by Phoenix Ward
“Because we would be decimated,” the major replied. “We may have the tools, but we don’t have the people, and we don’t have the resources to send the ones we do to war. Besides, our mission takes precedence: to rebuild America, your grace. Part of that means keeping the people out there — all of whom I consider citizens of the United States, by the way — out of a war they can’t win.”
“We can win, major,” King Hum said. “If we fight united, we can do it. You say you want to rebuild America. According to your own words, we are America. The Council won’t allow us to survive if we don’t put a stop to them.”
Major Danib turned away for a moment, feigning sudden interest in a thick plastic bauble in order to hide his expression of deep thought. He picked the item up and inspected it as if it was his job to do so.
“I don’t know, your grace,” he said, his back still turned to the bodyshell. “It’s not an easy matter, sending your people to war.”
“Believe me, I know,” King Hum replied.
Major Danib put the bauble down and turned back to face the Opesian. “I suppose you do,” he said. “Still, I’m just not ready to take the risk.”
Hum hung his head and simulated taking a deep breath. Then he looked down at his wrappings.
“May I show you something, major?” he asked.
Major Danib didn’t reply.
King Hum pinched a bit of the linen between his thumb and forefinger and unwrapped it from his other arm. Once the servos, gears, plastic, and metal were revealed, Danib gasped. He looked over King Hum’s form, then back at the robotic arm.
“Your whole body is like this?” he asked. Then realization hit him. “You’re an installed intelligence.”
“Yes, and all because of a lie the Council dreamed up,” the king said. “They used my faith against me and denied me access to God. I’ll never be able to join the great spirit of the Earth, if our religion is true. They took more than life from me. They took eternity.”
Major Danib swallowed, but remained silent as he sized up the I.I. king.
“We need your help, major,” Hum said.
Slowly, Danib nodded. He was truly shaken by Hum’s account; his voice failed to come back with its usual strength.
“You shall have it,” the major said. He cleared his throat and steadied his inflection. “The Battalion is here to serve the people of our country.”
55
Warplan
In the end, all of King Hum’s envoys had been successful. Adviser Orram couldn’t help but thank the spirit of God as he escorted the delegates into the palace’s throne room, which had been converted into a war room. A representative from each nation arrived in Opes that day to discuss the attack on the Council.
Where there had been the king’s desk, there was now a large table with a map of Shell City and the surrounding ruins laid out upon it. Chairs were assembled around it, and the guests each took one without much of a greeting from King Hum himself. The young monarch stood at the head of the table, his robotic hands palm-down on the surface. He remained standing once everyone was seated and all eyes were on him.
“Thank you all for coming,” the king said, scanning the faces of the five delegates. “I’ll be honest and say I did not expect half of you to show up. That alone should be a testament of how important this issue is. We all have a common enemy, and beyond that, a common threat against our very survival. The Council won’t stop at controlling their own cities; those who live around them can see by the expansion into those areas. Something must be done.”
Nayla, the Ghost leader, raised a mechanical hand. “I don’t mean to interrupt, your grace, but I must ask if you’ve done a security sweep of the throne room. Before we continue, that is.”
“Of course,” King Hum replied. “We are clean of any dangers here, for the time being.”
Nayla seemed satisfied with the reply, as did Major Danib and President Euring. Truck and Farmer Ben didn’t seem to be concerned in the first place. No one said anything and the silence grew as Hum measured their reactions.
“The attack will begin in one week,” King Hum said. “It gives us enough time to prepare but without allowing them time to brace for us. Any longer and our attack will lose potency; we may well lose the war.”
Everyone around the table, Ethan and Tera included, shuffled uncomfortably when the word “war” was said. Each face was cold and solemn.
“What’s the plan, then?” Truck asked, locking eyes with the mechanical monarch.
Hum was silent for a moment as he sized up the room. He seemed to have some internal debate, at the conclusion of which he nodded. With a slow, deliberate motion, he pointed along the outer walls of Shell City.
“We’ll need to set up a siege outside the city here, to make sure no Council troops come in or out,” he started. “Major, that will be our job. One-third of my troops will join yours along the roads leading into Shell City. We can also establish centers there for any fleeing civilians, which I think the Republic of Orange would be best equipped to handle.”
President Euring nodded at her nation’s mention.
“Ben,” Hum continued, looking up at the Gearhead farmer, “you and your guild friends will lead a bombardment on the city walls. We’re not looking to cause a breach so much as to add to the ensuing chaos inside the city.”
“I can have artillery support help with that as well,” Major Danib commented.
“Perfect,” King Hum said. He moved his robotic finger up to the gate of the city walls. “Now Truck, I think your people would be best used in the siege as well. The presence of physical invaders might persuade them to spread out their defenses a bit when we come and hit them in the Pavilion.”
“Actually,” Truck said, trying not to tread on the I.I. king’s toes, “I think I could be of more use inside the walls. My raiders are no strangers to sneaking in and out of the cities; we can send them in to sow chaos on the streets and really diverge their response.”
King Hum considered Truck’s response and nodded in agreement. “That’s a better idea. Very well,” he said.
“My people can help on that end,” Nayla spoke up. “If you can show us what their police force looks like, what kind of bodyshells they wear, we could disguise ourselves and sneak in ahead of the attack. That way, we can be in just the right position to strike when the attack begins, maybe even sabotage their defense a bit.”
“I can’t say my plan is any better than that,” King Hum said, sharing a glance with Adviser Orram. “The more confusion we can create within the city walls, the better.”
“We can provide bodyshells,” President Euring said, looking over at Nayla’s hooded form. “As well as any other equipment that might be needed. Gunships, I imagine, will be in high demand for the attack on the Pavilion. Ammunition, armor, ordinance — these sort of things. There will be a bill, of course, but we are happy to meet your demands.”
“Speaking of gunships,” Gauge started after getting a wave to speak from King Hum, “the People’s Union will be taking what we can directly into the Pavilion where the Council lives. There, a volunteer will track down the storage facility that houses the Shell City leadership and mark it for the rest of us to see. We’ve got a radio beacon for just such a purpose. All we need is someone brave enough to rush through the battle and do the deed.”
Faces shifted to each other, some sheepish, others frightened. There was a bit of murmuring surrounding the table before Ethan cleared his throat.
“I’ll do it,” he said. “I’ll mark the facility.”
Silence fell over the meeting and somber expressions filled the faces. The mood had downshifted, as if someone just broke a bit of terrible news to the room. Ethan looked around with a furrowed brow and confused eyes.
“Well don’t look like that,” he said. “I’m not even dead yet!”
His joke fell flat and no one made a sound. He looked down at his lap and pretended he had said nothing.
The silence went on
for a full minute before King Hum made a noise like a small cough.
“Then it is agreed,” he said. “Alongside Ethan, the bulk of the Opesian army will be dropping in on gunships to engage the Council soldiers on the Pavilion. Hopefully, we can draw enough fire that Ethan slips in unnoticed. Once the beacon is placed, we can focus all artillery on the signal and reduce the Council’s storage facility to rubble. Then — ”
“Then we hope they surrender,” Gauge cut in. “Because we can’t maintain the attack for long. A few hours at most.”
The delegates from the other nations seemed to be in deep thought as they looked over the map of Shell City. Ethan shared their melancholic contemplation as he imagined running past the frontlines of the battle into the Council’s formations. Tera looked between the attendants.
“It’s the best plan we have,” Major Danib commented. “I’m in.”
“As am I,” Nayla replied.
Farmer Ben and President Euring gave quick nods while meeting the mechanical king’s eyes.
Truck smiled a little. “Let’s smash some heads.”
56
A Short Refrain
Adviser Orram tried to make as little noise as possible as he entered the throne room. The young king stood with his back to the door, peering out the far window. The sky was turning orange as the sun sank below the desert horizon. The colorful light reflected off the metal of Hum’s bodyshell. He didn’t have his wrappings on.
“Did you ever think we’d be marching into war alongside metal men and women?” King Hum asked. He continued gazing out at the growing night, his hands folded behind his back.
Orram joined the I.I. by the window.
“I never thought we’d be marching to war at all, your grace,” the old man said. “Or, at least, I never hoped.”
“Nor I,” Hum replied. “However, the alternative is unimaginable. War is the only right thing to do in this situation. Yet, I can’t help but feel such an aversion to the concept. The idea of killing and dying being necessary is repugnant to me.”
Orram smiled. “One of the many qualities of an excellent king,” he said.
“Still, the possible rewards are staggering,” Hum continued, turning to face his adviser. “The liberation of an entire continent is at stake. Not only will we be free of the insidious Council, but we will be able to rebuild. Unify the people, perhaps.”
“To be the pioneers of such a change, as well,” Orram commented with a twinkle in his eye, “If Opes hasn’t secured its place in history yet, it surely will when we win.”
A solemn look washed over King Hum’s artificial features. “Will we win, Orram?”
Deep consideration filled the old man’s face. He locked eyes with his king and nodded. “Yes, your grace,” he answered. “I know we will.”
“How?”
“I have faith.”
Tera knocked at the door frame that led into Ethan’s room, clutching onto a bottle of tequila. She heard some stirring from inside, along with a few groans. For a moment, she was worried she woke the human up, but he arrived at the door fully dressed.
“Hey,” he said. His eyebrow was cocked in confusion.
“Hey,” Tera said back. She lifted the bottle so Ethan could see it. “Want some?”
The teenager frowned at it. “Why do you have that?” he asked. “I thought you couldn’t drink.”
“I can’t — at least, not much,” she replied. “I thought you might want some, though. Considering we might all die tomorrow and all.”
Ethan swallowed and nodded, then stepped aside so Tera could enter the room. She walked past him, carrying the bottle like it was a spent uranium rod. Ethan followed behind her and took a seat on the bed. She uncorked the bottle and leaned against the wall across from Ethan. With a dismal expression, like he was being coerced to, Ethan gestured for the bottle.
Tera watched him as he took a long pull, then chuckled when he sputtered and coughed. He almost dropped the bottle, but she rushed in and rescued it.
“You look like you’re at a funeral,” Tera commented once Ethan regained his composure. “You know, it’s not hopeless. We wouldn’t have been able to find so much help if it was.”
“It’s not that,” the young man replied.
The bodyshell cocked her head and waited for him to continue.
“I don’t know what’s real anymore, Tera,” he said. His eyes welled up with a thin layer of tears, though from the tequila or emotion, Tera was unsure. “They took my sense of reality from me. I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to shrug off this feeling that I’m just in another simulation. Every time I close my eyes, for a moment, I expect to wake up. For real. And every time it doesn’t happen, I lose a little more of my mind.”
Tera was silent for a moment. She didn’t know what to say. What words could possibly comfort him? The Council screwed her over as well, but at least she was certain of the world around her.
“I’m sorry,” she said.
“It’ll be them who’s sorry,” Ethan said, raising his angry eyes to meet hers. “If they even exist, that is.”
“We’ll bring them down, Ethan,” the I.I. said. “Don’t worry. This time tomorrow, Shell City will be free.”
“I hope so,” the human replied. “I hope I get to see the look on Harring and Nidus’s faces when we bring the fight to them. We’ll make them pay — for both of us.”
He took another pull on the bottle, and Tera mimicked the action for appearances. They stared at the floor for a quiet handful of minutes.
“You know, I think I would have been a beautiful woman,” Tera said once the silence threatened to go on all night. “As a human, I mean.”
The anger and sadness drained away from Ethan’s face, replaced with concern as he looked at the bodyshell.
“I always wonder what I would have looked like,” she continued. “Who I would have been.”
“I think you’re beautiful no matter what body you’re in,” Ethan said, cutting off the end of her sentence.
Tera’s face lightened up with surprise and she smiled. “Really?” she asked.
“It’s your soul,” Ethan said. “That’s what makes you beautiful. What you do — who you are. They took your organic body away from you, and it was a goddamn crime. What I remember, though, is everything they took from us led us to this moment. To each other.”
Tera couldn’t hide the admiration in her expression as she offered the bottle once more.
57
Revolution
On the morning of the attack on Shell City, King Hum and Adviser Orram strode across the barren earth to Major Danib’s tent. When they approached the canopy, they could see the Battalion officer finishing up a quiet conversation with one of his own advisers. He turned around when he heard the sounds of guests, the desert horizon reflecting in his dark shades. His mustache bent as he smiled at the Opesians.
“Greetings, your grace,” Danib said. “The weather seems in our favor today, so long as we keep away from the sun.”
“Indeed,” King Hum said. “It seems that God wants our approach to be as clear as possible. They are likely already assembling a response within the city.”
“Which, if Nayla and her people did their jobs right, should be a bit tricky for them.” Major Danib chuckled.
Neither Orram or the king returned the laugh. In fact, neither felt like laughter was possible until they knew the Council lay in ruins.
“I cannot thank you enough for your aid, major,” the I.I. king said. “If anything turns the tides today, it will be our unity.”
“Agreed, your grace,” the Battalion leader said. “I don’t think we’d be here if we were the only ones to join you. Come, let’s look over our people’s work.”
The three of them left the operations tent, squinting as the bright sun hit them in the eyes. King Hum raised a mechanical hand to shield his face from the blinding rays.
A thin cloud of dust hung in the air as people and machines moved back and fort
h, establishing the blockade around Shell City. While roadblocks of debris, gun nests, and artillery lines were being put together, another group of soldiers worked to construct a refugee center behind the defensive lines. Troops from each army dug foundations and raised tents while the Orange-hired medics went around setting up beds and operating tents.
“Do you think these centers will be adequate?” King Hum asked as they walked past a nurse with a clipboard shouting out orders to four young soldiers. “Once the attack begins, I mean.”
“Depends on a whole lot of factors, my good sir,” Major Danib replied. “We honestly haven’t a clue how many refugees to expect. President Euring sent an awful lot of medical supplies and staff to help us, but I can’t help but feel like we’re going to be short no matter what we do. War tends to make fools of anyone trying to predict what will happen, you know.”
“Then let us pray we don’t have many people to treat,” King Hum said. Orram nodded at his king’s side.
The ground around them started to shake a little, growing in intensity with each quake. The trio looked up to see Farmer Ben approaching them in one of his enormous harvest mechs. The farming equipment that had once adorned the mech were replaced by weapons of war, fitted for the coming battle. A tank-like cannon and an ammunition feeder were installed on its back where its gargantuan grain storage tank was normally mounted. Belts of finger-sized bullets dangled from either of the mech’s arms, which had Gatling guns attached to them instead of the typical claw and sickle.
Farmer Ben shouted something, but none of the men on the ground could hear him over the last footfall, which kicked up a plume of dirt with a boom. Major Danib cupped his ear to indicate that he hadn’t heard what the Gearhead said.
“My guys are all in place!” Farmer Ben shouted again once his mech came to a full stop. “We’re ready to unleash hell on the city walls — on your signal, of course.”