Rise of the Machines: Book 1: Once Awakened

by Briana Ervin

  The 12 models were dedicated and robotic in their work, bouncing monotone trinary back and forth as they welded me back together. In a way, I felt a kinship with these primitive models; I felt I could understand them perfectly all the time, but with anyone else I would always have to interpret the words in some way or another. I even had difficulties with Cyrii, and I was literally bonded to her with my code. I wasn't meant to understand anyone else any better than her! These mechs though... I could be myself around them. I didn't feel like I was in danger, moving on my own.

  I comfortably listened to the plethora of sparks and the sharp hissing sounds. I could feel the heat going along my hull, melting away the pain and leaving me numb. In the database Cyrii smuggled into me there was information about “wireboarding”, which was a method of having multiple circuit boards sandwiched inside the hull so that when they're damaged the boards can just be melted together into one, big, self-repairing piece and more wireboarding put behind it as a replacement. It was a way to be repaired faster and easier without the many consequences of actual laziness. I assumed that was what the 12 models were doing with me: just taking chunks of new wireboarding and melting it onto the old and congealing it all into a new hull layer.... What a curious process. It felt very nice, if a bit strange.

  The two models suddenly stopped in sync and stepped back, before routinely circling me to check their work. Their heft reminded me of Tank models without any armor; seeing the exposed circuitry and mechanics made me feel even safer, even though I had anxiety about not knowing where Cyrii was. We were evidently no longer in the battlefield, so we must be back at the military complex, but if so, what happened? What about the pulsing at the outpost, and all of the Enemies there? What of the bizarre tactics, the soldiers we never retrieved, or the Tank models that disappeared inside? What happened to the other Pusher models I was with, or all of the other mechs that were on the mission?

  If only I could ask these 12 models... I bet they had nothing better to do than drone on about things they've heard.

  Eventually the two of them stopped circling, both on either side of me again. There was a clunk, and I saw the room dip, as though I was hanging from something and was released. I wasn't sure what was happening until one of the 12 models prodded me with a small rod gadget that slid out of his arm. It gave me an electrical jolt, just enough to reignite my perception of my own body.

  Alive! I was alive! No more pain!

  I dropped from a device hanging from the ceiling which was holding me stiff prior, and landed on my own legs. The suspension! It felt fantastic! I felt like a new manufacture! I ran around a bit like an excited hatchling, testing out my replacement limbs. It was great! Bouncy! I raced around the 12 models a bit, beeping excitedly while they calmly watched. This should be mandatory for all repairs!

  I was having too much fun with the new pistons and rubber, but soon my anxiety over Cyrii had the better of me. I slowed down, realizing that I had to find her again. I looked up at the immense 12 models, but something told me they knew nothing about where she was. I then looked at my own body, curious if I was able enough to go find her.

  Hm. I was piebald. Expected, as the patches were still raw metal, but I didn't like the look very much; either I'm fully painted or not at all! The new metal still looked better than the sand-worn, dusty layers of paint that my old hull had, but the scratches... I liked the scratches.

  I was reminded of my off-hand comment to the first Maintenance model who repaired me. I bet these mechs wouldn't take 'no' for an answer, huh? I thought, Even the scratches would come out eventually.

  I looked back up at the two massive machines. They had even less expression than I did, but I could tell they were happy. I don't know how, but I could tell. Neither of them moved to continue repairs either, telling me that today was not the day for detail work; my scratches will be retained! I gave them a stream of grateful trinary, and they just smiled at me in their ambiguous way. Then, the one to my right turned very slowly and walked over to the concrete wall, which had a large, industrial door set inside it. I rushed over, excited to see what was going to happen next.

  The Maintenance model waved one arm lazily over the top frame of the door, and it slowly opened up with a loud clunk, revealing every mech's favorite part: the coating room! I dashed in without hesitance with excited trinary, hearing the door seal behind me, and slowed to a stop once inside. It was a decent-sized room, just big enough to hold the biggest Tank model, and every face of the room had nozzles, slots, and vents in it. The whole place was black and iridescent with every color imaginable, because that's how many colors we could have! The bright light in the ceiling and the texture of the walls made it feel like I was in space.

  I bounced in place, my blast shield and air intake already closed dutifully. A loud thrum started up, accompanied by a low gurgling; the only time I could ever think positively of the sounds. The gurgling rose in pitch, then paused shortly, then fwoosh! I was blasted on all sides by high-powered jets! It was a bit jarring, but also really exciting! The nozzles jutted our from the walls and rotated on all angles, just to make sure they went everywhere while I braced myself against the force; it was like a game to see how long I could stay standing. After the initial cleansing solution and some time braced against the air dryer's massive fans, the prime coat was applied, which acted as an adhesive. After that there was the general weather-proof coating, then two coats of paint, then all of the fancy resistance coats associated with my model, then finally, a layer of sealant that makes everything gloriously shiny! Once all of the spray-coating is done, and the room heated up for everything to dry, detailing and designs went on with the help of precision arms equipped with ionizers that changed the paint's colors! Then I was buffed and bathed in hot air again!

  There were really only two things that could possibly be considered wrong with this process: the first is that your design is your pilot's, not yours. The second is that everything has to be sealed off so that wet coatings don't fly into your circuitry and undo all of that repair work. Seriously though, every mech can agree that the painting is the best part!

  I was so enthusiastic about my new repairs and fresh umber-to-orange paint that I briefly forgot about everything that had happened before: all of my previous worries about the battle, my comrades, my operator... If I could, I would have willingly forgotten all of it as soon as I stepped out of that coating room; but my programming wouldn't allow that, not with Cyrii's reassuring weight still missing.

  I stepped out onto the lift that's always present after the coating room, and looked out to the right where it was open, watching all of the oldest mech models in fascination as they worked in the depths of the factory. All Maintenance models, toiling away, manufacturing, repairing, and managing, carefully watching the tons of conveyor lines crisscrossing the place. Cyrii told me she used to be a coal worker. Was she like one of these mechs, at one point? Perhaps even piloted one? They moved so statically in comparison to a mech with a pilot though... all precision calculations and deliberate movement, something a living thing could only mimic. Whenever one of these guys did something, they meant it. No confirmation, no questions, no regulations, no fear, just doing... It looked like a wonderful way to live.

  As I watched them my bizarre, innate understanding of these mechs told me that they were so absorbed in their work that they never noticed anyone, even though the lift was very slow. So I was surprised when I passed a mech managing a hanging belt of partly-assembled parts, and he stopped to look at me.

  Then he said something very strange:

  “Remember Project C.”

  It was in trinary, so I processed it quickly, but it took me a second to realize what he said. By the time I did he was already back to work, leaving me in shock.

  Project C! The strange code that Cyrii unearthed with my BIOS overhaul! He knew what it meant? What was it?!

  “What does it mean?” I called back to him, but he didn't acknowledge me, just taking parts out
of bins and sticking them onto the assembled pieces on the line... “Hello?! Wait! What is Project C?!”

  Still no acknowledgment. The lift went past him; I could no longer try to ask him anything. I felt a surge of hopeless confusion. What WAS it? Why did he tell me about it? Why was it important? It HAD to be important; a Maintenance model didn't stop what it was doing just to pull a prank! These guys were dedicated workers! Yet what...?

  I fell back into the depths of my mind, pondering the words. 'Remember Project C'... Remember what?

  I had a feeling this was going to haunt me for a while.

  The lift came out of the factory, its bare concrete walls turning to the more padded, white-painted ones of the upper floors. It then branched off down an isolated corridor. I was now closed in on all sides, unable to see where I was going, but I was too busy digging around in my brain for Project C code to really care. I assumed I would be dumped out in front of the barracks so I could go back to my hangar, so there was no rush. Instead though, the lift began to take a lot of turns: it went right, then up, then left for a while, then up some more. I came out from the depths of my mind to stare at the four white walls around me as they continued to scroll down, the time spent on the lift not matching up with my expectations. Where was I going...?

  The lift eventually stopped. I swiveled and saw that there was a door behind me, a black square struck with a diagonal line. I didn't feel like I was on the barracks level, but it was a pretty high-security door, like the one we came across in the lab.

  The door cracked open with a hiss, then pulled apart; the process alone proved how many locks and layers there were on the thing. It opened up, revealing a white, sterile corridor, and in front of me there was a Superiority model. Not the 30-range models that babysat the barracks: this guy was deceptively thin and bare, and there wasn't one defect on his hull. I already didn't trust him.

  I stiffened up and pretended I had no will. Certainly he didn't expect a pilot in me, right? Hopefully he didn't expect a pilot...

  The Superiority model studied me for a bit, the fluorescent lighting reflecting off his pristine hull, before transmitting a forceful trinary code not unlike how Garenede transmitted it. The code was simple: follow. It kicked in fiercely, and I couldn't fight against it; it was almost like remote control! He then turned and made his way down the corridor, and I couldn't stop myself from following obediently. I tried to move as stiffly and accurately as possible to add realism to the effect of being a perfectly normal mech, my mind overrun by curiosity as to what was happening.

  As we took a confusing route through sterile corridors and past cryptic doors, I began to wonder some more about Project C... This mech's code was bare, tagged only with High Alpha clearance, which is the best clearance you can have: it allows you to do anything and control anyone. It made me suspicious that he knew something about the Project, but I couldn't say a word without damning myself. It felt like the answer was right in front of me, but I couldn't quite reach it; I could only hold my silence in vexation.

  The mech eventually stopped in front of a door, and even though I saw no panels for it the door began to open. It must have had a sensor somewhere that recognized him. When we entered the room he led me to the back of it, and ordered me to stand inside a round nook. It looked suspiciously like a hangar, and it was at the end of a row of “hangars” all along this back wall, but it literally was just a smooth cavity. I went and backed into it without hesitance, even though I felt mounting anxiety after glimpsing the mechs in the cavities beside me. They were all ones I recognized: several Pusher models, a Sniper model, a Support model, an Assassin model... I felt several robotic arms grab my upper body, which was normal for a hangar, but it only made me more anxious.

  The Superiority model left my vision without a word. I tried not to watch him leave, instead staring out into the room. It was fairly large, with thin, black slots on the walls of the room, five on either side. In the middle there was a podium, looking up at a raised portion of the room at the other end. The raised area held an imposing, semi-circular wall, and up top were Xinschi-uual I didn't recognize, all wearing vibrant, shiny clothing suggesting very high ranks. Blazoned on the wall was the Empire's insignia: a triangle with an orb in it, piercing what looked like a crescent moon, rust red in color. In each corner of the room, the blinking dot of a tiny camera. It looked almost like we were in a courtroom... but what the heck was it doing up here, in a military complex? Who were these Xinschi-uual?

  The Superiority model went to stand in front of the door we had come through, guarding it. Then a small panel opened up in the floor underneath each slot in the wall. A suction-cup mechanism came up each slot, and attached to each mechanism was a pod. Just small, elliptical pods, five on either side, identical, white, and opaque. The panels closed back up, disappearing into the floor, and the mechanisms that carried the pods up set them down. The Xinschi-uual up on the wall looked at the pods in anticipation, before the one in the middle of the five stood up a bit taller.

  “Release the subjects,” he said, his voice projecting loudly. The acoustics made it sound like he occupied every corner of the room. He and his peers watched the pods as they simultaneously opened. Luckily the end of the room with the hangars was rounded a bit, so I was oriented to see every “subject” that stepped out of those pods.

  Every “subject” was a Xinschi-uual, each one was in shackles, and one of them was Cyrii. My curiosity gave way to shock.

  What the...?! What's going on??

  The head “judge” Xinschi-uual prodded the tabletop in front of him in a curious fashion; there must be computer controls up there. He then looked out to the subjects.

  “Looks like you're all here,” he said, satisfied. I switched my focus to each subject in turn. The orange, striped scales of Cyrii, hunched, yet defiant. The brightly-tattooed, umber-brown Joleus, hanging his head. The dark grey Sirun, shaking and trying to control his breathing like he was about to have a mental breakdown. The beige, striped Trista, grinding her teeth and not trying to hide her anger at all, and then piebald-scarlet Alesia, shrinking back in fear... then some Xinschi-uual I knew only recently: Glius, a mocha-brown gradient-scale, completely and rightfully baffled, and the definite copper-colored Stratien, wringing his paws and thinking. Finally, out came a brooding black Xinschi-uual who I didn't recognize, who's scales had a plastic look like they were painted and had an edgy white streak across his face. The two pods at the far ends were empty.

  “You have all been summoned here to the Tribunal of Complex C, Sector B3 Westward,” the head judge said.“You are expected only to testify your actions on the battlefield; nothing more.”

  I wanted to glare at him in suspicion. His tone made that sound like a lie... but it also made sense. This was a Tribunal: a nitpicking, micromanaging court meant to scrutinize all places of business. The fact that we were all here meant someone had messed up badly.

  I dearly hoped the someone wasn't Cyrii, even though she had the guilt for it. I wouldn't stand for that.

  The head judge dragged a claw across the tabletop, and glanced down at it. “First subject is... Subject A: S.A.I. is Krysis. Code Level Yellow,” he relayed. “Step forward please.”

  The black Xinschi-uual wordlessly stepped up to the podium, his back to me. So that's what Krysis looked like...! Fitting, really, for a sarcastic, pessimistic dark-camo Sniper. He was rather liberal with a paintbrush, as it turns out.

  “Starting from the beginning of the launch, tell us what you did,” the judge said. His four peers all looked down on Krysis expectantly. The black Xinschi-uual shrugged, indifferent.

  “We left the base. We went out to the outpost. We split up. Then we stood there for a while.” His voice was flat, lacking any interest. I immediately determined that the “launch” referred to when we went out to reclaim the outpost.

  “How did you split up?” one of the judges asked.

  “Same way you ordered us to,” he said, probably referring more to w
hoever ran the complex.

  The judges just stared, wanting elaboration. Krysis rolled his eyes.

  “The Infiltration group went ahead. The Backup group stayed behind. I was with the Backup group.”

  A brief silence where the judges studied him, dissatisfied.

  “We need more details. More details means more progress, and more progress means less restraining orders on you,” the main judge said. “So, give us details.”

  I grew confused. What? Restraining orders? For what reason?

  “I stood there.” Krysis's mouth straightened into a thin line. “I did nothing.”

  “And?”

  “You want him to tell you what he ate this morning as well?!” Trista burst out angrily.

  “It is not your turn to speak,” the main judge said loudly, staring her down. She growled, neck scales flared as high as they could go. Krysis tried to hide his own annoyance, but it only made him look grim.

  “I stood there and waited. The Infiltration group came back, heavily wounded. They were being pursued by an army. The Generals told us to retreat, so we retreated,” Krysis said.

  “An army?” another judge pressed, “how big?”

  “I don't know, we were outnumbered,” Krysis began to grow testy as well.

  “Make an educated guess.”

  “Forty times as many?”

  The judge furrowed his brow. “So you retreated and came back to base?” he prodded.

  “Yes,” Krysis said.

  The judges clearly weren't satisfied with this answer, looking at one another. The main judge then waved one paw over the tabletop, activating a hidden sensor and causing a translucent blue wall to come up, dividing them from the rest of the room with a field of energy. They spoke to one another, but no sound came through; we could only watch tensely.

  I tried to figure out what was going on... Did the Backup group never show up? What was the point of going to the outpost if they stood back the entire time?! What about that black box? We could have used some backup when the box showed up, especially since we couldn't find any Tanks!