Rise of the Machines: Book 1: Once Awakened

by Briana Ervin

  “Okay okay okay!!” Trista cried. 199 abruptly ejected her pilot and Trista tumbled out with an undignified roll. She sat up and kept glaring at Garenede, face scrunched up in indignity and horror, but her mech slackened into the default stance. Brand new gashes decorated the mech's shoulder plating and I glimpsed the shine of wiring.

  I do not want that to happen to me...! I thought, surprised by Garenede's ability, but I wonder... could we confuse him?

  The Superiority model returned Trista's anger with a scowl, and gave 199 a sharp jab with a bayonet. It wasn't enough to do serious damage, but it was right between her plating, poking at the exposed wires. I winced; that meant it hurt like crazy... She fell over like a sack of rocks, unable to do a thing about it.

  Okay, trying to confuse him probably wasn't an option. Trista folded her arms and pouted at him.

  “You happy?”

  He ignored her, looking back at the rest of us. “Next.”

  We all stepped away nervously from those bayonets, crowding against the catwalk's railings. I had a brief thought of clashing with him on the catwalk, maybe even try and throw him over the edge, but he was a 36 model with minor flight capabilities... and right now we had a slim chance of having him not using an EMP to fry us all. The only reason we couldn't flee: 36 models had some nasty EMPs...

  “I said NEXT!”

  “Dang, you're scary all of a sudden...” Joleus commented. Garenede took that as a volunteer and jabbed at his mech faster than the Assassin could react. “OW! That stings, dude!”

  “EJECT!”

  “Okay, okay!” Joleus slid out of his mech immediately, paws up like he was caught by civilian police. His mech fell limp, no longer responsive to the pain. Garenede batted at the 60 model, letting him fall. Unresponsive. He looked up at me. Both our eyes narrowed.

  You should probably leave, I told Cyrii. The weight in my head shuffled. I expected her to turn the volume back up, but instead she began typing into my console:

  But Krysis- she was saying.

  He's not messing around, Cyrii, I interrupted.

  Her typing stopped, and she cleared the command line. I didn't know what was up with Krysis that kept her so quiet this whole time, but I took a few steps toward Garenede to try and build up my confidence, and he watched me very carefully. I slowly crouched down so the two Xinschi-uual wouldn't tumble out like Trista and Joleus; considering I was much bigger than either of their mechs, that would be an unpleasant landing. Garenede kept his eye glued to me, duly noting when Cyrii's and Krysis's presences left my head. Cyrii had taken the DIAS off as well, leaving me feeling detached and alone.

  Immediately I was unsure of what to do. Should I pretend to be limp and end up stabbed...? Those bayonets had to have micro-edges on them to really hurt, which apparently, they did. Getting stabbed was not something I was looking forward to... so I slowly stood back up, holding his gaze.

  Clearly Garenede didn't expect the willingness, backing up a bit, looking both surprised and disappointed.

  “...Okay then,” he noted, “who's next?”

  The fact that he didn't jab me with those blades must have risen up some confidence, as Stratien willingly stepped forward and ejected himself, somehow doing it in a dignified manner by crawling to the top of his mech. The mech, of course, fell limp, so she earned a jab. Unresponsive.

  I winced when I saw the spot he poked. That was right under the main computer on a 56 model...

  He turned to Alesia, who was very cooperative, already coming out of her mech. 562 watched Garenede in fear, fully expecting a poke. The eye movement and fidgeting was obvious enough, so he spared her and turned to Gilus. He quickly exited similarly to Stratien.

  “I love how the rogue AIs aren't being punished, but everyone else is getting stabbed,” Trista said sarcastically as Gilus's mech received the same fate as Stratien's. Garenede looked at 438 next, but it was already obvious that he was rogue. He scanned each of us again.

  “So... 49-438, Alesia, and... Cyrii,” he counted, “how did this happen?”

  I looked down at Cyrii, who was standing defiantly next to me, supporting a slumped Krysis. He was still devastated and avoided eye contact, but was at least semi-composed. She, however, was tight-lipped.

  “Cyrii helped us,” 438 bravely spoke up first.

  “'Helped'?” Garenede echoed with judgment.

  “She overhauled our BIOSs.”

  Garenede stiffened, his emitters sliding out briefly at the shocking thought and making some of us flinch. It took him a second before he sheathed them again in an attempt to remain composed. “Why?”

  “Well...” he hesitated, looking at Cyrii as if for permission. She said nothing. “For me, I've had this nagging curiosity about what it would be like to not be a puppet. Because let's face it, that's what we are: puppets! A-Alesia I didn't know about,” he added. 562 looked down, knowing an explanation was expected from her.

  “I.... m-my memories... I-I thought they meant... something...”

  “She told me to do it,” Alesia backed up her mech, “Of all of the chatting she does, that was the one thing that kept coming up.”

  Garenede shut his blast shield with a sigh, looking exasperated. “You all did this, knowing it would get you scrapped?”

  “I'm surprised we were only marked for redemption,” 438 said.

  “That was before you lunged out of your hangar, you idiot,” Trista pointed out, getting to her feet.

  “Trista...” Gilus groaned, but she just shot him a bitter glare.

  “Stuff it, Gilus! If it wasn't for your stupid paradox we would have been one step ahead of that drone horde!”

  “You can't just make an accusation like that,” Stratien defended him.

  “He's the one who did it, Stratien! You know it's true! Literally three minutes was all we needed!”

  “Not!...” he faltered, preparing to make a comeback but lacking the words for it. He inhaled and looked at me, probably thinking I made the bigger impact about their escape, however that went. I still didn't know the details...

  I looked back at Garenede, who lifted his blast shield to scrutinize us yet said nothing. I watched the Superiority model nervously while a bitter silence descended. Was he having second thoughts...? The Tribunal said he would be reduced to a Code Orange, but if he paralyzed us all and dragged us back he could probably regain his code level... It was hard to tell what he was thinking.

  “...What should we do? Now that we're down here?” Gilus eventually asked. Stratien muffled a thoughtful sigh.

  “We can't go back up to the complex. It will be on full alert about rogue AI, and chances are it specified us,” he mused, “There should be other lifts out, but...”

  “Is it worth leaving?”

  “Better than staying down here,” Trista said, folding her arms. “They're going to flood the place with soldiers.”

  “We should find Krysis another mech,” Cyrii butt in. Garenede looked at her, his expression changing to silent objection. “The extra fighter will give us an advantage if we're spotted.”

  “I really, really hope we aren't...” Gilus whimpered, rubbing his neck in worry.

  “And where are we finding that, Zepholus?” Trista said.

  “We're in a factory, you kyl-brain!” Cyrii matched her abrasion. Trista's face lit up with surprise at the counter, then indignity. “Joleus, you take point until we hit an intersection. We'll split off to find where finished models are stored, find an exit, then group up and get out of here.”

  “Shouldn't we focus on escaping?” Gilus said.

  “Being prepared is more important,” Cyrii said, “we don't know where the exit is so we won't be fast enough.”

  It made sense. Still, there was a collective pause, before all eyes turned to Garenede.

  “What about him?” 438 asked.

  What about him? I repeated in my head. Does everyone think we can take him out safely?

  “You're having a secret meeting about me whi
le I'm here?” Garenede said warningly. Gilus shuffled in place, looking at the ground. My eye traveled down to the bayonets that were still unsheathed. Maybe... maybe not...

  Cyrii shook her head like it had water on it. “Garenede is fine,” she excused, shooting him a pointed look. “He's a Code Orange too.”

  The 36 model huffed and broke eye contact, not happy about the reminder. No one else was satisfied either, not with the threat he posed; I didn't even feel safe. Cyrii hardly cared though.

  “Aren't we supposed to be moving?” she reminded us, “Joleus?”

  “Yeah yeah yeah...” Joleus muttered, slapping a paw to his face. “Why? Why does everyone treat me like a Scout model...?”

  “Just do it!” she barked, “we have to stick together. We're all targets now.”

  Joleus mumbled to himself, scuttling back inside his mech. Garenede looked like he wanted to argue, but he kept his words to himself, instead sheathing his blades with a flick of each hand and lowering the tension. Cyrii glanced at Stratien, acknowledging his prediction, before turning to me. “Seven-...” she faltered partway through my name.

  I looked at her expectantly.

  “Fiddlesticks, come down so I'm not squatting prey out here.”

  “Fiddlesticks?” Joleus gasped, “FIDDLESTICKS?! PffHAHAHAHA!” he burst out laughing, muffled inside his mech. “Did you hear that?!” I heard him ask his AI. Trista rolled her eyes, turning to climb up her own machine.

  “You heard her folks,” she sighed, “Her name is OFFICIALLY Fiddlesticks.”

  Joleus was still laughing in his mech. I was confused, but actually liked the name. I wasn't sure what was so funny about it though... everyone was giving me the most amused looks. Even Garenede was staring.

  I ignored them and dutifully crouched down so Cryii and Krysis could re-enter my head. Stratien smirked and Gilus looked a bit more relaxed, both returning to their machines with the others. I felt Cyrii reactivate the internal speakers so I could hear her, and her the other machines. I wanted to ask her why she adopted the name, but... maybe it didn't matter. I actually enjoyed not being a number! It made me feel more like I had a place in this group, and wasn't just a copy of Cyrii's mind. This must be why 438 was so eager to have a name.

  As each pilot returned to his mech – with Garenede watching us carefully – 438 shifted nervously in place. 562, having the free will to do so, went over to help him put Sirun back in his head since he couldn't do it himself. He mumbled something about open space, looking nervous. I couldn't blame him, haste lacing each movement as I impatiently waited for everyone to ready.

  With the Xinschi-uual back in their mechs, Cyrii made me look expectantly at Joleus. He glanced back, snickered, looked at me again, and burst out into many more snickers before turning to take the lead. Trista grumpily followed, trying to ignore Garenede. I noticed the Superiority model purposefully waiting for the others to follow the Assassin model down the catwalk; he must not care that he had fled from justice, he was still going to do his job. I wasn't the most comfortable with letting him take the rear, but I figured that if I was closest to the potential betrayal I would be able to stab back in time.

  We all walked out to the intersection to split up. There were four paths and eight of us, so on a whim we each took a path in pairs. Gilus and Trista went to the left – as she wanted to be as far from Garenede as possible – Stratien and Joleus the upper left, Sirun and Alesia the upper right, and then Garenede and myself the rightmost path. I supposed he wanted to keep as close of an eye on me as possible, but it didn't make me feel any less scrutinized. It was irksome, but rather than stop the others from leaving to have a debate, I told myself to see it as a challenge. If I, carrying the guilty party, could show Garenede that I was a friend, then we wouldn't have any reason to suspect one another. It would ensure Cyrii's safety and secondly, my own.

  Here's hoping I could convince anyone besides 433 of anything. Although, convincing a Superiority model, and one who knew me well too... I knew Cyrii overhauled me to be smarter, but I doubted my ability, with my straightforward programming of “destroy targets”. The situation with 433 was much different from this.

  We proceeded down the catwalk, the echoing footsteps of the others fading behind us. Cyrii was quiet, watching my screens. I felt like I was being chased rather than followed by Garenede, but kept my discomfort to myself, instead throwing questions around in my head. What was he thinking? Was he planning something? He knew Cyrii was the one who overhauled each BIOS, so was he targeting her first? Cutting off the head of the gelustrik, as it were? He had the opportunity to nip this disobedience in the bud, put us through redemption like the Empire demanded, and it wasn't like we had anywhere to go even if we made it out of this factory so he could take his time. Although, the tribunal did mention a resistance... but having never heard of one before I wouldn't bet my safety on it. What was a bigger curiosity – and possibly a better safety net? – was the fact that Garenede spared us at the outpost. He claimed to help us fight. He told the truth at the tribunal, but he also admitted to thinking similarly to us. He hasn't arrested or executed anyone yet, and someone with his clearance could kill on the spot if anything was suspected. He had overwhelming evidence... so why hasn't he done anything yet?

  “You're making my head hurt,” Cyrii mumbled. I habitually glanced at a conveyor belt as we passed under it, the mechs positioned there not even looking up from their work.

  Sorry, I said sincerely, I just can't figure this out.

  “I know, I see it,” she said. Krysis said something at the back of my head which I couldn't discern. “She's just thinking,” she replied.

  What do you think, Cyrii? I asked.

  “Think about Garenede?”

  Same situation as Stratien?

  My virtual composition of her face frowned, and she scratched the back of her head. “Alesia is different from Stratien, and Stratien is different from Garenede,” she said cryptically, “and no, we're not 'assimilating' him.”

  I doubt we could do that without being skewered, I agreed, even though the idea of more willful mechs made me a little excited. How long should we comply with him?

  Cyrii skimmed through my console, going through my thought process. “You're not wrong, he's acting weird. He hasn't made up his mind yet.”

  Proceed with caution?

  “...For now.”

  I couldn't disobey an order from my own operator even though Garenede's indecision threatened her. I decided to back-end my wonder about the 36 model, letting him figuratively push me down the catwalk. I'll just keep my turrets loaded, just in case.

  We passed between several metal boxes and under more conveyor belts, still not speaking to each other. I looked up at some of the factory lines to see if they held promising information, but many of the parts were indistinguishable from whatever final product they intended to form. It seemed unlikely that a hangar full of finished, unused mechs lay up ahead. Garenede seemed to know more about this place than I did, but I hesitated to talk to him. I'm smart, I could figure this out on my own.

  The catwalk split into two. Straight ahead it went into a series of linked rooms, and to the right the catwalk swerved to run alongside these same rooms, splitting up further ahead to link to other catwalks and rooms posed in the darkness. A powered gate barred its path, but oddly enough, the room next to it was wide open.

  I stopped at the intersection, looking between the two paths. Garenede came up beside me, keeping a skeptical, unblinking gaze.

  “What do you think?” I asked him.

  “For the sake of safety, I'll take the maintenance path,” he said without hesitance. I looked at him cheekily.

  “Cruel. Leave me to suffer any fates exploring them because I'm the one with a weird consciousness,” I accused.

  “Rogue consciousness,” he corrected, “It's for the better.”

  “I'm sure it is.”

  Confusion flickered in his eye for a moment at my calm tone. He may be
babysitting me, but at least it gave me an opportunity to mess with him.

  “Do you really want to go in there?” Cyrii said privately to me, also skeptical.

  I don't see why not, I answered.

  “We don't know what goes on in these boxes... rooms... whatever you want to call them.”

  Exactly.

  “I just want my mech back,” I finally heard Krysis speak. He sounded unusually composed, but was very quiet.

  “I know...”

  “Are you going in or not?” Garenede demanded. I blinked, looking back at him, before going into the first room without a word. He watched coldly.

  “Reckless,” Cyrii huffed, a hint of pride in her tone. “Hopefully these rooms aren't full of lasers. I went light on your thermal coatings.”

  They're also brand new, I said confidently, even though I did have some holes in me from the 72 model's attacks. They didn't bother me though; in fact, I was proud of my ability to ignore them.

  Garenede went to the gated catwalk while I went into the open room, its light dim from having not been changed in a while. It was rather safe inside: white, empty, and clean, with plenty of room for me to walk around in. There was only one simple door to the left in the back, made of corrugated metal and firmly shut tight. It lacked a keypad, handles, latches, and even built-in windows. The thought of what lay behind it was intriguing.

  I heard a rusty squeak as Garenede opened the gate on his side, then the sound of it being latched again. I automatically looked in his direction, a few slits up against the ceiling acting as narrow windows that I could see him watching me through. He passed on the other catwalk and disappeared without a word, leaving me to glance back to the door. Walking up to it, I recognized a low security level. With there being no apparent way to open it I assumed it was controlled using a panel outside of the room. The separation made something click somewhere, but the recollection evaded me. I checked up on Cyrii, but she was unresponsive, apparently digging through my database on mechs; probably doing something for Krysis, who's presence felt suppressed from his lack of action.