and opened his retrieval panel so he could input a code into the door's panel. I looked at the panel for my door.

  Broken. Figures. Even with a functional panel though I still didn't know the code, and would have to force it open anyway. I jammed a bayonet into the center of the door to open it, making an awful screeching noise.