by Justin Sloan
It was time to get the tools.
It was time to get to work.
IN BETWEEN SYNDICATE sweeping operations and bombing runs, the three operated quickly and efficiently, managing to sneak out most days to work on bringing Haskell’s creation to life. Haskell tutored Gene and Gibbs on her design and the engineering difficulties that lay ahead. She told them that the single greatest hurdle they would have to overcome centered on the issue of torque. That is, the biggest problem with building a large fighting machine lay in the inability to create sufficient power to move the damned thing around. By way of example, Haskell said she’d calculated that the torque required to power a hundred and twenty-five foot fighting mech would amount to approximately forty-million feet of torque (give or take a few million). There simply wasn’t any way (that she knew of) to generate that amount of juice, or keep the thing from splitting apart at the joints (particularly the knee joints).
Which is why they had to go small.
Small meant less torque.
A tinier target.
More maneuverability and agility.
Haskell surmised that whatever they built, powered by the engines stolen from the downed alien drone, would be lighter and faster than anything the Syndicate had likely seen the resistance use before. At least that’s what she hoped.
Knowing this, they continued to work, day after day, sneaking out, stripping materials from the atomized city, dragging them down into the workshop. There, they joined lengths of steel with carbon fiber and sections of hydraulic muscle strands, connecting the machine’s joints, slowly creating legs and arms. The machine wasn’t going to be large or overly intimidating. When finished, Haskell calculated that it might stand a hair over nine feet tall.
Next came the building of the frame with the carbon fiber (which lessoned the overall weight of the machine), and the fitting of hydraulics and gyroscopes (repurposed from several industrial machines unearthed in the rubble), along with the reinforced housing where the engines would be seated, just above the machine’s legs.
Connecting the engines to the battery pack, they were surprised to see that both functioned perfectly, able to generate sufficient torque, by Haskell’s calculations, to lift several hundred thousand pounds of weight. In short, the engines were powerful enough to energize the machine. The trio watched in wonder as the engines powered the machine’s hydraulic legs and arms, its “muscles,” until what amounted to a crude exoskeleton was stalking around the space awkwardly like Frankenstein’s monster.
They left a cavity in the interior of the machine, a space large enough to contain a person, a controller, the operator who’d be manipulating the machine. The operator would be ensconced in what looked like a kind of shark cage, protected by various steel, ceramic, and two carbon fiber plates. Haskell was grateful they’d found the two carbon fiber plates which were significantly stronger than steel (possessing a strength of nearly 7000 megapascals as opposed to steel’s 700 megapascals). She slotted the plates in place, covering the operator’s head and other vital areas.
Finally, the trio commenced working on the machine’s weaponry, utilizing the cannon they’d found back in the sewer lagoon. They fitted the cannon onto the end of the machine’s right fist and inserted the small rockets they’d found inside the downed drone. Next, they welded on an old-school Gatling-gun-style mini-gun they’d found near a bombed-out resistance hideout to the machine’s left hip (along with a coil of ammunition), making sure that both of the weapons could be manipulated by the operator via a joystick. The one thing they didn’t have was any kind of interface or directional controls, so the operator would have to fire the weapons purely by sight.
When they were finished in full, well beyond the original two weeks they’d planned on, they sat back and stared at the machine, their mech. Haskell watched Gibbs move over to the creation and run his hand down the edges which were gunmetal gray. His fingers traced the outline of the cannon and the mini-gun. He turned and smiled.
“This fucker is a piece of engineering divinity,” he said.
“Boomslang,” Haskell whispered in response, a satisfied smile tugging at the corners of her mouth.
Gene gaped at her. “I never did ask what ‘Ex Nihilo’ meant.”
“From nothing,” said Haskell. “That’s what we did. We built something from nothing.”
She stood, readying to take in her creation when—
CRACKBOOM!
Sound.
Fury.
Darkness.
A bomb exploded and the room shook.
Everyone screamed.
The Syndicate had found them.
DUST AND DEBRIS fell from the ceiling.
For a moment Haskell was convinced the workshop was going to come down on top of them. Her ears rang and she couldn’t see a fucking thing, but she felt the ground seeming to shift underfoot, as if the city was in the grip of an earthquake.
A figure rose up in front of her in the darkness and she screamed.
It was Gene.
His forehead was bleeding and he was gesturing back toward the entrance to the space that was partially concealed by a collapsed wall.
“Direct hit,” Gene said. “The bastards must’ve been tracking us.”
“We’d be dead if they did,” Haskell replied.
He pulled her up and she squinted, looking to see the mech, looking to see if Gibbs was okay. The little man was visible near the far wall, hands over his ears, head tucked between his knees. She rushed over, catching sight of the mech suit peripherally. Her hands touched Gibbs’ neck and he was as cold as ice.
“We need to go!” she shouted.
Gibbs wouldn’t budge and so she gestured to Gene who moved over and grabbed Gibbs, who appeared to be in shock, holding him up in his powerful arms.
“What about the mech?!” Haskell shouted.
“Leave it!” Gene said. “They might hit us again!”
Haskell’s gaze hopped to the mech which she desperately wanted to protect, but there was no time.
The trio moved to the entrance, Gene shoving rubble aside, clearing enough space for everyone to exit.
They stumble-stepped through the darkened passageway, the walls bowed, threatening to collapse at any moment. They could hear sounds echoing off in the distance. The roar of Syndicate gliders and the shriek of what was likely alien drones.
The three moved haltingly down through the tunnel, praying that another bomb didn’t land. Haskell suggested that they take the shortest route back to the safety of the outpost, up through a metal door that led to the streets above, but the door was jammed by the detritus of the bomb blast. It wouldn’t budge. Their only hope was to swing back and hope like hell that the pipe they’d dropped their tools down before was still intact.
They reached the pipe ten minutes later and saw to their horror that it been blasted apart and covered in a landslide of flotsam from the streets above.
“We’re fucked,” Gene said, lowering Gibbs to the ground.
Haskell squatted and examined Gibbs who was quivering, the color having drained from his face.
“You okay?” she asked.
Slowly, he nodded.
“We h-have to get o-out of here,” he said, his teeth chattering, his eyes jitterbugging.
Haskell ran a hand through her hair. She knew they wouldn’t last long if another bomb hit or the Syndicate sent a patrol down to hunt for them.
“Follow me,” she said.
“Wait. What?!” Gene replied.
She didn’t respond, just took off back toward the metal jammed metal door.
Upon reaching the door, Haskell told them to sit and wait and then she ducked back down the passageway and galloped toward her workshop. She entered the room and paused, staring at her creation, the mech suit lying propped against one wall.
“You can do this, girl,” she said to herself, squeezing her fists so tightly she thought she might draw blood. “You can do this.”
She closed her
eyes and then advanced on the mech and climbed inside the contraption.
And promptly fell to the ground.
What a fool! she thought. She’d totally failed to test the friggin’ thing out!
Lying on the ground, Haskell realized how incredibly awkward the suit felt. When she was younger, she’d been forced to get a scan for a back injury and the mech suit felt a lot like that, like being stuck inside an MRI chamber that had been bolted onto a pair of legs. If she’d had more time she could have refined the mech of course. She could have shaved down the legs, maybe replaced some of the metal with more carbon fiber and repositioned some of the machined parts, but there was no time for any of that now.
She reached down and powered up the mech’s twin engines and felt the thrum of the hydraulic actuators as they roared to life.
She gripped the controls and throttled a control joystick (one of two) to her left.
The metal fingers on the end of the mech “hand” spread out like the petals on a flower. Measuring her weight, she was able to push the machine up into a standing position. Gasping for breath, she grabbed the control joystick to her left and swung the mech around.
The ground shook again.
More bombs were falling.
She only had moments to act. Maybe less.
She grabbed and slotted the joystick to her right, thumbing the one on her left, walking the mech forward.
It was painstakingly slow, each step seeming to last an eternity, the mech’s metal boots feeling like they were encased in concrete.
But slowly, very slowly, she was getting a feel for the machine.
She felt the power of the engines surging through the exosuit and soon she was out and into the passageway, forcing the mech into a crouch, rumbling down toward Gene and Gibbs.
Gene spotted her first. His eyes were as wide as saucers, his mouth adroop.
“Did somebody call for help?” Haskell said with a ghost of a smile.
“It works,” Gene said, flabbergasted. “Jesus. It actually works.”
Haskell raised the mech’s arm and pointed at the door. “Get back!” she shouted.
Gene and Gibbs crabbed back and Haskell fumbled with the weapons controls. Keying the right joystick, she lifted the mech’s right arm and tapped down on a firing button.
WHOOSH!
A rocket erupted from the cannon and flew into the metal door, atomizing it in an explosion that was much larger than Haskell had expected.
“Holy shit!” she exclaimed.
When the dust from the blast subsided, they could see the outside world, the street above.
“LET’S GO!” Haskell screamed.
She led the way, maneuvering the mech up past the destroyed door, spidering toward the street which was shrouded in dust and smoke from the Syndicate bombing run. Haskell looked back to see Gene and Gibbs emerging from the passageway.
“We made it!” Haskell shouted.
Gene pointed.
She followed his line of sight back and down the street.
There were at least ten heavily-armed Syndicate soldiers visible.
Maybe seventy yards away.
“GET BEHIND ME!” Haskell shouted.
Peripherally, she saw Gene and Gibbs scoot behind her just as the alien soldiers opened fire.
The air filled with a blizzard of energized rounds that pelted the ground all around the three. Haskell screamed, reflexively bringing the mech’s arms up in front of her face as if they were her own when—
ZWINNNNG!
A round ricocheted off the front of the mech, nearly taking off Haskell’s head.
Shrapnel from the strike peppered her face.
She staggered, nearly collapsing, disoriented by the shot.
Time suddenly seemed to come undone.
Her vision came in discontinuous flutters and flashes.
She could hear Gene and Gibbs screaming, but was unable to understand anything they were saying. Her hands found the controls and she took a step, stabilizing the mech, acting as a shield for Gene and Gibbs.
Looking up, she saw the Syndicate soldiers charging forward.
They were moving in to finish her off.
Her thumbs finally came around, resting over the joysticks. A surge of adrenaline overtook her. If she was going down, it would be on her own terms. The mech’s right arm came up and she tapped down on the firing button, screaming, unleashing a half dozen missiles that flew down the road—
BOOM! BOOM! BOOM!
Detonating out in front of her.
The blasts flung the Syndicate soldiers sideways, scattering them like ten pins, as she closed her eyes, listening to the explosion roll down the street.
When she opened her eyes, all of the Syndicate soldiers but one were lying on the ground, blasted apart by the missiles.
Gene and Gibbs cheered as Haskell pressed down on the mech’s controls.
She moved the mech’s left leg, then the right, walking the machine forward.
With every step she gained more confidence and in seconds she was driving the mech forward, gimp-running, toward the last Syndicate soldier.
She spun back to see Gene and Gibbs taking shelter, concealing themselves behind a mound of debris.
The last remaining Syndicate soldier opened fire.
Haskell heaved the mech into a lateral run while simultaneously unloading with her machine gun. She watched the rounds slam into the Syndicate soldier, hitting a weak spot, showering the soldier in gore.
The mech slid to a stop and Haskell gulped for air like a drowning woman.
She’d done it!
She’d dispatched every single Syndicate soldier, she’d beaten them all!
She felt different now, imbued with the spirit of a warrior, believing at that moment that there was nothing she couldn’t do. She’d been born again and would take the battle to the Syndicate.
She turned and that’s when she saw it.
Standing at the end of the street.
The mech.
The biggest mech she’d ever seen.
A Syndicate Reaper.
Staring at her and the alien soldiers she’d killed.
HASKELL’S BLOOD turned to ice.
She’d seen Syndicate mechs before, but never one that tall. How big was the goddamn thing? Twelve? Fifteen feet tall? It was bigger than an elephant with what looked like two bubbletops mounted onto its turret. She could see the alien operators inside, grinning at her.
Before she could react, the Reaper mech unleashed hell.
Firing a swarm of rockets that curled up into the air.
Reflexively, Haskell jammed down on her controls.
The mech lurched forward as—
BAROOM!
The ground behind her heaved as the rockets slammed down exploding. Barely avoiding destruction, Haskell drove the machine to the right, feeling the engines rev into overdrive. The Reaper gave chase, opening up with its cannon, energized rounds scything into the debris, bouncing off Haskell’s armored exterior, giving her a jolt, making her shriek in fear.
She ran raggedly between the shells of bombed buildings. The Reaper was fast, but not as agile as she was. She was able to maneuver her mech through openings in the rubble while the Reaper crashed behind her, smashing through the city’s wreckage, firing at anything that moved.
She dropped the mech down into a crouch behind what had once been a storefront on Baltimore Street and waited, listening for the Reaper.
Hearing nothing, she turned and caught sight of it as—
WHAM!
The alien mech filed a single rocket that slammed into the cannon on her mech’s right hand!
There was a flash of light and a cacophonous boom, a symphony of sound and fury.
The impact from the missile strike lifted Haskell’s mech off of the ground in a ball of flame, sending her flying back through the air.
Five feet.
Ten.
She crashed through a wall and landed in a slope of rubble, woozy,
face caked with dust from the brick she’d slammed through, the coppery scent of blood in her mouth.
The engines were whining, the hydraulics snapping and popping.
Looking down, Haskell saw that the mech she had created was still in one piece save the cannon on the right hand, which had been torn in half by the Reaper’s missile. It was just a hunk of sharpened, bent metal now.
She toggled her controls, fighting to lever the mech up.
The machine grunted and heaved, but remained on its back.
Haskell pounded on the exosuit, trying to will the machine to stand when a shadow fell over her.
It was the Reaper.
It was standing up above, peering down at her.
Her stomach fell.
It was all over.
She was dead.
The Reaper’s cannons swiveled down toward her and Haskell, having nothing to lose, slammed down on her controls a final time.
By some miracle, her mech shambled forward into a diving run.
Haskell’s fingers keyed the controls and the mech’s right arm pistoned up, slamming the jagged metal end of the cannon into the belly of the Reaper. The jagged metal sunk into a vulnerable spot.
The Reaper’s operators hesitated and that’s all Haskell needed.
She keyed the controls again and swung the machine-gun on her left arm around and loosed every round she had into the Reaper’s bubbletops.
At such a close range, the rounds from her gun shattered the bubbletops, eviscerating the alien operators, striking one of the Reaper’s power sources as the machine went up in flames.
Haskell’s eyes went wide. She swung her mech’s arms, shrugging aside the alien mech, emerging back out onto the city streets as the Reaper exploded behind her.
Terrified that other alien machines would be lurking around, Haskell piloted her own mech down over the ruined blacktop, searching the skies for Swan drones, for alien gliders.
She turned a corner onto South Street and saw them.
The people in the streets.
Maybe two dozen of them.
Members of the resistance from back in the outpost.
Gene and Gibbs among them.
They’d come out.
They’d evidently watched her battle the Reaper.