Tesla Evolution Box Set

by Mark Lingane

  Sebastian revved the engine, feeling the power rumble beneath his body through the great thumping cylinders.

  The history of the steambike had been checkered. Based on the idea of the cyborg bikes, teams of engineers had tried to build the same using steam to power them. We already have SUVs, they argued. Steambikes had half the number of wheels and therefore should be half as difficult to make.

  There had been something disconcerting in the extreme that the test riders felt as soon as they jumped on the early prototypes, sensing the immense pounding of the cylinders between their legs, cylinders that only occasionally exploded. The pool of male volunteers quickly evaporated, leaving only the bravest or, in the vast majority, the drunkest of men to hazard a trial run. Even the mention of it would have some of the more seasoned riders jamming their knees together, their eyes watering.

  But Sebastian had gathered the parts together from several failed attempts and, with some stolen time from Albert and his atoms, and the help of Isaac with his metalworking skills, a pair of smaller bikes had come together that wouldn’t explode.

  Probably. If taken care of. And not used too much. If at all.

  But Isaac and Sebastian were young. What could possibly go wrong?

  They roared off into the distance on their steambikes, laughing and shouting with the excitement of speed. They passed the long queue waiting at the gate, survivors from nearby cyborg attacks patiently waiting to be allowed into the Academy, the only secure and defensible facility in the central eastern quadrant.

  The guard at the gate shouted after the boys and made a note in his folder about excessive speed, noise and general over-happiness. Then he waved the next scared, huddled family into the city. Their faces became flushed with relief and then wonder as they stepped onto the famed cobbled city streets. The guard watched them go then shook his head.

  He turned his attention to the next in line, a middle-aged couple.

  7

  “NAME?” THE GUARD said.

  “Kerry Constantine,” the slightly portly lady replied. Her ominous stare was partially concealed by her wide-brimmed hat. She wore sensible traveling clothes, and she appeared so plain she could easily have drifted from memory.

  “Who’s the bloke with you?”

  “That bloke is my husband. His name is … is Ralph Constantine.”

  The guard looked over the middle-aged man. He stood tall, with a pronounced sense of bearing. But his face was as empty as the desert plains.

  “Are you sure?”

  The lady hardened into a statue of affront until the guard got the idea. He glanced over at the tall man. “Can he speak?”

  “He has a sore throat from the many arduous miles we have endured on this dusty plain, and the constant encouragement uttered to those who were falling by the wayside. It would be cruel to press him further after all he has given.”

  “Fine,” the guard said. “Ralph and Kerry Constantine. Any children?”

  Her expression softened and dissolved into a state of unfocused distraction. Her eyes drifted down to the sandy, well-trodden ground. After a pause, she shook her head.

  “As you know,” the guard said, “the city gives priority to families with children.”

  “But that is prejudice against fine and able workers who have something to give to the city.”

  “Those are the rules. You’ll have to wait, unless there’s something vital you can perform for the city’s wellbeing and security.” He looked over the destitute couple with so little luggage between them that they carried only one small case. “Is there anything you can do?”

  “Ralph is an excellent worker for the safety and benefit of the people. He has exceptional skills for use in public office.”

  The day had only just started and already the guard’s patience had begun to fray. “Really? Well, we need a new mayor. He can step straight into the position and get us all shipshape in no time at all.”

  “Your attitude, young man, is inappropriate when addressing people who have lost everything. In a time of compassion, when we should all be rallying together, you’re being small-minded and inflexible.”

  “Orders are orders, ma’am.”

  “I wish to speak to your superior.”

  “See this?” He pointed to the gold ring around his arm. “It says I am a captain. Of the guards. My orders come directly from Nikola Tasman, commander-in-chief of the armed forces of the city and eastern quadrant. And he is a very busy man.”

  An emotion flashed across her face so fast the captain barely noticed it, but the performance after it made him look and feel bad. The woman burst into the loudest wail of desperation he had ever heard.

  She mumbled incoherently about what they had lost, and interjected passages from the Bible. The litany became like a chant, and the captain knew chants attracted unwanted attention more than any other kind of outburst. He thought he could make out something about a child lost in a fire, and even though he would have thought them too old to have a young child, her story pulled on his heartstrings.

  “All right, calm down. You’re helping no one acting like that. Look, you’ve had it a bit harder than some of the others, so I’ll make an exception. But no paperwork. You two,” he said, pointing at them, “make your own way in the Academy. No support from the city. If you want to help everyone, don’t be a burden.”

  “We shall cleanse it of all the sin and waywardness for the coming of the Lord. All those that have assisted us with his work shall be rewarded.” She directed a nod at the guard, who snorted. “Unless you’re an unbeliever, then he shall smite you down,” she hissed.

  What happened next seemed impossible to the guard, but her eyes appeared to turn yellow and close sideways, much like a snake’s. He shook his head, not believing what he had just seen.

  “Get in before I change my mind.” He watched the two disappear into the crowded city streets until they were out of sight.

  The next family in line looked around uncertainly, unsure about the guard’s distraction.

  A younger guard wandered over after a certain amount of chatter had started to develop in the queue. “You all right, Captain?”

  “Yeah, but I’m a bit bothered about some people I’ve just let through. I felt sorry for them sure enough, but her eyes …” He rubbed his fingers over his tired eyes. “I think I might’ve made a mistake.”

  “Did you hear that, Ralph? They need a new mayor. How interesting. Maybe this sordid little place can be of some use to us.”

  She waited for the dutiful response. After a significant pause, she glanced over her shoulder to see if Ralph had been waylaid. He drifted behind her, oblivious to his surroundings and her verbal expulsion.

  “Did you hear me?” she hissed.

  “Yes, Marg—”

  She kicked him, causing him to stop mid-sentence. His eyes twitched under the strain of dramatic recall.

  “Kerry dearest,” he managed.

  “A mayor, Ralph. They need a mayor.” She grabbed his arm and dragged him to her side.

  She walked on, looking for accommodation. She spotted a neat, narrow three-story house sandwiched between a derelict grocer and a bookstore. There was a sign in the bottom window advertising Room Available.

  Kerry made her way up the wide and recently swept stairs, and knocked on the door. She signaled for her husband, blankly staring around the street, to follow her. She indicated where he should stand and told him to smile. They waited on the top step for the door to open, displaying their most benevolent smiles.

  Eventually an elderly woman opened the door. She stood tall, weathered by the ages but not beaten by time. She wore a semi-formal charcoal dress with deep black trim, as though she had dressed up for visitors. To Kerry, the woman’s face looked as though she needed friends: bitterness had soaked into the wrinkles and sadness weighed heavily on her face.

  “Yes?”

  “There’s a sign in your window about a room.”

  The woman looked them over c
arefully. She appeared to reach some internal decision and opened the door wide. She beckoned them inside.

  The doorway opened directly into a spacious and neat room containing several over-stuffed chairs covered in a floral pattern. There was a small fireplace, barely used. On the mantelpiece above the hearth was a photo of the woman, accompanied by a well-dressed elderly gentleman wearing the traditional outfit of a tinker, and a young man. The young man wore a military uniform and an innocent grin. On the floor was a rug, which stretched nearly to the walls, depicting an ancient pattern of a snake chasing its own tail and forming an unbroken circle. The wood underneath was old and dark, polished until it gleamed. A large bay window looked out into the street below but the curtains were drawn, keeping the room gloomy.

  “Tell me about yourselves,” the woman said. “These days I must be more discerning with regard to the company I keep.”

  “We are humble servants of the Lord,” Kerry said, “and have little in the way of riches of the physical world, although we are rich in spirit.”

  “The room isn’t free. You’ll need to find some way of paying me.”

  “The Lord will provide. Are you a good woman? Are you a believer?”

  The question clearly made the woman flustered. She turned to look out her front window. She flicked aside the curtain and peered down into the street.

  “While I believe everyone is entitled to their own private belief, especially in these dark times, I would prefer if they kept their belief to themselves. I have no faith in a deity that chose to bereave me of a husband and son.”

  She turned to them. “I’ve changed my mind about the availability of the room. Perhaps you could find a more … acceptable place over in the Watchworks. It’s not as nice as here, but I’m sure—”

  Kerry extracted a knife from the waistband of her sensible skirt. “I think here will be fine.” A smile flashed across her face as the elderly woman crumpled to the floor.

  8

  SEBASTIAN AND ISAAC were standing near Greenwood Stream. They knew that somewhere between them and the hundred-yard gap to the meager stream was the perimeter. They had tripped it before, but the signal strength in perimeter devices varied from day to day, so the perimeter was constantly moving.

  “I dare you, go on,” Sebastian said.

  “I don’t know. We’re getting close.”

  “We’re not close. You can barely see the stream. Go on, I dare you.”

  Isaac gulped and closed his eyes. He raised his foot and took a trembling step forward. He placed his foot down and moved forward one step past Sebastian. Nothing happened. He sagged in relief. “Your turn,” he said.

  Sebastian looked ahead to the stream. It was close. Was it too close, though?

  Isaac spotted the hesitation on Sebastian’s face and smiled. “I dare you to take another step.”

  Sebastian shuffled his foot forward.

  “That was the smallest step in the world. I’m not even sure if it counts as a step. It was more like you kicked the sand.”

  “A step is a step, big or small. It says so in the rules.”

  “There are no rules.”

  “You rebel.”

  “You know, this could go on for hours,” Isaac said. “Especially at this pace. We don’t know exactly where the perimeter is. And if we get caught … you heard Floater.”

  “Are you chicken?”

  “No one calls me chicken.” Isaac lifted a boot and slowly placed it down. Sebastian gave him a shove and sent him scuttling a few paces forward. “Hey, that’s cheating.”

  “It’s not against the rules.”

  “There are no ru—” Isaac paused, sensing this wasn’t the way to win the argument. “I don’t think shooting you is against the rules either.”

  “Sure is. Rule twelve B: ‘All reasonable effort will be taken to ensure the safety and protection of the game’s creator.’”

  “Damn.” Isaac raised his hand to shade his eyes and squinted. “Can you see that haze or dust on the horizon?”

  “Yeah. There’s something …”

  Sebastian pulled out his binoculars and gazed into the distance. The blurred view swung backward and forward as he sought focus. He found the horizon, and as he adjusted the binoculars the image of the distant dust cloud sharpened. Out of the dust erupted a line of blurred black shapes, which formed into a dozen cyborgs astride various forms of vehicles.

  “Just a skynet. But they’re moving quickly, though. We’d better—wait, what the …”

  He noticed the towering dark shadows in the dust. And as the swirling dust settled and dissipated, it revealed a dark future. “Oh no. We need to let the city know. Danger is coming.”

  “How do we do that? We won’t get back any quicker than they can, if we get back at all.”

  Sebastian thought for a moment. “I have an idea.”

  He sprinted off toward the stream, pounding his feet hard into the soft sand. He screamed as he ran headlong toward the oncoming menace. Nothing seemed to be happening except that the enemy was getting closer. When he reached the edge of the stream the perimeter alarm finally triggered, sending out an ear-piercing wail. He did a quick victory dance as the first laser beam came sliding in, sending the sand around him skyward. He shrieked, turned and ran back toward Isaac and the bikes as fast as he could.

  Isaac eyes widened at the commotion. He leapt back onto his bike. Then he leapt off again, started up Sebastian’s bike, left it idling, and got back on his own. He started it and roared off just as Sebastian arrived and jumped on his own bike.

  They twisted the throttles as far as they would turn and held on for dear life.

  9

  THE ALARM WAILED its long and plaintive howl, and the captain did his best not to explode. He stood on top of the northwest observation deck, having directly joined the young duty guard.

  The young guard stared out toward the west, squinting to try and ascertain what had triggered the alarm. With the sun behind him he could make out a small dust cloud rapidly approaching, with the occasional sun reflection blinking back at him, followed by a larger dust cloud. It looked like something large and black was in it.

  The guard raised his binoculars to his eyes. It was unusual. If anyone triggered the perimeter alarm they were meant to stay put or they were sent straight to the cells. Maybe someone out there had gone totally out of control.

  “If it’s those boys again, I swear I’ll bang their heads together so hard some actual sense might be knocked in there,” the captain said through clenched teeth. “Either that or I’ll be up for murder.”

  His face was bright red with fury. “Release the hounds,” he commanded.

  “We have no hounds, Captain Barnes. Do you mean the search-and-rescue automatons?”

  “Whatever. Release something that will scare those boys,” said Barnes.

  The young guard shouted to a man below. The man below gave him the thumbs-up. He turned back to the captain. “S&Rs ready to go. Do we have to assemble the guards, sir?”

  “Procedure is procedure, son, even if it is a complete waste of everyone’s time.”

  The young guard pulled a lever and above him a series of mechanical birds launched into the air. The S&Rs buzzed around in a circle, determining the direction of the signal, then soared out toward the northwest.

  “That’s odd,” whispered the guard. He snapped his binoculars up to his eyes. His face dropped and all color drained away. “Captain, you’ve got to see this.”

  The captain grabbed the binoculars, taking several attempts to untangle the cord from around the guard’s neck. He put them to his eyes and focused on the approaching dust cloud.

  “Oh my …” The captain’s face went from bright red to ashen white. “Get absolutely everyone right now, son. Get those gates closed, and find every weapon we’ve got. We’re in deep trouble.”

  Oliver sat in his chair in the underground cave, taking notes. His fountain pen scratched nosily across the page as he laboriously transc
ribed his learnings about the cyborg dialect. A small, thin black device was sitting on the table. It buzzed gently for several seconds until it caught his attention. He lifted the device and rotated it in his fingers.

  The cyborg erupted into life and thrashed violently against the chains. Oliver replaced the device and moved over to the cyborg, careful to keep his distance. The cyborg screamed and shouted, wrenching as hard as he could against the bonds. The machinery covering him twisted and groaned, sparking to life then ceasing. Lights flashed over his body.

  “Calm, calm, my friend. What is it that ails you?”

  “It’s not I who ails. It will be you.”

  “You choose to speak now?”

  The cyborg nodded.

  “Without the assistance of your device?”

  There was another nod.

  “Splendid.”

  “They come.”

  “Who?”

  Oliver stepped closer, his face only inches away from the cyborg’s own. He could easily make out the scars and bits of technology that had been added, disfiguring what was underneath. The cyborg let out a low rumble and grinned. His pointy metallic teeth glistened with sweat and blood. The smell appalled Oliver, and he withdrew a handkerchief and placed it over his nose and mouth.

  “Sullivans come. Finally.”

  “What’s a sullivan?” Oliver’s eyes roamed over the face of the enemy, looking for any evidence that he was lying.

  “They are pets we’ve bred.”

  “Why haven’t we seen them before?”

  “They weren’t ready before. Experiments have finished and now they come.”