Sky City (The Rise of an Orphan)

by RD Hale

Killow stands upright, breathing vociferously with eyes raging like an apex predator ready to charge. Artificial claws unsheathe from fingers writhing before his belligerent face.

  'Arturo, shoot him!'

  Sparks fizz over Killow's prosthetic flesh as Jardine shoots his phaser, but the semi-constrained cyborg strides defiantly and seizes the terrorist's neck, purpling his face. Bloodied eyeballs swell, but Jardine continues to squeeze the trigger as lightning ripples through his own body via the strangler and as far as I am aware our leader does not have a specialised upgrade to resist the incapacitating effect.

  'Killow, what are ya doing? He's on the rebel's side, remember?'

  Killow's inhuman arm extends towards my throat and just as his fingers make contact I squeeze the trigger. My neck jolts as his cyborg irises turn white and he convulses, fixed into position by merging energy waves. Both soldiers flop as I cease fire in the hope I have struck the correct balance between paralysis and death. I hesitantly shoot Killow again to ensure he remains unconscious for a few additional seconds and I repeatedly slap Jardine's cheeks until he stirs. Then I haul the hefty brute to his feet, catching his stumbling frame which almost drags me down with him.

  'Wh-wharrt happerrned?' Jardine slurs.

  'I don't know, the nanites must be controlling Killow. Ivor could be the same. We'll have to warn the others,' I suggest.

  'Come on. We have about eight minutes until that thing blows.' Jardine regains composure with a wobble of the cheeks.

  'We can't just leave Killow,' I protest.

  'When Killow wakes he's going to kill us. Come on, it won't take the nanites long to resuscitate him.' Jardine drags me by the collar as the cyborg's arm twitches.

  Unsure of how to assist my lifelong friend without being brutalised in the process, I feel racked with shame as Jardine and I reach the lift. I hit the summon button but the arrow fails to light up and the number display above the door is inactive. Jardine underestimates the strength of his own mechanical hand, smashing the panel in frustration.

  'Shit, it's been deactivated. We'll have to find another way out,' Jardine gasps and we run up fire escape stairs, sticking to the outer wall as flashes rain from above. Returning phaser bursts almost blindly, we aim at flickers of movement until upper bodies slump over the handrail, then we hurdle unconscious foes as they tumble down concrete steps.

  Two inexpert sentinels spray energy beams from a doorway as we charge to neutralise them with precise blasts. A screaming guard leaps out, transfixing me with psychotic eyeballs but I stun him and my foot connects with his thorax as he drops to knees.

  Shoulder blades twinge as I sprint, resisting the urge to look back down an unnervingly long corridor. As I focus on a smear of streetlight it takes an era to reach the wide open doors. The exit brings a shift of tension like breaking the surface after a free dive as we emerge in the carpark and burst through the gates to fling ourselves into the van.

  Jardine hits the accelerator and an outburst of decibels violates every cell in my body as I am separated from my faculties. These barely responsive eyeballs roll sideways to see a mountain of flame, smoke and raining debris like the pyroclasm of a volcanic eruption.

  'KILLOOOWW!'

  We hurtle away in a soundless, temporal distortion and despite the rising speedometer, the getaway vehicle seems close to inertia. A midget-sized streak soars from the inferno and lands on a nearby roof, before vanishing. 'Killow?'

  'That was more complicated than anticipated. That place was way more heavily guarded than usual. And the boy...'

  'Jardine, you bastard. You said we were using EMPs, not a real bomb,' I growl.

  'We were using EMPs - apart from the last one. That was necessary to take down the power grid. It'll take them weeks to fix it. I hope the others were as successful with the back up reactor. I'll contact them.' Jardine activates his holowatch with a tap. 'Call Turbo... Turbo is everything okay?'

  'Yeah, everything was pretty straight forward. Took down a couple of droids and guards. Ivor and Dynah are pretty useful!'

  'Have you encountered problems with the droid?'

  'No, not at all, Jardine. He's been very useful, he saved my arse on one occasion.'

  'Okay, then it's just the boy. He turned on us, must've been the nanites.'

  'Oh shit, makes sense. They need to control human soldiers, otherwise they'd be too dangerous. No need to with mechs, they do what you say regardless. Is anyone hurt?'

  'We're fine, but we're not sure if Killow made it out.'

  'Turbo, meet us at mine. Jardine, take us,' I interrupt.

  'OH SHIT!'

  'What is it, Jardine?'

  'GUNNER DROID!'

  'I'm tracking your co-ordinates. See if you can keep out of reach of that thing until Ivor reaches you.'

  Gunner Droid

  I squint over the rooftops at San Teria's automated bringer of destruction, the city's primary armed response vehicle hovering eerily in the night sky. Twin rocket launchers are vaguely delineated above the cityscape as they bulge from the distant mass of silicene armour. We have no time to waste.

  Unsure if our manoeuvrability can cope with such velocity, we swerve a corner and I am flung to the side by the g-force. My skull clatters our driver's sizable head as I sprawl across his lap; my brain ringing with agony.

  'Get back to your seat. Fasten your seatbelt!' Jardine roars.

  Sliding tyres screech as smoke appears in the side-view mirror and I wonder how long burning rubber can hold out.

  'Arturo, look out the window. Has it spotted us?' Jardine asks.

  'I'm not sure. It's a few miles away but it seems to be coming towards us,' I advise and as I settle into my seat sirens assault senses from every direction. Spinning lights emerge as a patrol car slingshots around a bend and is hot on our tail. My seat jolts as we chicane through city blocks but the patrol car's hovering capability easily matches us turn for turn.

  The needle averages one hundred and forty miles an hour and with every rear-sliding turn I squint, visualising our charred remains being plucked from a razed corner-building. An incoming patrol car seems hell-bent on a head on collision, forcing us to turn left. Our vehicle skids to a stop as serpent-eyed helmets and firearms emerge from three lightly-armoured vehicles.

  'Arturo, we're gonna have to shoot our way out!'

  'EXIT THE VEHICLE WITH YOUR HANDS IN THE AIR!'

  Jardine and I duck and squeeze between seats, scrambling into the back of the van on elbows and I clutch my phaser in readiness. Every twitching muscle-fibre is flooded with fear-driven, war-waging hormones courtesy of my pre-frontal cortex's intrinsic nature. My leader's blurring fingers fling open a hatch, unveiling game-changing constructs of nanofibre which can endow the power to decide life and death in any given situation.

  'Arturo, have you ever wanted to use a rail gun?!' Jardine asks and I exchange my puny phaser for a meticulously engineered staff of lightning. Panic is focused into raw aggression; a furious determination to kill as my leader reaches for the door handle and the pursued transform into aggressors.

  'Lie flat, point and vaporise anything that moves. Remember your training. Instinct is key,' Jardine instructs.

  My mentor flings the door open as I lie prone in the iron-sight of an enemy shielded behind an inconsequential car door. My heartbeat echoes in my ribcage. Loud. Muffled. Slow. My finger caresses the trigger as the scene becomes perfectly silent and still. The elasticated temporal flow snaps back to normal and an inhuman head vaporises in a red cloud.

  Jardine's weapon surges upwards and... Swoosh! A bolt of lightning culminates in a squelch as fragments of helmet enter my view.

  'There'll be two more this side. Get ready!'

  Jardine flings the other door open, dropping flat to aim at the next hapless target and our concurrent shots cause blood to spout from severed arteries. Our windscreen is shattered by a hail of bullets, sprinkling our bodies with fragments as he slams the door shut and I regain the instinct to breath.r />
  'Shit, we're in trouble! We need Ivor to arrive before the gunner droid or we're dust,' Jardine shrieks.

  I rise to unleash a shot through the glassless windscreen and the round wallops a door which vigorously recoils with a puncture hole in metal as the guard behind crumples. Ammunition tears through the fabric of our seats and rattles the framework, but the deceptively innocuous sounds are disrupted by a screech of tyres. A lull in bullet impacts is followed by an apocalyptic clank which reverberates in my ear canals as the roof of the van is dented and distorted.

  'Interventional optimised robotics.'

  'IVOR!'

  There is an excruciating blast and I peer at a charred vehicle which has been tossed by a road-tearing shockwave. Ivor slams onto the cracking road and bullets precipitate against his shell, generating a shower of sparks like a metal grinder.

  Surging forward Ivor scoops a vehicle into the air and the exposed guards flee, screaming. I take aim and a guard's leg is stolen by an overwhelming flash as his remaining leg causes him to slip in a pool of his own blood. Jardine shoots and separates his ally's torso from his abdomen, each half spilling entrails as they fall.

  Ivor smashes the patrol car down onto another and half a ton of mechanical parts rebound with a bone-grating crunch. Jardine bursts through the back doors, taking the shooting arm from a guard focused on our mechanoid. The remaining stump squirts high-pressured blood like an unheld hose. His trembling partner takes aim at Jardine but it is too late. An exploding thorax separates his head and arms as pints of vessel-less vital fluids gush onto the ground.

  Our van is tossed by an explosion, rocking like a ship in a storm. Sight and sound shut down as I am tossed around like a ragdoll; my shoulder, cranium and spine battered by the metal interior.

  Lying on my stiffened spine as colours resharpen, I see the gunner droid descend: a sickening, habitually answerless tank with no business in the air, its flight defying physics and logic with weapon systems ludicrously over-equipped for dealing with organic opponents, but we have the perfect retort.

  We scramble out of the toppled van as the gunner droid's glowing chaingun fires hypersonic projectiles at Ivor, who emerges from black smoke. A counter-missile misses the gunner droid and the ensuing blast exposes bedroom contents in an apartment wall.

  Ivor is blasted by a rocket and the resulting shockwave flings us like a category six hurricane. Ivor limps over to grab our empty van and tosses several tons of scrap iron at the gunner droid. The impact sends it hurtling into a brick wall.

  Ivor flees into an alley with his leg trailing and the gunner droid pursues him, but moments later Ivor ambushes his unsuspecting foe from a roof like a bird of prey. Our mechanoid is a quarter the size of the adversary he has landed on, but he tears strips of near indestructible material away with a display of phenomenal power. Iron fists pulverise predatorial internal components until the gunner droid plummets.

  Our protector tumbles as machines collide with the battleground, but within seconds our inexorable enemy rises. Two rockets somersault Ivor, catapulting his severed leg, but he fires back and slivers are peeled from the gunner droid's protective shell. The exchange of ammunition causes our one hope to crumple as plates of metal disintegrate.

  I emerge from the cover of our upturned vehicle to aim for a spot bare of armour. Sparks convulse from the lesion as the gunner droid momentarily freezes, before returning fire. Ivor takes a sacrificial leap to absorb bullets aiming for an unwavering slumdog and Jardine steps out of cover to assist my gunfire. As the gunner droid's innards hiss and crackle I turn to see a girl standing, petite but far from timid.

  'Dynah!'

  The supergirl's eyes glow and her hair sways as lightning swallows the paralytic gunner droid. Ivor leaps from his intact leg to club the bastard machine into the road, causing tarmac to ripple. Again Ivor's fists rain down and the gunner droid's exterior warps and crunches until it is a lifeless wreck. Our intrepid saviour raises his arms and roars robotically as he balances amidst the carnage our squadron has wreaked.

  'The most feared weapon of the STG is scrap metal. Ivor, you legend, let's go!' I yell.

  Ivor drags his severed leg to the awaiting getaway van and Turbo lowers his rifle, grasping the steering wheel. We drive off and the mechanoid reattaches his limb as black liquid leaks out, forming a binding resin which covers his wounds in tarry scabs.

  We safely reach the labyrinthine slums, but this time the cost may have been too high. Sacrifice is an inevitable part of this rebellion and the main reason I can no longer participate. A lifelong friend was betrayed as readily as my principles were abandoned and the terrorists seem indifferent as Turbo mutters, 'We have ourselves a soldier.'

  'The kid... The man was incredible. He's a natural. That was way more complicated than it should've been,' Jardine gasps.

  'Security has likely been stepped up since the rocket attack. We should've been better prepared but these are desperate times,' Turbo replies.

  'Remember the city's big and their resources can only stretch so far. They threw everything at us and we made it.' Jardine sighs with outrageous contentment.

  'And what about Killow?'

  'What happened to Killow was unexpected, we could not predict the effects of his contamination. I'm sorry.'

  'Jardine, Turbo, you lied to us. You never told us we'd have to kill anyone. If we knew about the bomb...'

  'We didn't lie to you, Arturo. You knew the risks. We trained you for contingencies like this. This is part and parcel of the rebellion. We take risks, this is why we must maximise the impact of every attack. You need to keep focused. I wouldn't have brought you along if I didn't think you were up to it,' Jardine replies.

  'Damn it, I never wanted to do this.' Water sprays from my eye as I grimace.

  'Arturo, you joined the rebellion of your own free will. We told you the stakes. We took a great risk in sharing our secrets, because we... because I believed in you,' Jardine insists.

  'Believed? You said faith is irrational. And you said you'd be more honest with me.'

  'I also said we have to keep things on a need to know basis,' Jardine replies.

  'I came with you! How can you think I didn't need to know?'

  'Because if you let people dwell on the possibility of killing, it becomes more difficult. I couldn't have you distracted. I'm sorry you're-'

  'Just a pawn.'

  'Arturo, you'll have to consider leaving this place. If Killow made it out, he may divulge your location and you'll all be in danger,' Turbo advises.

  'This is Killow's home. Our home. War is coming. There's nowhere to hide. We live here and if necessary we'll die here, but we'll put up one hell of a fight.'

  'If you really want to fight, remember we're on the same side, fighting for the same cause, but if they come for you next time they will be prepared,' Jardine says.

  'Do you think I don't know that?! I've been to prison. I've been inches from death. I've killed.'

  'You've surpassed expectations but without the resources of the rebellion you become just another slum kid waiting to be culled. You need us and we need you. You were born to do this,' Jardine insists.

  'Born to kill? What a gift,' I reply.

  'If we doubt our cause, we can't win. The men we've killed tonight would've killed us without batting an eyelid. They do not have doubt because their goddess tells them their cause is just. You'll have to choose a side, there is no third choice. Pacifism equals death,' Jardine insists.

  The vehicle pulls up in the abandoned industrial estate outside our squat. Dynah, Ivor and myself climb out the door without saying goodbye and the terrorists drive off. The nation's most wanted kids are once again on our own, but there is nothing we cannot deal with. Fear has proven itself to be an irrelevance.

  Our heroic robot limps over to his usual standpoint to recuperate and our loss of the irreplaceable means I finally understand my first instinct was correct - this is not a worthwhile fight. Weary and bewildered Dynah and I
traipse into the main room and I am unsure where to focus my rage.

  'Where's Killow?' Bex asks.

  'He didn't make it,' I groan.

  'WHAT DO YOU MEAN?!' Bex screeches.

  'The nanites turned him, he attacked us. We stunned him and left, there was an explosion. He may have made it out but I can't be sure. If he returns he'll be dangerous. Alert me, Dynah or Ivor if anyone sees him. We may have to immobilise him. He's powerful.'

  Chapter Fifteen

  Painful Naivety

  Drifting in and out of a lucid dream I hear Killow calling: 'Arturo... Arturo...' Bullets wail as I venture through collapsed buildings to join the supersoldier who has reclaimed his body and mind. Reunited on this urban battlefield we swat soldiers like insects and somehow we are physiological equals as though I too have undergone a metamorphosis. Rebel combatants rampage through enemy strongholds and the last of the San Terian army surrenders to the barrel of my rifle. We celebrate victory on scorched ground and the feeling of empowerment confirms the better tomorrow is more than mere possibility.

  Waking with a smile I know the tinman will return to the squadron in time. Our close escape now seems trifling but my moment of blood-tainted tranquillity is disturbed by a horrifying shriek.

  'Wake up... Wake up... Nooooo!'

  Dread-filled legs gallop downstairs with an unwanted sense of urgency; the tone of voice more expressive than meagre words and I instinctively understand every millisecond counts as I rush to the crouching girls who are shaking their patient, sobbing.

  'Out the way! Out the way!' I yell, prising the shoulders of Sylvie and Bex and I kneel on concrete between trembling figures to assess the emergency.

  Shafts of sunlight cannot quite reach far enough, unable to penetrate the air of sorrowfulness as I look upon the delicate frame nestled below a patchwork quilt of faded rainbows. Lel's vacant face is poking out and I fling the quilt to the side, compressing her chest repeatedly without response.

  As I shake her limp body, rage overwhelms my incompetent efforts and I scream until every last molecule of oxygen is exhaled from my lungs. I press my forearm on her cold forehead and debilitating waves of horror sweep through my spine. Ashen skin once aflame on her defiantly joyful face is now withered. Lips are grey-blue and eyes in darkened hollows are rolled diagonally. Where did she go? Where did the girl inside her go?