Science and Sorcery Box Set

by Ryan Tang

  Matthew winced.

  Paragons were always a disappointment.

  It was because of all the pictures. They thought the worthless things could stand because of the pictures.

  Matthew should have just left. He should have just kept his head down.

  He shouted into the speaker instead.

  "Flat on your stomachs! Flat on your stomachs!"

  The Southern Robotics Paragons were slow as shit and had to lie flat on their stomachs. Waters took the bullet for Stock by pretending it was due to a colony-wide regulation, but the truth was that the Southern Robotics Paragons weren't capable of anything else.

  Machine after machine crumpled as their pilots tried to walk.

  "No! No! Just lie flat on your stomach and fly outside!"

  "What? What is he saying?"

  "That's not how it's supposed to work!"

  Bullets flew towards him, a loud clanging that told him he should have kept his damn mouth shut.

  The shooters stepped forwards.

  They were monstrously tall and covered head to toe in sleek white armor. Automatic rifles trembled uncontrollably in their hands. Their arms were so thick they could hold and shoot with one in each hand, but there was nothing they could do about the recoil, which jerked them violently from side to side and gave them no chance to aim.

  They were Southern Robotics's private Security Force.

  It was a good thing he'd gotten into his machine before anyone could recognize him.

  Matthew set Old Gallant flat on the floor and surged towards the broken wall. The guns were still screaming, but there was nothing they could do.

  Armor screamed and crumpled, but it didn't make a difference.

  As long as a Paragon could get off the ground in one piece, Matthew could pilot it, no matter how broken or imbalanced it was. He'd been piloting Southern Robotics's piece of shit machines his whole life and hating every single moment of it.

  It all started when he saw a flyer advertising test pilot positions at Southern Robotics' Paragon retrieval program. He remembered reading about how inspiring the machines had once been, how important they were to humanity's future. Anyone could see that Southern Robotics's machines were just imitations, but they were closer to success than anybody else. Matthew immediately requested a transfer.

  The nightmare started soon after.

  The recruitment was a complete sham. He wasn't testing the retrieval program. He was the retrieval program.

  Whenever some dipshit crashed their machine, Matthew had to bring it back to Southern Robotics for repairs. Whenever some spoiled asshole wanted their Paragon brought to them, Matthew had to make it happen.

  And he had to do it all without being seen so that the gullible Paragon buying idiots thought their machines had an autopilot feature.

  Matthew baked for hours in the sweltering cockpits, sweating so furiously his clothes turned into damp rags. He pissed in bottles as he hovered in the air. He cursed the assholes who landed on the colony floor, causing countless ordinary hardworking people to dash for cover. He crawled on all fours, smearing his face in the dirt to get away from yet another asshole would-be fact-checker who just couldn't believe that the Paragons knew how to fly themselves.

  His life only got worse once Waters heard about the retrieval program. That decaying jackass crashed his machines more than anybody else on Plenty. Before long, Matthew's manager decided to make him the permanent liaison.

  It was supposed to be a huge honor, but all it meant was that Matthew had to work even farther from his son. He didn't even get a pay raise. When he asked, Polly just laughed and said that the honor of serving the Governor should have been enough for anyone. Matthew didn't see her falling over herself to work with him.

  He worked at his hell job for over two decades. Now that they had him trapped, they wouldn't let him transfer to a different team, and he couldn't afford to quit, especially not after Luke was born.

  He finally thought things were getting better when he heard about some pilot simulator contest. The prize was millions of dollars, six months of the sun fees that bled him dry every day. Matthew had hurriedly entered, but he couldn't find a single person to fight on his team. Nobody believed how good he was. Nobody even gave him a chance to sit inside a simulator cockpit. And after 21 years of spending 15 hours a day in the stupid little ovens Southern Robotics called cockpits, he didn't have any friends. He decided to just control all three pods by himself. His skills should have been enough.

  He'd played in his first match just earlier that night, giving up precious alone time with his son. But he lost. Somehow, he'd fucking lost despite a lifetime piloting the idiot machines.

  He thought he'd be fighting the stupid pilots who couldn't keep their machines in the air for longer than ten minutes. He should have known that people rich enough to buy Paragons were rich enough to find pros to play for them.

  The Paragons were always a disappointment.

  "Halt! Halt!"

  The booming robotic force jerked him out of his bitter thoughts.

  Bullets screeched towards him.

  Sleek white Southern Robotics jets flew towards him. Gun turrets pivoted and turned.

  Jets.

  They were using jets instead of Paragons.

  Southern Robotics thought their machines were so fucking useless that when it came time for action, they flew planes instead. There were no stupid fake limbs to get in the way.

  Paragons were always a disappointment.

  ____

  The planes quickly circled him.

  "Surrender! Surrender!"

  The Governor's worthless machines didn't carry any weapons, and even if they did, he wouldn't be able to use them. The limbs couldn't move, and the hands were little more than plastic molds. They couldn't grasp weapons. They couldn't even curl into a fist!

  Gunfire filled the air. The screech of the bullets was identical to the sound he'd heard earlier that evening in the simulator. The shots in the simulator had been brightly colored – fantasy shit like energy blasts and laser beams, the same weapons the legendary Paragons once used.

  These planes just fired bullets.

  The black blurs streaked toward him. He could see them spinning through the air.

  It was so strange.

  The same thing had happened in the simulator.

  Bullets were supposed to be fast, but Matthew could see them clearly.

  The simulator piloting guides he scraped up all said the same thing. Trust your instincts. Don't get caught up thinking. The game is so fast that a single loose thought can pull you under.

  Matthew didn't have any instincts. He could make the machine do whatever he wanted, but he'd never been in a fight in his life.

  But for some reason, he did have time to think.

  The thoughts streaked through his brain, one on top of the other.

  Get closer.

  That's what he had to do.

  He had to get closer.

  That's what the blue and yellow machines did against him and his giant gun. The guides said the same thing, emphasizing the importance of flying into your "effective range."

  Matthew flew straight towards the planes, sliding from left to right to dodge the hail of bullets. All he had to protect was the cockpit. The limbs were the definition of dead weight.

  "What are you doing? What are you doing?"

  "Back down! Back down!"

  The pilots were so scared Matthew could hear the fear through the robotic voice filter. He doubted anyone had ever tried to challenge them. They were poor marksmen, far worse than the pilots he'd fought earlier that night. Why couldn't he have fought against people like this?

  There was a shot he couldn't dodge, so he twisted and took it with his arm.

  The machine jolted, spinning backward and veering horribly in the air as the limb blew clean off.

  Matthew felt nothing. When he first started flying all those years ago, his stomach swooped and his head pounded every ti
me the cockpit rocked. But the Governor's broken machines were always doing shit like that, and he'd eventually gotten used to it.

  He quickly righted himself, adjusting the thruster output to compensate for the uneven weight. Freed of the useless arm, his machine flew faster than before.

  More bullets whizzed past him as he effortlessly avoided his foes' increasingly desperate attacks.

  All he needed were tiny adjustments. Angling his machine just a few degrees higher. Sliding slightly to the right. Cutting his thruster output so he'd descend at the perfect time. Eventually, he blocked a couple of shots with his other arm, letting it explode to pieces.

  And then he was on them.

  At the very last moment, he twisted Old Gallant so that the legs were aimed squarely for the enemy cockpits. The limbs couldn't move of their accord, but that didn't mean he couldn't use them.

  There was a tremendous crash.

  The pilots didn't even have time to scream.

  The cockpit rocked as his legs exploded.

  The jets plummeted to the colony floor, both cockpits shattered. Matthew flew on, flying straight for Block 8. He flew high in the sky, higher than any spoiled Paragon pilot would ever dare to fly.

  Without the dead weight limbs, his cockpit flew just as fast as any jet.

  ____

  It was worse than people said.

  It didn't look that bad when he'd left the Governor's mansion. For a while, Matthew even feared that he made a mistake stealing a Paragon. All he saw were a few stray cracks on the colony floor.

  The homes on Block 1 were far larger than his, and they were almost entirely unscathed.

  Surely his little cube home would be safe.

  But his heart sank as soon as he reached Block 4. The damage there was far worse than anything that had happened outside the Governor's home. Water gushed high into the air from broken pipes. The streets were aflame. One in every four homes had collapsed. He could see little dots - people - dashing frantically back and forth.

  It only got worse the further he flew.

  On Block 5, only one in every ten houses still stood.

  Blocks 6 and 7 were smoldering ruins.

  Block 8 was the same as Blocks 6 and 7 – just a completely incinerated hell world. Not a single standing home could be found.

  Matthew's heart turned to stone as a sudden certainty appeared in his mind. It couldn't even be called a realization.

  He looked down and saw the truth.

  This was planned.

  It was self-evident.

  They might not have anticipated the sheer amount of damage, but the distribution had worked perfectly in their favor.

  Waters was fine.

  Stock was fine.

  Polly was fine.

  All the assholes were fine, but nobody else was.

  Once he found Luke, Matthew would be done with Plenty. They'd just sell everything they had - even the cube home. It was better to be homeless on another colony than to live under the whims of a madman.

  This was just another fucking experiment gone wrong. It was just like Block 12.

  Matthew took a deep breath and began to descend towards the swarm of dots running back and forth. He hoped with all his heart Luke was one of them.

  Black smoke engulfed his cockpit, smoke that hadn't been anywhere near Block 1.

  Planned.

  It had to have been planned.

  Matthew could taste the bile in his throat. He didn't know whether to cry or to hate.

  The crowd started screaming as soon as he landed, their once-familiar faces twisted by desperation, and their voices marred by fear. Matthew couldn't call anyone in the crowd his friend. He hardly knew their names. But they were his neighbors, and he'd seen them enough to recognize their faces and voices.

  "Luke! Luke! Where are you? It's your dad!"

  The speakers blared, but the despairing outcry overwhelmed his words.

  Matthew furiously searched the crowd, trying his hardest to make out a child among the swarm of approaching adults, but he couldn't see anything through the thick forest of limbs.

  The scene troublingly invoked squinting through the legs of Paragons to try and see the shooters.

  The thought reminded him he was a criminal, a wanted man.

  He'd stolen the bullet-ridden Old Gallant from the Governor himself. Perhaps someone would even note the missing limbs and start asking questions about whether they matched the legs sticking out of the two downed Southern Robotics jets.

  He had to find his son then get rid of the incriminating machine.

  He screamed again.

  "Luke! Luke! Luke, where are you? It's your father!"

  "Help us! Help us!"

  "My house burnt down!"

  "My dad is dying!"

  Matthew stared at the flames.

  He didn't want anyone's house to burn down.

  He didn't want anyone's dad to die.

  But he also hadn't wanted to tell the protestors about the Governor's store of Paragons.

  He hadn't wanted to kill those jet pilots.

  He'd only done what he had to do to protect his son.

  Matthew reached underneath the chair.

  The gun was strapped where he knew it'd be. The strangest thing about Governor Waters was how terrified he was of his constituents. He talked about it before every trip.

  "I've got my gun too! Just in case they get any funny ideas!"

  Matthew had no idea what the hell Waters was talking about. He was driving a massive Paragon. The Governor could squish them if he wanted to, and sometimes he did. There was no need for a gun. But now Matthew was glad of his boss's insane paranoia.

  He cracked the cockpit open the tiniest inch and fired into the air.

  His cockpit had been nearly surrounded, but now the crowd hastily backed off.

  Matthew swallowed his guilt as he prepared to call for his son again.

  It didn't feel right to scare them. These people weren't responsible. They were just terrified victims, the same as him.

  He thought about how Block 1 was almost undamaged, and his hate burned bright. If Matthew had the chance, he might have shot Waters or Stock or Polly right at that moment.

  "Luke! Luke! Where are you? It's your father!"

  And then, he saw him.

  It was strange, but Matthew always marveled a little at how tiny Luke was. His son was only five, and Matthew had always been short, but it still caught him off guard no matter how many times he saw it.

  Was he really that small when he was five?

  Matthew let out a sob of relief as his son awkwardly stepped forward.

  "Dad? Dad? Is that you?"

  Luke's voice was filled with relief. His eyes were jarringly red against his small but handsome face. Tears trailed down his little cheeks.

  Matthew started crying too. The tears just sprouted from his eyes.

  "Son! Son! Come over here!"

  The crowd slowly parted.

  Everything was alright.

  Luke was safe.

  And then a thick arm grabbed Luke from behind, jerking him clean off the floor.

  A big balding man who Matthew vaguely recognized lifted Luke high into the air. His boy struggled as hard as he could, furiously kicking with his feet, but there was nothing he could do. The man must have been five times his size. Luke might as well have been trying to kick a solid wall.

  "Give me that machine! Give me that machine, or I'll break his neck!"

  The big man's voice was distorted by fear, a high-pitched squeal that froze Matthew's blood.

  The gun felt very heavy in his hand. Every muscle in his arm was alive in a way it'd never been before.

  His entire world became two questions.

  "Could he shoot the man before he broke Luke's neck?"

  "Was he confident enough in his aim to shoot without hitting Luke?"

  The idea was ludicrous.

  This was the first time he'd ever held a gun in his life. He was
n't a Security Force officer. He piloted Paragons!

  The bald man turned this way and that, angrily barring his teeth at the crowd around him.

  "Fuck this kid! Fuck you all! It's every man for himself! I need that machine! My mom hit her head!"

  Another man stepped forward, yanking the bald man from behind.

  "Joe! Joe! Come on! What do you think you're doing? We all need help right now. You can't just take his son hostage!"

  The bald man slammed the other man right in the face, so hard that Matthew heard the crack of bones.

  "No! Fuck that! Fuck this kid! I need this machine!"

  Matthew put the gun back under the chair and opened the cockpit.

  "Let him go. Let my boy go. You can have the machine."

  The man dropped Luke at once, surging forward as soon as Matthew stepped outside. Luke stumbled towards him, shaken but otherwise totally unharmed. His neck wasn't even bruised.

  Matthew looked through the crowd.

  There were many injuries.

  Cuts and gashes, some shallow, some that looked very bad.

  People were carrying loved ones who couldn't stand at all.

  Others knelt next to prone bodies Matthew could only hope weren't corpses.

  He shot Luke a pained look. All Matthew wanted was to stay with his son.

  He thought of the big man's arm wrapped around Luke's neck.

  "It's every man for himself!"

  He told himself he should just keep his fucking head down.

  "Hey, how do I start this?"

  The bald man turned towards Matthew, his panicked voice cracking in terror.

  "How do I start this? I need to go get my mom!"

  Nobody else could fly the broken cockpit, not even the blue pilot who'd beaten Matthew in the simulator. He should just let the bald guy crash it. It'd be a perfect crime.

  "Please! Help me! I need to get my mom!"

  Matthew's mom had passed away long ago. He spent a lot of nights wishing somebody could've saved her.

  He let out a long sigh. Then he hugged his son as tight as he could.

  "Wait here, big guy. Daddy's gotta do something."

  Luke hugged back, his wide eyes staring into Matthew's face.

  He should just keep his fucking head down, but he couldn't.