Sky City (The Rise of an Orphan)

by RD Hale

  I must concentrate.

  Emerging from the tunnel I see trees lining dirty water and behind them stands a cylindrical glass tower with the San Terian flag at its peak. I navigate boulders and barren oaks, some felled, before swooshing over the muddy pond and heading into an elevated pipe. G-forces toss me around as the track loops and corkscrews but I manage to gauge the blind turns with the racing pod intact.

  The panorama swirls as I escape this perilous pipe and reach daylight, but I quickly gather my senses to swerve past geysers bursting from hydrothermal vents. Boiling water splashes onto the pod roof and a flood of endorphins generates a state of exhilaration, the likes of which I did not believe I would ever experience again.

  Approaching the pit I opt to whizz by for a second lap, resisting the urge to brake as I avoid obstacles within fractions of seconds. I clearly have the makings of a professional pilot as I complete the circuit in what must be a significantly shorter time, proudly landing this incredible craft. Tool-wielding mechanics step from the hangar as I poke my grinning head out the roof hatch.

  'Good to see you made it in one piece, kid. Hope you didn't harm my baby.'

  'The new parts seem to be in working order, Anguson. The thing didn't explode as feared, which is good to see. And there's definitely some extra speed and manoeuvrability now. Our little test subject may as well return to the pit,' one of the pit engineers suggests.

  'Nah, he should continue helping out with testing for the remainder of the day. He's earned it,' Anguson insists.

  Better Late Than Never

  One morning as we head into the mine the monotony is broken by an explosion tearing through the skies. The shockwave ripples through the domed forcefield and emergency lights flash as a siren causes hysteria. Nearby, guards hurtle through the air as firearms are flung from their hands. Gunfire wails over my ducking head and I spot a gaping hole of twisted, broken fencing. Prisoners pump their fists and roar as startled guards wave their guns, screaming: 'ORDER!'

  Near the source of the explosion sparks cascade from the shell of a mechanoid sliding down the crater slope with what I could swear is a small girl following into this battlezone.

  'That mech looks like Ivor… DYNAH!'

  Fighting lethargy I run with a desperate gait as a hail of lead freezes mid-air and streaks back in the opposite direction, courtesy of Dynah's telekinetic powers. An armoured transport breaches the fence with a rifle poking through a window hole. Dust is unsettled as the vehicle descends the slope and hovers at the edge of anarchy.

  'Come on. I told you they'd come!' I scream to Anguson as I pass a seemingly unfazed Dynah who is enshrouded in a vague red aura. My cellmate and our prospective liberators sprint through no man's land to the vehicle and the door is slid open by a machine gun wielding gremlin.

  'Smig, I've never been so glad to see your stupid face!' I yell.

  Smig sprays fire overhead as I dive into the vehicle and check to ensure my limbs are still attached. Enemy bullets ping off the metalwork as Anguson picks up Dynah and tosses her inside, then lunges in himself and the four of us give way for a half-ton of mechanical parts. Our transport shudders as Ivor climbs aboard, immediately unleashing a rocket and his robotic voice roars maniacally like he has lost his artificial mind.

  'DRIVE! The forcefield has reformed. Dynah!' Smig screams.

  Dynah holds the mechanoid's arm as she pokes her head out the vehicle to fix on her target in spite of oncoming fire. Her hair sways as a shockwave warps and punctures the rippling forcefield to provide a glimpse of freedom.

  'We have a few seconds. GO!' Turbo yells and we swoop through the broken perimeter fence, achieving the improbable by leaving the complex. Jardine lands the vehicle on the road for increased speed as passing scenery blurs and Smig takes aim into the pink sky, unloading his machine gun.

  'GUNSHIP! I'm barely scratching the surface. IVOR!' Smig roars as he and Turbo change clips.

  'Interventional Optimised Robotics locking target.'

  Ivor thrusts his arm out the vehicle and launches a projectile which leaves a swirl of smoke as it homes in on a swarm of flying mechanoids. Smaller robotic minions are sent hurtling by the resulting fireball but when the smoke dissipates the flying tank with quad-cannons is still pursuing. A trail of enemy bullets tears up tarmac and hits our roof with a calamitous clanking which reverberates through my bones.

  'Dynah, bring the shields down quick. Ivor, get ready to strike again,' Turbo orders.

  Dynah crouches and charges her powers as our vehicle swerves, almost sending her tumbling into the road which is being shredded by relentless gunfire. I grab her arm which is hot to the touch and my hand is flung back as she unleashes a corybantic shockwave, causing the gunship to shudder. Turbo fires his assault rifle whilst our enemy's forcefield is down.

  'IVOR NOW!' Smig screams.

  The unyielding gunship launches a missile with a sickening determination to reduce us to shrapnel and chunks of flesh. But our riled mechanical bodyguard returns the favour, unleashing his own flying parcel of explosives in retaliation.

  We veer, knowing every instant could be our last and a terrifyingly close explosion rocks our suspension as a cafe disintegrates in a plume of dust. The flaming gunship hurtles through the cloud, demolishing the face of a building opposite as it crashes and this bastard of a killing machine is consumed by rubble.

  The ensuing explosion causes the building's interior walls to collapse like a deck of cards and a furious wind tips our heavily built vehicle, which skids along the road with an ear-splitting screech. My skull clatters into metalwork as I am somersaulted in a turbulent blur and I thud down, whiplashed and concussed.

  Our getaway driver switches to hover mode without delay and miraculously none of us appear to have been seriously injured by the bone-crushing hulk of Ivor. Smig hands me his machine gun as I feel liquid trickling down my neck.

  'My arm is broken. We need to get to Underworld, fast,' Smig roars.

  A trio of hovering irritations emerge and they are way too optimistic given what we have just done to their big brother. A sticky web flies as Smig slams the door with his non-broken arm and glue splats onto the exterior.

  Our iron hulk flings the door open to fire a rocket which sends a superheated droid skywards like a volcanic bomb. Its agile allies take evasive action and further reinforcements appear. I squeeze the trigger, wrestling with the recoil of the barrel which judders through my stiffened neck. The ammunition tears pieces from armoured shells, causing a pair of pulverised enemies to spin, before bouncing along the road like metallic footballs.

  'Time to switch things up,' Dynah mutters, unleashing a slow moving ball of light and a helpless hoverbot is carried into the energy field by its own momentum. The spellbound machine commits treason, swathing its unsuspecting ally in a sticky web, which forces the one remaining droid to turn against our little puppet.

  'Whoa! Is there anything you can't do?' I ask.

  'I can't do what he can do.' Dynah glances at Ivor as his forearm rotates.

  We cruise over a grass verge towards a maglev highway as yet another hoverbot closes in and bobs several feet from the door. I perceive individual screws and tiny lettering as its chest panel opens and a nozzle shoots a web of rapidly setting glue. Ivor is engulfed in a blue resin but it fails to restrain his limbs. He reaches out to fling the droid which collides with one of its allies and they skid along the ground in a trail of sparks, smashing into a wall.

  We hit the maglev highway and catapult forward at triple speed, weaving through traffic as Ivor grabs the roof of the vehicle and swings upwards, landing with a thunderous clank.

  'What's he doing?' Smig asks.

  'He's kicking metal arse!' I reply.

  Smoke trails from a missile as I slam the door to shield us from crossfire whilst the artificial soldier takes care of business. Our inability to see the action feels unbearable but every ensuing explosion as well as the fact we are still intact, suggests we are currently o
n the winning side. Before long the calamity settles and there is a booming knock so I open the door to see an inverted robot head.

  'All taken care of.' Ivor swings back down into the vehicle and I close the door as we approach a familiar tunnel.

  Minutes later the transport comes to a standstill beside a train platform and when Smig slides the door open I step into Underworld cautiously, like I am taking my first steps. A remarkable show of loyalty has gifted a lease of life I had all but given up on, yet the expected sense of elation does not materialise.

  Our extraordinary squadron turns heads as we march to Jardine's offices and as we pass through the seedy activity it is like venturing onto a distant planet because I no longer belong in the wider world. I feel disconnected and the inhabitants who once seemed so terrifying, now seem peculiar and harmless. We attract stares and I stare right back at these small timers, unintimidated.

  Jardine leads us into his den and I follow apathetically into a different room to that of my last visit. He seems energised, like he still has a purpose to fulfil, but I just want to go, to recuperate from purgatory. I am zoning out, sleepwalking into vagueness until I see her standing there, waiting. And the figment of what must be a dream floods an empty mind with nostalgia; my wretchedness contrasted by the beauty of an instantly recognisable, yet almost forgotten girl.

  With melancholic incomprehension, I stare at the lost-looking speck walking towards my deadened self and I am overcome with denial as lifeforce trickles into my veins. Shoulders tense, the left one twitches and my breathing is shaky as she advances step by tentative step. I am afraid to consider this moment reality as she winces pityingly, with such uncertainty in her eyes and she touches my soot-clogged face.

  'You're filthy, bleeding. Your eyes, what's wrong with your eyes? They've changed.' Mila's voice trembles as a tear wells in her eye.

  'I thought I'd never see you again,' I mutter, the words barely leaving my lips.

  'Guys, sit down. We need to act quick. Firstly, we need to separate and lie low for a while. Smig, Turbo, you can take the bikes. Go in opposite directions. It reduces the risk of you getting caught. It goes without saying but silence is the key to survival. I need to take Arturo, Mila and Dynah with me. The city will not be safe for them at present,' Jardine says.

  'Jardine, I'm coming with you. Ain't no place safe for me right now,' Anguson interrupts.

  'No problem, old friend.'

  'You two know each other?' I ask with confused eyes swivelling between giants.

  'Me and Jardine go way back, kid. Can't believe the old bastard came through for me,' Anguson explains.

  'Actually Anguson, I came for the kid. You were just a funny coincidence.' Jardine laughs, leaning back with hands on belt.

  'I'm touched.'

  'Arturo, come here. You're bleeding,' Jardine instructs.

  As I approach him I repeatedly glance at a beautiful spectre. A sponge is run under the tap by Jardine who cleans the back of my neck and I continue looking at her who something may have happened with. I cannot recall if that magical night was before or after imprisonment, if I was asleep or awake, sober or delusional so I squeeze my eyelids. When they reopen she is still there... here.

  Jardine removes a small tube from a drawer and squeezes a cold substance into my head wound. Flaps of skin are pressed painfully together but I do not flinch. Fingers release pressure after a minute or so and she is still there.

  'Are you hurt anywhere else?'

  'My neck.'

  'Probably just whiplash but we can't be too careful.'

  A sealed packet, which Jardine takes from a drawer, is opened to reveal a wicked-looking syringe clearly intended for yours truly but he can do his worst. I wonder why he came, maybe he has a guilty conscience, a sense of loyalty or maybe he needs information. I was manipulated and let down but he rescued his pawn from oblivion and now he is treating my wounds. He cannot be all bad.

  'This will cause discomfort but the nanites will increase the healing process. Keep still.'

  As my vertebrae is stabbed by the needle I spasm and scrunch my face, but I do not care about pain because she is real. Life can begin again with a friend or a girlfriend and gaining clarification may prove awkward. We will not remain for long. Terrorism has done us no favours and before we leave, he will refund the money I lost. It is only right.

  'If it's whiplash you'll be fine by the morning. Anything more serious may take a few days,' Jardine advises, before turning his attention to Smig. 'Do you think you can ride one-handed?' Jardine injects Smig's broken left arm and hands over a key.

  'It's not like I have a choice! We need to get out of here. The longer we stay, the more we jeopardise the mission,' Smig replies.

  'We'll be calling on you soon enough, Smig. You're a valuable soldier.'

  Jardine checks the holoscreen for any sign of activity, switching between cameras to confirm the platform, tunnel entrances and innards of Deva Station are clear. We head to several old motorbikes parked on the former train platform and I turn to the ramshackle rescuers - the drug-dealing slumdog, the AWOL soldier, the innocent bio-weapon and the scrapheap droid, led by the general of a borderline terrorist organisation. They have undergone a metamorphosis into an effective guerrilla unit, more than a match for the prison's security facilities.

  Touched by how they risked their lives, I know I can depend on these people no matter what. Smig has gained a noticeable professionalism and maintains a sturdy posture as I place a hand on his shoulder, leaving a mucky print.

  'Thanks for coming for me. I felt like I'd never get out at one point.'

  'You didn't think we'd forget about you? Ya soft shite.' Smig gestures a laugh which does not fully emerge.

  'Nah, course not. Be careful mind, I don't wanna have to rescue you next time!'

  'Don't worry, I have a few hideouts of my own. No-one is ever gonna find me in the slums.' Smig replies and I attempt to embrace the courageous protagonist but he recoils from my coal-tainted jumpsuit which is too filthy to identify as a prison uniform.

  'Hey, I've showered today!' Smig complains and he gives me a look of disapproval as I pat my scruffy hand on his back. Then my old drinking pal and his cousin Turbo hop on a couple of motorbikes, descend the ramp and judder over railway lines. Engines reverberate through the tunnel as they zoom between tracks in opposite directions and I feel a pang in my chest, an urge to repay them.

  Ivor climbs under plastic covers in the metal bed of a four-wheel drive with tinted windows and I find myself silently agreeing to tag along with the self-proclaimed freedom fighter despite strong reservations, because the last place we should be is a city on high terrorist alert. All that matters is her safety and I do not know what happened in my absence but Mila seems comfortable enough to climb aboard as we head into the unfamiliar.

  Chapter Ten

  The Hideout

  Towering cities on the horizon are the only points of interest as we follow maglev highways across the crater-filled desert to seek refuge in a secret location. Dynah is somehow dozing in an upright sitting position between myself and Mila who is staring from a slitted rear window of the jeep. As I slouch in my seat these aching limbs feel restless due to the lack of activity, yet I can barely hold my eyes open.

  'You're lucky you weren't executed, you idiot,' Mila murmurs.

  'It's good to see you too! So you guys been up to much in my absence?'

  'Just surviving.'

  'You must've had some fun, with all your money.'

  'Fun? Hmmm. You have no idea what it was like for your sister, but to be honest we were fine without you. It's been nice to have some mature company.' Mila exhales with pursed lips.

  'You mean these guys? You been staying with them? That was probably for the best.'

  'It's been different. Your disappearance unsettled us and the rocket attack made everyone vulnerable. We had no choice but to get on with things. We presumed you were dead, had a funeral for you. Emmi went pretty mad at us, bu
t it was better than hoping.'

  'You had a funeral for me!' I shriek and Mila stares with pain boiling in her eyes for a good twenty seconds, erupting into laughter.

  'Of course we didn't. We knew we'd get you back, you fool!'

  Upon reaching the countryside we thud down to Eryx to drive in primitive mode and Dynah's eyelids jolt open as tyres bounce. The dirt road steepens but Jardine maintains our speed and my neck twinges with every undulation of this mountainous terrain. We head off-road, venturing below dense tree cover where lianas sway in an eerie vapour and our ride gets bumpier as we plough over exposed roots and splash through streamlets. Jardine finally slows to a sensible speed and I stare lackadaisically out the window, watching the natural spectacle of red bark and golden leaves which provides a soothing contrast to bleak imprisonment until I spot a goliath squirrel seizing a song bird.

  'You see the size of that thing? It was almost as big as you, Mila!'

  'Don't exaggerate, Arturo, it wasn't even half my size.'

  'Hey Jardine, how come Ivor kicked arse? I thought he was a wreck.'

  'He's a combat droid, Arturo. I just needed to fix a couple of things, replace some missing parts, supply the ammo and as you saw he did the rest.'

  'A combat droid? No way. I don't know how I keep stumbling upon all this crazy stuff. Weirdness is magnetised to me!'

  'You're certainly one of a kind, Arturo. The most promising recruit I've had in a long time. And your friends certainly have their qualities. Especially you, Dynah.'

  'You can say that again. Arturo fought a leopard and lived to tell the tale. The kid's my fucking hero, I tell you.'

  'My judgement has never failed me yet, Anguson. I knew what this young man was all about the moment I looked into his eyes.'

  Our rough and protracted expedition halts in a section of jungle which triggers my nervous system as I hope we have not run out of fuel. Sweat trickles down my back as invisible creatures howl and screech in response to our intrusion, mere yards in every direction.