Seppukarian_NEW WORLD DISORDER

by George Mahaffey

  I powered up my glasses which provided a news feed of sorts. Some of the information concerned national or international events, but most of the stories were from several weeks ago. There was also a good amount of information pertaining to local matters that appeared to center largely around The Hermitage. There were menus for breakfast, lunch, and dinner, reminders about key organizational events, and even a calendar for yoga and storytelling time. After all that I’d witnessed during the invasion, the chaos, the constant running for cover, the inability to find a secure location for more than a few weeks, I had trouble accepting that The Hermitage was real. Everything was too neat and shiny and … orderly. I powered the glasses down and padded up the walkway and between the black-glassed buildings whose facades were so darkly tinted that I couldn’t see what was happening inside.

  When I got within a hundred feet of the hangar, I felt something … a disturbance in the air, almost like the sensation I used to get as a kid from standing under power lines. Teeth gritted, I staggered up the walkway and pressed my hand to the hanger’s silver skin. A current of some kind pulsed through my hand, and I pulled it back. There were faint voices echoing from somewhere on the other side of the wall along with the constant hum of what sounded like air handlers and heavy industrial machinery.

  My inner voice whispered to me. “Don’t go inside, Danny. Don’t be a dumb ass.”

  Realizing I’d rarely if ever listened to that voice before, I moved laterally toward a side door. There was a flash of light over my eyes from some unseen laser, what I assumed was a concealed biometrics scanner. I was blinded for an instant as the door began powering up. Squinting, I stumbled forward and was greeted by a rush of air. My eyes opened and I stepped into a cavernous, semi-darkened space that was partially sectioned off by walls and netting that rose from the floor to a ceiling that was barely visible far overhead.

  I leaned against one of a series of titanic metal pilings that supported the structure. Above the piling and near the roofline were dozens of arched trusses that curled from left to right, cantilevered at both ends to allow whatever was coming through that huge door I’d seen earlier to have maximum vertical clearance.

  The only light was cast down from several solar tubes, making the entire area seem gloomier than it should be. Turning my head in every direction, I was reminded of the time I’d gone to an indoor sporting facility back in my hometown that housed two ice rinks and several basketball courts. The hangar looked like it could easily house ten ice rinks and several commercial airplanes and still have room to spare.

  I inched forward, through what looked like a micro-kitchen. There was a small refrigerator separated from a stainless-steel table by a collection of bean bags. Beside the bean bags were two small couches, several game consoles, and a handful of dispensing machines that were filled with giant tubs of bottled water and other drinks.

  Voices sounded in the distance, followed by footfalls. I was scared of being caught, so I maneuvered through a side alcove and hid behind a stack of metal crates. When the voices faded, I exited the kitchen and hooked a left, keeping to the shadows. Stopping, I noticed a pyramidal structure, a kind of hangar-within-the hangar, in the middle of the space. Even though there were no windows on its slate-gray exterior, lights could be seen flashing inside along with the muted echo of what sounded like screams and explosions and the report from small arms fire.

  I turned from this and crept back through a divider toward the rear of the hangar. There was another structure visible, what looked like a gigantic, black metal garage that took up nearly a quarter of the warehouse’s backside.

  The doors on the front of the black metal garage were floor-to-ceiling, at least thirty feet in height. They made up almost the entirety of the front of the garage, and thick metal tracks were visible on the ground in front of them. I followed the tracks which led from the front of the garage to another massive door at the back of the hangar.

  There were also tracks fixed to the ceiling too, such that it looked like something could be slotted between both sets of tracks and wheeled in and out of the hangar and the metal box. Curiosity got the best of me, and I advanced on the black metal garage, noting the monstrous industrial machines off to my left and right. A variety of lifts and power-cranes and robotic machines with hooks and pincers that looked capable of hoisting almost anything.

  Soon I was standing before the doors to the black metal garage. I could tell they weren’t locked, and so I came closer, and a sensor clicked on and the door panels separated. The inside of the garage was darker than the bottom of a well at midnight. I paused, worried about what I’d find inside, and then I took one step, then another.

  I tiptoed across the threshold into the garage. Faint pulse lights began snapping on overhead, and I gasped. There were humongous outlines to the left and right and with every step, another light sizzled to life allowing me to see row-upon-row of shimmering weapons of war. I knew instantly that I was in the presence of mechanized fighting machines.

  Mechs!

  A dozen of them at least, all hanging from hooks bolted to the ceiling near docking stations, looking like ducks dangling from a butcher’s shop window. I’d seen alien battle machines in the skies and streets before, Reaper mechs and Swan drones mostly, but these monsters appeared sleeker and were more intimidating than anything the aliens had (aside from the eight-legged “Ocho” mechs which, although rarely seen, were truly terrifying).

  I walked between the titans which ranged in size from fifteen to more than twenty-feet tall. I’d been around enough destroyed alien drones to spot the tiny entrance doors that lay on the side of the taller machines’ massive front pistons, larger than the circumference of oak trees, that kept the machines upright. I admired the sweep of these “legs,” how they curved back and into a turret on top that had mostly dual bubbletops, one on the front of the mech, the other raised and on the back side, connecting to form the cockpit.

  My experience told me the machines were probably controlled like the alien drones, with one of the operators steering it while the other handled the targeting and shooting. I’d seen the aliens do the same thing with their own Reaper mechs during the invasion and occupation. Cylindrical metal pods the size of small cars hung on either side of the turret, filled with what I presumed to be rockets. Beneath the pods were cannons, one short, the other very long, both connected to metal bins that I assumed held thousands of rounds of ammunition. There were other weapons attached to the sides of the machine (by what looked like powerful magnets), including a scythe whose blade was taller than me, and an oversized hammer with a spike protruding from the end of it. I had visions of the monster rampaging across the countryside or laying waste to a small city.

  Moving over, I stood in the machine’s shadow and reached out a hand. My index finger caressed its cool metal and then—

  WONK! WONK! WONK!

  Powerful hidden floodlights flashed on, blinding me. Footsteps sounded, and I turned to see Vidmark. He was shadowed by a handful of people in the gray uniforms I’d seen outside, including the breathtaking girl with amber hair.

  “Let me be the first to welcome you, Danny,” Vidmark said.

  I stood there, sweat dripping down the back of my neck. I summoned up a smile, my teeth chattering. “T-to wha-what?”

  Vidmark grinned. “To the place where heroes are born.”

  11

  If you’ve ever been the new kid in a new school, you know exactly what I felt like standing there next to the mechs, staring at Vidmark and the others. All the old anxieties and feelings of awkwardness rushed back. I was a teenager again, a rookie, just like I’d been back in the seventh grade. I probably don’t have to tell you, but there are few things in life worse than being the newcomer at a school.

  My eyes hopped between the people surrounding Vidmark. There were two black guys around my age (one of whom had hair dyed platinum blond), two willowy Asian girls in thigh-high boots who were clutching helmets, and finally (flanking my
new girlfriend with the amber hair), a tall kid with a chestnut mane gelled perfectly into submission, who looked like he’d stepped from the pages of some cheesy clothes catalogue. There was a way the tall guy positioned himself, smirking with his weight balanced on one leg, that annoyed the hell out of me. It was the way somebody stood who was used to giving orders. Moreover, the manner in which he seemed to brace himself against the girl with the amber hair made me think he’d already called dibs on her. I immediately disliked him.

  For a moment I flashed back to an old movie my dad used to love called “Karate Kid.” There’s a scene in it where the main character, Daniel (great name btw!), heads down to a karate place and is confronted by these toughs and their leader, a real shitkicker named John Kreese who owned a place called the Kobra Kai Dojo. I was seriously feeling like Daniel at that moment as I took on everyone’s stares. The only problem was I didn’t have my own Mr. Miyagi for backup.

  The wannabe male model with the good hair stepped to me; his mouth curled up into a sneer. He pointed at me, then looked at Vidmark. “Seriously? This is the guy, Mister Vidmark? This is … Davis?”

  “Deus,” I said raising my hand.

  Mister model glared at me. “What did you just say?”

  “My name’s Dan … Danny Deus.”

  The kid smirked. “Well, Dan … Danny Deus,” he replied, repeated my words in a mocking tone, “this is a special area, and it is off limits to people like you. You’re trespassing.”

  “At ease, Simeon,” Vidmark said, silencing the tall man-child. Simeon! What the hell kind of name was that? It sounded like something a chimpanzee or a ferret would answer to. I hated him even more. Vidmark turned to me. “Technically he’s right, Danny. You’re not authorized to be here.”

  “Hey, I’m sorry,” I said sliding on my neural glasses. “You wouldn’t hit a guy with glasses?” I asked, hoping to get a laugh.

  “Hit the bricks, doofus,” the humorless male model-type said. The others sniggered at this although I did notice the girl with the amber-colored hair nudged him in the side. I took that as a hopeful sign. Points in the plus column for my girlfriend to be.

  “Okay. Consider the bricks hit,” I replied, putting my head down, shuffling past Vidmark and the others who mumbled and snickered while eye-jacking me. Vidmark followed me outside of the garage/mech room as the door closed behind us. I had so many questions to ask Vidmark, but I was nervous because I’d obviously gone where I wasn’t supposed to go. I was worried that he’d unload on me at any minute and send me back to prison.

  “Tough crowd,” I said, angling a thumb back in the direction of Simeon and the others. Vidmark didn’t respond, and I was worried about how pissed he was at me. Instead of screaming, he mustered a smile. “I should have told you about that room.”

  “Who are those people?” I asked.

  “Did you play sports in school, Danny?”

  “I rode the pine on several teams, yeah,” I replied.

  “Then I guess you could say they’re the varsity.”

  “Who’s the jayvee?” I asked.

  “Everyone else.”

  I nodded. “Some of them had helmets.”

  “That’s right.”

  “Are they pilots or something?” I asked.

  “Like I said before. We use and prefer the term ‘operators.’”

  “They’re operating those machines?”

  “When needed,” Vidmark replied.

  “Why aren’t you using soldiers? I mean, you’ve got those super mechs and … I haven’t seen a single soldier around here.”

  “Does that concern you?”

  “Just seems a little weird.”

  “I’m sure I don’t need to tell you that most of the military’s tier-one personnel were killed during the invasion and occupation. The aliens specifically targeted certain groups, including those in elite military units and all others they assumed were of fighting age. So, what’s happened is that we’ve been forced to start from scratch with amateurs who possess certain kinds of skills.”

  “What about me?”

  “What about you?”

  “Am I part of it too? Am I part of … the Icarus Project?”

  “Well, I believe we touched on this before, but let me reiterate that it all depends…”

  “On what?”

  Vidmark stopped. “Everyone has a different calling in life, Danny. There are those who stand on the front lines, and those who do not. A calling to work in the back office is a calling nonetheless.”

  I perceived this as a slight. My face flushed. “I figure you brought me here for a reason, sir. I mean, you were obviously watching me before and saved me and brought me here and I saw those mechs back there. I can operate anything with an engine in it if you were wondering.”

  “I know you can, but before you can run, you have to learn how to walk. Especially given your current condition.”

  “What is this place?” I asked. “I know what was said in that text of yours, but what is it really?”

  “It’s a new technology-focused element formed under the aegis of The Mech Command.”

  “I don’t know what any of that means, sir.”

  He smiled. “Think of it like … The Manhattan Project for the defense of the Earth. Does that help at all?”

  I felt like a total idiot, so I just nodded even though I didn’t really know what any of that meant. I had more questions to ask, but Vidmark had a way of silencing people with looks. He placed a hand on my shoulder. “I’d like to show you something, Danny.”

  * * *

  Vidmark led me to the other side of the hangar, pushing aside a twenty-foot tall metal barn door. He shuttled forward, and I followed, walking into what looked like a graveyard for mechs and robots.

  Cable and conduit dangled like entrails from wire leaders that were strung over a walkway that bisected bins filled with metal helmets, severed arms, battle-scorched torsos, and cockpits that appeared to have been spiderwebbed by small-arms fire.

  I couldn’t tell whether the materials had been salvaged from the aliens or created on site, but I assumed the former since so much of it was dented and rusted. I eased down the walkway, studying circuitry, internal control panels, onboard computers, and various engines and other power sources that I reckoned had powered the machines when they were operational. I moved past Vidmark and noted an area at the back of the room that was not well lit. There were things back there, larger forms that I couldn’t make out, propped against one wall.

  “Do you know what this place is, Danny?” Vidmark asked. I looked back and saw that he was holding a warped metal hand that was missing several fingers.

  “The island of misfit mechs?” I answered.

  Vidmark smiled. “This is the place where some mechs die, and others are reborn,” he mused. He dropped the hand back in a bin. “There’s a man who’s been put in charge of this place and other things around here. Jack Richter. He’s got an assistant but would like another one.”

  “Me?” I said.

  Vidmark nodded. I didn’t like the idea of being anyone’s grunt, but seeing that I was the new guy in town, and had trespassed into an off-limits area, I’d take anything that was offered to me.

  “Is that why I was brought here?” I asked.

  “Part of the reason, yes.”

  “Why this place?” I asked, looking around.

  Vidmark pursed his lips, then stared up at the ceiling, deep in contemplation. “My father got me my first job while I was still in high school. A company in the Midwest that manufactured braking systems for trains and other machines.” His gaze wandered back to me. “They started me off at fifteen dollars an hour which seemed, at the time, like all the money in the world. My dad knew one of the men that ran the plant and could’ve pulled a few strings to get me a desk job, but I asked to work out on the floor. I was down sweeping up and driving this little loader filled with raw materials, nanotubes, and whatnot. I’d drive that loader all around the floor, d
umping it into these enormous extruders and hoppers. You know why I volunteered to do that?”

  I shook my head.

  “Because the only way you ever understand how a place works is by starting at the bottom.”

  A few seconds of silence stretched between us. “I think I understand, sir,” I said.

  “I knew you would.”

  “Can I ask one last thing, sir?” I said.

  “Ask away, Danny.”

  “There’s something shaped like a pyramid at the back of this building,” I said. “I saw it before.”

  “There is indeed.”

  “There were these weird lights coming from inside.”

  “That doesn’t surprise me,” Vidmark replied.

  “What’s in there?”

  “That’s on a strictly need to know basis, Danny. And right now, you don’t need to know.”

  12

  Vidmark and I parted company. He told me to grab a change of clothes, get some lunch, and come back in a few hours to meet with Mr. Richter which was just fine with me. I made my way back to the building where I’d watched the others through the window. I found several fresh changes of clothing waiting for me, including three black jumpsuits that weren’t nearly as dope as the gray ones worn by Simeon and the other cool kids.

  Lunch was served in a mess hall of sorts, a large multi-purpose room in one of the low-slung buildings with the tinted glass. I discovered that these buildings were filled with administrative and tech wizards who were huddled in cubicles, apparently working to help reboot and rebuild portions of the various networks and operating systems that had been trashed during the invasion and occupation. I came to find that people worked in various shifts at The Hermitage, some laboring during the day and others, mostly the admin people, overnight. I hit the mess hall and began moving in slow-motion through a buffet line. As I was loading my tray down with all sorts of goodies, I spied Simeon and the other operators sitting by themselves at a far table. The amber-haired girl was there, laughing at something Simeon had just whispered. I studied the curvature of her neck as she threw back her beautiful hair. I was smitten.