by Duran Cross
As she moves it feels like the world slows somehow. The CryoZaiyon wonders if this attack will see her killed. Her shields are almost totally depleted and her core is burning far more energy than she can sustain. One direct hit and she may finally die.
Her war could be over.
Her child is dead. Her parents are dead. Her husband is dead. Seeing him again, after losing the others, was her last motivation for surviving what she endured under Van Gower. She is only a walking puppet version of whoever she once was. Machines have no feelings, anyway. Machines don’t think for themselves. Machines follow orders. Machines don’t want revenge.
She forces her mind to go silent.
This is a way for her to die doing something worthwhile.
Something worth being remembered for.
Until she cuts these units down she makes herself believe she’s invincible. She can be wounded, blown apart and mortally injured but she will not fall until these units are dead. Certainty fills her mind with calm.
With what energy she has left she compresses it together, imagining a ball of fire, set to erupt on her command. Should she be incapacitated before killing them she’ll explode just as Drej threatened to earlier, with a localised blast radius that will do little more to the surrounding soldiers than scathe their skin, hopefully no permanent damage to their eyes and ears.
Machines don’t die, they become inactive. She forces this through her head, but she doesn’t believe it applies and never has. But it has to be better than this.
It has to.
She approaches silently, blindsiding a Suvaco by lopping its weapon arm off above the elbow. It turns to face her but the hardest energy channelled swing she’s ever performed takes its head clean off. One down, two to go.
She moves towards the next one but it is already aware of her. It swings its chain gun towards her, continuing to fire. Her skin shines with a green glow, absorbing the barrage from point blank range with what’s left of her shield. She forces her core to release more energy in a rage, manifested by a scream of very real anger in the kind of clarity a person seldom experiences.
The fusillade from the Horizon Military bounce off the Suvaco plate armour, without any acknowledgement. Antares’ shield degrades quickly and in no time the chain gun is shredding the remainder of her torso armour. She reverses the grip on her sword and slams the blunt side across the chain gun’s shaft, warping it enough to cause a backfire, successfully disabling the weapon. Her chest and abdomen hiss steam fiercely as she flips the blade again and slashes across its neck. Purple blood fountains from the wound and it falls to its knees, grasping its neck in a futile attempt to stop the bleeding with its hands.
Last one.
The final Suvaco is firing a grenade launcher that shoots freezing glowing spheres. Since cold rounds are useless against a CryoZaiyon she thinks luck may be on her side, until a rocket fired from a shaky Horizon trooper misses the Suvaco and explodes against her shield, shattering it.
After a concussion wave laced with shrapnel strikes her she can’t feel or hear anything as she is thrown off the ground, feeling something of herself open up to the world. All she can see is steam. She comes down hard a few metres away. Antares can’t see the still firing soldiers, or Rennin Farrow snatching the rocket launcher from the frightened trooper and laying him out with one severe strike from his combat chassis arm.
She looks up into the mist pouring from her midsection and the glowing bullets flying through it like super accelerated fireflies. The sounds of gunfire and bullets hitting the stone walls are muffled and dull in her ears now.
‘Critical Failure’ flashes in her vision. She is still alive, though badly wounded. She still has an objective.
Her sword still in one hand, she reaches down with the other, salvaging the flap of skin that was once her abdomen to peel it over the wound, clamping her forearm across it to hold herself together. She brings her knees up and pushes off the ground with her sword arm feeling a sluggishness indicating she’s lost a great deal of her abdominal muscle system.
Antares manages to stand and takes a step towards the Suvaco but the movement causes a wave of pixelated darkness to swamp her vision and she nearly collapses.
She is about to engage her core’s overload sequence when she sees someone in the blast zone running at the Suvaco head on.
◆◆◆
Rennin Farrow felt fantastic smashing his fist into that trooper’s face. Cowards have no place on the battlefield, not to mention erratic rocketeers.
More of a danger to his own side, idiot.
The rocket launcher at the ready, he finds himself running as fast as he can towards the lone remaining Suvaco. A blue shimmering rocket flies at him so he strafes left just managing to register the freezing ground where he was a moment before. Goosebumps appear on his right arm, along with a severe chill.
I hate ice launchers.
He can see the crippled form of Amber Antares swing down with her sword across the back of the Suvaco’s knee, causing a spray of purple blood. The creature arches back, almost overbalancing.
Rennin yells for Antares to get clear but the best she can manage is to throw herself sideways. Rennin wants to fire a rocket but he won’t risk hitting her, not at all. His trigger finger twitches slightly in frustration.
Drej’s knife!
The Thermosteel grown in Drej’s own body should be strong enough to penetrate the Suvaco armour. There is nothing known that can resist Thermosteel.
He throws the rocket launcher aside and sprints at the off balance Suvaco, gripping the knife it in both hands, bracing the butt of it against his torso plate.
At full speed, Rennin careers into it. With his body’s weight behind it the blade drives through the armour and into the android’s stomach.
It lets out a anguished howl when Rennin twists it left, then right, then pulls the handle up forcing the blade down then slamming down on the machete length knife with all his might and ripping it out.
How do you like seppuku?
The beast of a thing lands a blow across his head and he stumbles to the side, stunned, barely managing to retain any vision at all.
A sniper round fires from behind Rennin, hitting the Suvaco in the arm causing it to drop the ice launcher. Rennin can only see out of his artificial eye and throws himself on the weapon, picking it up and only managing to point it at the android’s legs before desperately firing a round.
The glowing blue ball strikes, splashing outwards all over the surrounding area. Some of it hits Antares. The Suvaco roars out in surprise and alarm before it snaps cleanly in half. Its upper body lands on its back, thrashing about, bleeding through icicles that were innards only a moment before.
Rennin is too dizzy to aim properly and can feel blood running down his face as if it’s raining on only one spot on his head. He tries to focus while Antares crawls over to the torso, leaving a trail of steaming blood. The ice splashback fluid has frozen hard on her skin but merely breaks, falling away as she moves. Abandoning her sword, she now holds her sidearm.
She scrambles close enough to press the barrel of the gun against its helmet eye socket, emptying the clip through the vulnerability, finally killing it. Antares drops the gun and falls limp as Rennin passes out.
The last thing she thinks of is Forgal, just as he was before the dehumanising tragedy that befell all her kind.
The last—and inexplicable—thing Rennin thinks of is his father double bouncing him off a trampoline.
16.
Arrival
The defeat of the Suvacoes precedes a long and horrible night.
After the Horizon Military demolished the tunnel to Blackhaven completely with explosives to ensure no further incursions, silence fell.
Night in Whitechapel has become a thing of nightmares. The turrets on the fortifications fire spasmodically at straying contaminants. With the citywide blackout the shots ring out so loudly that all those trapped behind within Whitechapel’s protective w
alls can feel each shot resonate within their heart.
Screamers surround the district, their frantic, genuine sounding cries for help are driving the immune local population mad with dread.
The tension is palpable since trains have left the station, never to return. It’s smothering and inescapable and has been followed by a day that isn’t much better.
The only bright light for the stranded people is the real life HolinMech Arca Drej’s presence. A Godyssey funded soldier has come to protect the district at last, lifting the morale of the locals. Stories have circulated already that Drej and another android fought off three massive android attackers.
◆◆◆
Initially, the presence of Doctor Caufmann is barely tolerated. After two long, drawn out weeks in Whitechapel, the locals have come to see him as one of their own. Wayne Carr and his family had managed to escape, arriving in time for the secret evacuation via the last underground trains. Rennin took the news with his usual sarcasm but due to an incredibly severe concussion he has been having trouble collecting his thoughts. Caufmann thinks too much trauma to his head over the last short months probably isn’t helping.
The Suvaco’s hit to Rennin’s head caused a severe cerebral contusion, and ruptured his organic eye. Caufmann managed to save the eye, though it has been bound and will have to remain so for quite a while.
Sindaris Tessol has not been welcomed due to his extreme case of infection. The poor man was instantly confined and was left there almost a week before Caufmann could convince the locals into releasing him. Allowing people to see Sindaris and talk to him might show them that this man poses no threat.
The overriding fear that the survivors harbour for the infected was unable to be alleviated, despite Sindaris not being contagious. Many people who saw him could not see past his reptilian binary pupils.
In the end Sindaris volunteered to be incarcerated to ease the public unrest. There were a few that made an effort to speak with him, overcoming their fear, who now visit regularly to keep him company. A little girl plays chess with him, he is teaching a young boy to paint, an elderly teacher enjoys their verbal sparring sessions, where both act like curmudgeonly old coots. Any who come to treat him as a circus sideshow, or some object of peculiarity, are not allowed to return.
◆◆◆
Rennin walks around the streets of Whitechapel near to the fortified walls when the electrified top of the fence blasts to life, cracking loudly and making him jump. Another climbing contaminant has been burned alive by the generators.
His scattered thoughts turn to food, so he wanders towards the main food hall, where the remaining immune trapped in Whitechapel dine each night at 7pm. The large tables are set close, the diners accommodating each other like one massive family with everyone bonding over a meal. This has helped build a sense of community amongst all these people that were left behind. All they have left is each other, so they keep close. Rennin initially thought they’d all keep to themselves, looking after number one, but most of them are families and have learned to value others above themselves. Rennin still cannot believe this catastrophe, this crisis, has birthed something Rennin feels himself mentally retch at the thought of.
Wholesome.
Mia and Drake are inseparable now. Rennin spots them eating and joins them. He sits, feeling a slight wave of dizziness that passes momentarily.
“It’s good to see you two have managed to pry apart your pelvises long enough to eat something,” he says smiling lopsidedly.
“Is that a smirk or are you having a stroke?” asks Mia.
The general mood at the table is quite depressed, even the jokes seem to have a more serious edge than usual. Drake looks at him in a resigned way. “How are you feeling?”
“Am I as charming as ever?”
“Like a cobra.”
A hand taps on Mia’s shoulder and she looks up to see a group of people dressed in combat gear. “What’s up?”
A woman, clearly a civilian, but wearing Horizon Military armour speaks. “It’s going to be twilight in twenty minutes. The light at dawn and dusk seems to frighten the contaminants so we’re going to use that time to get out of here and look for survivors.”
“That’s insane,” Mia says through a mouthful of food.
“There could be others like us or even like Tessol out there, we have to try to find them.”
“What’s your name?” asks Mia.
“Sandra Kay.”
“Do you even know how to handle that weapon?” asks Mia, eyeing her machinegun.
“We’ve all been taught to shoot since we’ve been here,” she says defensively.
Mia stands up. “I can’t go in the field because I honestly think it would be stupid to venture out since pretty much the entire city is overrun now. You’re looking for someone in particular?”
Sandra looks down. “Anyone. Feels like the end of the world cooped up in here. The others with me feel like I do.”
Rennin can’t resist an audible scoff. “I can hear a very faint violin playing somewhere.”
“It’s probably the whistle of the wind passing through that chasm between your ears,” says Drake.
Sandra shakes her head at Rennin and faces Mia again. “We could use your help, you’re the best sniper here,” she says and Rennin is about to disagree but Drake flicks some food into his face.
Mia leans in towards Sandra and whispers something but Rennin’s keen hearing picks it up. “Pregnant?” he cries looking at Drake. “We’ve got a city full of hungry, angry, pointy mutants and you’re fertilising the lawn?”
Drake throws his utensils into his tray, “Jesus, Rennin!”
As they start arguing about who’s the bigger, grander fool, Mia pulls on Sandra’s collar to see if she’s wearing a chain. “No dog tags?”
“I’m not a soldier.”
Mia pulls hers from around her neck and hands them to Sandra. “Take these for luck. Lose them and I’ll kill you.”
Sandra takes them and puts them on with a wan smile. “Thanks.”
“Don’t be sardonic, they have a short range tracker in them in case you get lost, nearby friendlies can pick up your location up to a klick away.”
“Only that far?”
“Well you don’t want enemy satellites tracking your troop movements. They’re only for short range tracking in case you get separated from your squad. They’re encrypted but it’s not worth the risk.”
Sandra nods, “Then thank you.”
Once Sandra walks off with her small band, Mia sits back down. “They’re insane.”
“They didn’t even ask if Boy Blunder here would go with them,” says Rennin reaching across the table to pinch Drake’s cheek.
“Well they didn’t ask you, either.”
“I have a bung eye and a concussion.”
“Sure it’s a concussion,” says Drake nodding with exaggerated slowness.
“By the way I’m not pregnant,” says Mia. “I fucking hate kids.”
Rennin laughs.
She shovels another spoonful of suspiciously pink sludge into her mouth, “You tell someone you’re pregnant, no one asks you to do anything. They’re all suddenly really concerned about a collection of bacteria that’s more like a tumour than a person.”
“Well there goes my appetite,” sighs Drake.
Rennin smiles, poking at some greenish goo on his plate that looks like it may once have been a potato blended with broccoli and old liposuction fluid.
“Do you think Antares will pull through?” he asks half-heartedly.
◆◆◆
In the medical structure, Caufmann has been keeping hourly status reports on Antares’ steadily deteriorating condition. Recently she had woken up, temporarily overcoming her grievous wounds to manage a few brief conversations.
Caufmann reads her charts with a detached expression but when Rennin enters Antares’ room he knows the doctor isn’t happy.
“Just like old times?” asks the former watchman.
Caufmann puts the chart down on the bed, peers into Antares’ weary green eyes then glances to Rennin, “You have no idea how close to the truth you are, Ren.”
Something terrible gleams from Caufmann’s eyes and it makes Rennin lean back slightly. “What is it?”
“I haven’t performed such a despicable perversion of a patch up in over fifteen years.”
Antares smiles. “I told you… to leave me… on the street.”
“What patch up?” asks Rennin.
“She’s mortally wounded and all I’ve managed to do in a fortnight is slow the process down. Just like the Jupiter Sieges…” he trails off, taking a ragged breath. “Everyone died, all I did was slow it down so they’d be able to fight longer to see out their last fragments of borrowed time under the same rain of firepower that killed them in the first place.” he says gritting his teeth and turning away from them both.
Rennin glances at Antares then looks to Caufmann. “Why did…” he starts, unsure what his question is.
“We weren’t reinforced. We had to make do with what we had. I was brought dead androids, and I made them live again. Can you picture it?”
Rennin shakes his head slowly. “No, sir.”
“I think the worst of it was when the Jupiter Sieges ended. Watching maimed troops survive the last battle just to succumb to their injuries,” he says holding his hands up in front of Rennin. “They survived the war but they didn’t survive me.”
Antares huffs out an artificial laugh. “Decora, you… blamed yourself for every death we suffered. It’s… quite enough.”
“What did you think you were doing running at three Suvaco units like that?” Caufmann yells wheeling around to face her. “There are too few of us left to throw our lives away!”
Antares is still smiling but her eyes are wet and closed. “I’m so tired. I don’t want to fight anymore. My husband-” she chokes up slightly, “my… Forgal was everything I fought for. He fought to free us, Nexarien, and I fought to free him. From them and from himself. He wasn’t strong enough to fight on his own. None of us were. But through our slaughter of the humanists we learned that carnage can’t free us. Of all of us, I pity Saifer the most. Even more than I do you.”