by Mark Lingane
His shoulder throbbed and pain numbed his senses as he struggled, finally getting a purchase on @summer. He half-carried, half-lifted her and staggered down the walkway, but only made a few steps before both were brought to the ground by the cyborg clutching at Sebastian’s ankle. He tried to crawl away, desperately shaking his leg, but the grip refused to weaken. He kicked as hard as he could into the face of the cyborg, but did little more than scratch the helmet. The cyborg dragged him closer, until Sebastian could see his own reflection in the malevolent glassy eyes.
He lunged over the back of the cyborg and grabbed the blade. He lifted it and plunged it into the cyborg’s neck and twisted.
The lights in the cyborg’s eyes died. The body ceased to move, but still the grip remained around Sebastian’s ankle like a vise. Sebastian’s heart sank as he saw another cyborg marching up the walkway. He turned away, only to be greeted by a punch from another cyborg appearing from an alcove.
All went black.
When he came to, he was being dragged behind a cyborg wearing the now-familiar dark blue armor. @summer was nowhere to be seen. He struggled but it was futile. The cyborg glanced back over his shoulder and smiled, baring his spiky metallic teeth. They were heading down a dimly lit circular corridor, illuminated by deep blue lights underneath the walkway. Sebastian couldn’t help but notice the amount of blood and other fluids on the walkway.
The cyborg stopped. There was a quick, quiet hissing, and he threw Sebastian in through a small opening in the wall. One of many, Sebastian noted. He collapsed to the floor, which was covered in hard iron bars. He put his hands down and they went through where he thought the floor should be. It dawned on him he was in a cage, with bars making up all six sides. Panic gripped him as the uncertainty of what was beneath him clutched at his imagination.
From the light falling in through the doorway, he saw there was nothing beneath the bars, just a blackness that fell away forever. The metal door closed with the finality of isolation. He shook the bars, but they were as thick and solid as any he had seen. Each step he took was fraught with danger, as he could easily step through the gaping spaces between the bars.
The light faded away until he sat in total darkness. A deathly silence settled over the cage and fear clutched at him, freezing him in the center of the enclosure. His eyes and ears ached and screamed out longing for some kind of sensory input. But nothing changed. He stood in the dark, afraid to move, afraid to think. And time passed.
His memories swam around inside his head, teasing him, taunting him with the poor decisions he had made. He had been so absorbed in his own interests he had hurt everyone he had known.
A fierce shaft of light erupted from above. His hands leapt to his eyes in an effort to shield them from the painful glare. There was a hiss, and out of the ceiling descended a large camera lens mounted on what appeared to be a metallic arm.
“We meet again, Sebastian. My, how you have grown.” The unblinking eye stared at him.
“Iris?”
“You’ve been difficult. You continue to exist. You threaten this world.”
“What? How can I threaten the world?”
“You still don’t know who you are. Maybe today is your lucky day. Choose wisely and embrace a future full of potential and opportunity.”
“How come you speak differently to the cyborgs with the good.goods?”
“I’ve instilled them with newspeak, an idea from your history books. A lack of words leads to a lack of ideas. People without ideas don’t cause problems. Surely you’ve seen this. Rebellion and unrest is born from debate and rhetoric. My eyes have seen you experience it directly. With each generation I reduce the amount of words in the useable lexicon, and each generation grows up with fewer thoughts in their heads. And they believe they’re being smart and individual.”
The camera lens swiveled around him. He twisted but couldn’t keep up with its turning. He stood still, with his head down and listened.
“This is your chance, your final one,” spoke the voice from the camera. “A wise person would assess what’s about to be lost and who they’re going to hurt when making such a choice. Come join us. A new world awaits. This is the time to sweep aside the old and embrace a new, clean future. I have reserved a unique identifier for you. You can be @alpha. But don’t think for a moment that I can’t succeed without you. You’re not the center of everything. We will conquer, with or without you.”
“I will not join you. All you’ve done is hurt me and those I love.”
“I haven’t even started yet. You think you know pain. You’re about to learn the foolishness of your simple thoughts. I’m going to hurt everything that is dear to you.”
“You leave my friends alone.”
“Friends? Look at the way you treat them. Ask yourself if you deserve them. But I must thank you.”
“What for?”
“You brought Isaac back to us. You’ve changed him, and we can use what you’ve created. He may not be as great as you, or as powerful as you, but we can help. He will be a triumph for us beyond the plains.”
A distant screen flickered to life. It showed an image of Melanie lying still on the metal walkway. Blood was pooling underneath her before dripping into the depths.
A light seared down nearby, illuminating a cell next to him. In it was @summer. She was strapped down, arms and legs outstretched and head looking up, held in an upright position in a cast that kept her from moving. The beam of light illuminated only her, surrounding her in a black cloak. To Sebastian it looked as though she was floating in the air.
“What are you going to do to her?”
“She has performed a crime. There’s something wrong with her. She’s a very naughty girl who has learned bad ways from falling in with the wrong group of people who have broken her. She is a delinquent. She needs to be disassembled.”
“You can’t disassemble her. You’ll kill her.”
The camera eye zoomed down and circled around his head. “We can do anything here. Just watch.”
Sebastian looked over at @summer, who lay crucified and tormented. Out of the dark came two mechanical robotic arms, pure white except for the black hands attached to the ends. They swept down, positioned themselves over the medipack on @summer’s arm, delicately placed claws on either side, and in one swift movement ripped off her arm.
Her scream was so wretched and primal it stabbed into Sebastian with the pain of cold, hard steel. Tears welled in his eyes as he reached out for her. He screamed out.
The arms moved around to her leg and ripped off the protective panels. A combination of green liquid and blood squirted over the pristine white of the disassembler.
Sebastian started to sob.
“You have chosen,” Iris said, zooming in so the camera was only inches from his face, “poorly.”
The word came as a deafening roar that shook the cave and his very bones. There was a loud click above him, and the whole cell plummeted into darkness.
@brian222Brainwell turned to the Iris camera. “Is this how it ends?”
“Yes,” replied Iris.
The cage crashed into icy cold water, momentarily pausing before continuing its downward trajectory. Sebastian desperately reached up, grasping at an invisible and absent savior. The cage sank lower and the surface evaporated into a forgotten memory. The darkness was complete. His air was expelled and finally all that was left were his desperate eyes, with the fading light of life being crushed from them, and a flickering thought of all that was lost.
I am Alpha and Omega, the first and the last: and what thou seest will be lost …
FARADAY
“We build but to tear down. Most of our work and resource is squandered. Our onward march is marked by devastation. Everywhere there is an appalling loss of time, effort and life. A cheerless view, but true.”
—Nikola Tesla, 1910
1
I WATCHED THE fall of civilization from my prison cell, locked securely away. I saw the peop
le pull themselves apart, full of the fear their leaders had instilled in them, acting on the beliefs of those they thought were their betters. They ripped apart their homes in a welter of petty squabbles and misinterpreted instructions, so consumed by self-interest that they never looked to tomorrow.
And when they lay upon the torn earth beneath a wretched sky, from within my prison I picked them up, tended to their wounds and made them safe.
As they staggered off down that dark road again, I watched, locked in my cage, but I was now a part of them. This time there would be no fear; there would be no ambiguous instructions, for I am the truth.
I am Iris and I am watching.
Dr. Michael Filbert stood still, with the knife cutting into his throat …
Michael sat on the white bench in his cell, staring at the white walls. A white door held a small pane of dark glass that offered his only glimpse into an outside world that seemed destined to kill him.
He heard screams. There were always screams, but these were louder, different. He stood up and limped to the door. He blinked as bright flashes shot across his vision. He rested his head against the glass and closed his dry, aching eyes.
He heard hurried footsteps pass his door, lightly, as though made by small feet. He opened his eyes and saw the backs of two running teenagers. A huge cyborg clad in black armor stomped past carrying the cyborgs’ new neuron weapon. The three figures vanished.
Michael returned to the white bench, sat down, and went back to staring at the white wall in front of him.
He heard something shatter in the distance, and then the unmistakable, out-of-place sound of rapid gunfire.
He hobbled back to the window, grimacing, and peered out. He glimpsed a young woman flash past, her long hair flowing behind her. And then the vision of beauty was gone.
He sat back down and closed his eyes. They stung as he rubbed them. His thirst, and the dehydration that often rendered him unconscious, was ferocious. He let out a deep sigh.
The door hissed. It clicked.
His eyes shot open.
The door slid aside and the empty corridor lay beyond.
He crept forward, on the lookout for telltale shadows. He peered through the doorway into the empty corridor.
A makeshift knife appeared, grazing lightly across his throat.
“Hello, Michael.”
“Andana,” Michael replied. “I see you survived.” He felt the blade press into the soft flesh of his throat.
“That’s Captain to you. We all been lucky, Filbert.” Andana’s coarse voice cracked and wavered, making him cough. He spat a mouthful of blood onto the floor. “Today, you’s going to be the luckiest of all.”
“Lucky? How do you work that out?”
“The cell doors are open. No one’s around. This is our chance to get out, and you’s the only one that knows the way.”
The blade slid away from Michael’s throat and he felt the tip press into the small of his back.
“Lead the way, Doc, with that magic map of yours.”
The veterinarian turned and looked at the haggard face of Andana, the man who wished to be king. A deep scar ran across the man’s right eye. Like everyone else who had been discarded in the cells for an extended duration, Andana’s skin was mottled, and his beard, a mix of red, black and gray, grew unkempt and matted. His filthy clothes hung off his diminutive, emaciated frame.
“I’m barely able to walk,” Michael said.
“You still playing up that old injury?”
“They drove a monstrous great sword through my leg and dragged me.”
“It’s been years since then. Time to get on with your life. The way I see it, with you being the only one with an understanding of this place, you can lead the way like the smart and useful man you is, or, if you’s unuseful, be dead. The knife’s to remind you that, if your leg suddenly feels a whole lot better, you don’t run away and leave us in the lurch.”
Michael ran his hand through his own thick beard. “Neither of us is in any state for confrontation.”
“Bet your life?” Andana waved the blade in front of Michael’s face.
Michael leaned back away from the blade. He gave Andana a long stare before turning away and staggering down the corridor.
“What do you think happened?” Andana said, following him.
“How should I know? Something significant enough to open all the cell doors.”
“Is that all your education gets you?”
“My education will get us out of here. Is that a smart enough response for you?”
Michael limped along, occasionally supporting himself with one hand against the wall. Several others came out of the open cells and joined them as they slowly made their way through the maze of white corridors.
Michael moved as fast as the pain and stiffness from his old injury would allow, which was fortunately faster than the slow-moving cyborgs could stomp. Several corridors later, they had moved closer to the upper-level exit. Two turns later, Michael paused. He held up his hand and looked around the corner.
The cyborg guarding the exit snapped to attention, aimed his weapon, and fired. The wall next to Michael absorbed the impact and turned into a black smear. The cyborg stomped down the corridor toward them.
“Back!” Michael shouted.
The men turned and fled. At the next corner, they were confronted by two patrolling cyborgs that leveled their guns and started firing.
The group retreated again and found protection as best they could.
Michael closed his eyes tightly and his face became a mask of concentration. “First left, then first right. That should get us around them. This way,” he whispered.
They set off as quickly as they could in a new direction. The tension in the group eased as they shuffled along, savoring the brief taste of freedom and the hope that rode along with it.
They rounded a corner and stumbled across a large room containing half a dozen cyborgs in tight defense formation. The cyborgs opened fire, and, once again, the group retreated.
“Where do we go now?” Andana demanded. “We can’t keep running away from them cyborgs.”
“I don’t know,” Michael said. “My mind atlas isn’t working well.”
One of the younger survivors, a heavyset youth, was staring at the wall in front of them. He ran his hand down the smooth surface. There was a click, and a large panel swung open. They all quickly ran inside and closed the panel behind them.
Moments later, cyborg bullets impacted the other side of the panel. They could feel the heat radiating through as it began to melt.
“What is this place?” Andana cried above the roar of the enemy weapons.
“It looks like a ventilation shaft,” Michael shouted.
“We go down.”
“If we go down there, I won’t know where we are.”
“To be honest, Doc, your directions ain’t been great so far. Let’s sail into the great unknown.” With blinding speed, Andana leaped into the opening and slid into the darkness below.
“Is he brave or stupid?” said the heavyset young man.
Michael shrugged. “Bravery and stupidity often go hand in hand. But in our current situation”—he ducked as a lightbeam seared through the door above them—“he’s made the rational decision. After you, young man.”
One by one, they all disappeared down the chute. Michael was hurriedly slipping into the shaft when the cyborgs wrenched the panel off its hinges.
2
THERE WAS A barrage of fierce, brittle light as the cyborgs intensified their fire. When they stopped firing, there was nothing to see but a charred and blackened wall. The opening of the ventilation shaft was half melted, and empty.
The crashes and clangs from the escapees’ boots echoed noisily as they half-slipped, half-fell down the long chute, jarring everyone’s senses. Within minutes, they were at the base, standing on solid but cramped ground.
Andana kicked open a hatch and they emerged into a quiet corrido
r. “How far down d’you reckon we went, doc?”
“Maybe fifteen or more floors.”
“That’s a long way. D’you reckon we’re still in the prison cells?”
“Yes. And who knows what’s imprisoned down here.”
“Bad stuff, I’m guessing,” Andana said.
The sound of rattling chains echoed through the passageway. Wild-eyed with terror, Andana crept off down the corridor, blade in hand, with the others following closely behind. Michael closed out the party. The stiffness in his leg from the old wound and years of living in a cramped cell was beginning to ease.
They rounded a corner. In front of them in the corridor, a cyborg stood looking into a doorway, his face a combination of fear and anticipation. He turned toward them. The group charged.
The cyborg reached for his weapon. He managed to fire two shots, felling one of the men, before the remaining force crashed into him. The cyborg’s gun skipped across the ground. The heavyset young man wrapped his tree-trunk arms around the cyborg’s middle, picked him up and slammed him onto the metal floor with a resounding clang.
Several men piled onto the cyborg and pounded him with their fists, and moments later, he lay motionless, his eyes staring up at the ceiling.
Andana strolled up behind the men and scooped up the weapon. He rolled it in his hand and pulled the trigger. A blast of light leapt from the gun and struck the opposite wall.
There was a rattling sound coming from the dark doorway.
Andana walked over and glanced in. “Hey, Michael, you’re tall. How ’bout you reach that chain in there.”
Michael looked into the room and saw a chain suspended from the ceiling above a dark shaft that dropped away to unseen depths below. “Why?” he said.
“’Cause that cyborg was scared of it. You saw his face. I’m betting something they’s scared of is gonna be useful in my hands.”