by Mark Lingane
The gunfire over their heads intensified.
Memphis pointed behind them at the ranks of Chargers. “Rocket!” she shouted.
Sebastian cleared his mind. He threw up his arms in defense. The rocket hit his hands and exploded above them. The smoke cleared, revealing the two of them inside a pale blue dome. He released the electron configuration and the dome dissolved.
He looked up and saw a 49th Division helicopter above them. He jumped out of the pit. He threw back his velvet-drape cape, and raised his hands toward the hovering craft.
He focused his mind.
He felt the anger rise up in him, and unleashed his power toward the helicopter. The rotors stopped and the chopper tipped sideways. It seemed to hang in the air for several seconds before crashing down onto its side; metal sprayed in the air, taking down the soldiers on the ground. There was a moment of silence as the shock of the crash settled over the opposing armies.
Sebastian became aware that he was receiving interference from somewhere. He looked around and spotted a tall pole to one side of the pit. He sensed a significant amount of electrical signals coming from it, spreading out to the 49th Division enemy vehicles.
He blinked and the pole snapped.
He concentrated and raised one hand. He cleared his mind and detected two metal items. He flipped the electrons and smashed them together. There was a spark and the chopper erupted upward. Flames billowed in an inferno that melted the metal of the closest silos, causing them to collapse and release the fuel trapped within. It flowed down over the 49th Division soldiers, who burst into flame. They ran screaming as the fireball rolled over them, engulfing their tanks and support vehicles.
The intense heat also repulsed the Chargers, driving them away from the battle line.
The fire roared for several minutes before it slowly spluttered out. Tortured bodies and twisted, blackened metal lay littered over the ground.
Chargers swarmed over the blackened area. Finding nothing but dead 49th soldiers, they cheered. Several huddled together and started to chant.
Commander of the Chargers, Q-backer Charlie, marched through the ranks, standing tall over his troops. “Stop,” he commanded.
The Chargers went quiet, scurried into formation, and stood to attention.
The q-backer looked toward the wreckage of the 49th Division. “Who did this?” His voice rang out over the assembled soldiers and echoed off the remaining silos.
One of the forward runners pointed to Sebastian. “He did. He destroyed them all.”
Charlie marched over to Sebastian and picked him up by the collar. The hydraulics on the q-backer’s exosuit hissed as it took Sebastian’s weight. “I saw you yesterday at the voidship crash site. I don’t like void riders.”
There was a click and the q-backer’s helmet slid back, revealing a face full of scars. He was unshaven and the stubble was graying. He looked into Sebastian’s terrified face and abruptly lowered him to the ground. He signaled for two of his men to take their captives to a support spider-tank, and strode away.
Sebastian and Memphis were pushed at gunpoint underneath the towering tank. As they stared up into the black metal, a small hatch opened and a plate on four chains was lowered. A soldier prodded them in the back with his weapon and they stepped onto the small platform, which rose up the dozen yards into the vehicle. It swung awkwardly under their differing weights, and they clung desperately to the chains.
The interior of the tank was tiny, barely big enough for the four soldiers already inside. Images of 49th Division soldiers doing despicable things to women and children were pasted on the interior walls of every available patch of bare metal.
A soldier was pointing a rifle at them. He had his hand on the side of his helmet. “Targets loaded,” he said. “Ready to move out.”
The driver, a young man with the rank of center and one of the few not wearing an exosuit, had a youthful, but hard, mean-spirited face, tarnished with anger. He sat facing four large monitors in the front of the vehicle, holding two long levers in his hands. When he moved the levers back and forth, the tank turned slowly and moved off on its great hydraulic legs. There was a deafening hiss each time a leg moved.
The first soldier indicated that they should sit on a narrow metal bench. He mimed strapping on the seatbelts. Memphis glanced over her shoulder, pulled down a belt and clicked it into a point by her hip. Sebastian did the same. The soldier reached up and gripped a rope hanging from the roof. He swung in time with the movements of the tank, keeping his rifle trained on them.
The driver, who was next to Sebastian, was pumping his arms furiously. At first, Sebastian thought they were about the same age, but the man’s skilled movements made it clear that he’d had extensive experience with the spider-tank’s controls.
“Have you guys been at war long?” Sebastian shouted above the sound of the immense moving machinery.
“We’ve been fighting since long before I was born,” the driver replied. “My granddad was in the wars. He was a driver as well. I remember him telling stories.”
“I’m Sebastian. What’s your name?”
The center glanced at him. He didn’t speak for a moment. “Clint,” he said finally.
Sebastian glanced up at the horrific images. “Do you know why you’re fighting?”
“The Forty-niners want to take all our good land and get us doped up on coro.”
Sebastian remembered Memphis telling him about coro, the synthetic food that had led to so much devastation.
The young driver’s face twisted into a mask of hatred. “The Forty-niners are evil. They’re sick.” The naked anger and hatred in Clint’s face, and the unhinged way he spoke, shocked Sebastian. He seemed to be struggling with insanity, which threatened to push him over the edge where he would plummet into the void. Maybe his name should be Cliff, Sebastian thought. Or Flinty Cliff.
Sebastian found the lurching movement of the tank unsettling. It seemed to be on the verge of falling over with each step. He clamped his hands down onto the bench, hardly noticing that he had put his hand over Memphis’s. She didn’t complain.
The vehicle lumbered through the streets, controlled with great effort by the young driver. They reached a set of steel gates, which opened ponderously as the Chargers approached, swinging out on massive, ten-foot-high hinges. When they were inside, the gates closed with a resounding thud that shook the ground.
The first soldier indicated they should get back onto the platform. As soon as they were holding onto the chains, he smacked a button and the platform dropped quickly. They landed on the ground, and Sebastian looked around, taking in his surroundings.
The large circular area they were in was surrounded by apartment buildings, each small dwelling with its own tiny window looking down into the central arena. Large telescreens between the buildings displayed slightly tamer images than the ones Sebastian had seen stuck to the inside walls of the tank.
A dozen Charger soldiers emerged from the second tank and surrounded them. Several more appeared from the buildings on the edge of the arena. They all seemed uncertain and eager to fire. Memphis stepped behind Sebastian and held onto his arm.
Sebastian noticed that they were all pale, and shorter and thinner than him. And no one seemed old, except for the one calling himself Charlie.
The q-backer they had encountered earlier strode across the open space toward them. The men parted to let him into the circle. He took off his helmet and long gray hair fell around his face. His steely eyes bored into them.
“I’m Charlie Baxter, the q-backer for this team. We’ve run searches on both of you on all known enemy databases, and we can find nothing. Considering you were instrumental in our latest victory over the enemy, for the moment, we’ll call you allies. You can call me Charlie.”
Charlie turned to the soldier beside him. “Tackle, give these people a place to rest. I’ll have many questions for them later.” He turned and marched toward the largest of the buildings.
“Are they prisoners?” the tackle called out.
“Not yet,” Charlie shouted over his shoulder.
The tackle led Sebastian and Memphis to one of the buildings and assigned them adjacent apartments. He nodded to each as they entered their rooms. The doors closed and the locks engaged.
Sebastian tried his door handle. It didn’t budge. He sighed. He was a prisoner in all but name.
The room was bright and airy, with a good view of the arena and the broken city of Los Angeles behind it. He sat down at the window and looked out. Night was approaching. It seemed early. Lights in the opposite apartments slowly blinked on and off as the residents came and went. The telescreens continued to display images of the 49th Division doing adversarial things to the supposedly innocent locals.
Occasional statements came from a senior commander called the Master, who expounded on the importance of them all working together and being honest.
Sebastian recognized that the Master was trying to come across as a decent man, but he’d seen a lot of politics over the years, including Iris’s manipulation of the Hive, the underground cyborg city. He had also seen ambition at work on the leader they knew as Number Two at the Steam Academy, which had become Sebastian’s second home after his village was destroyed. In the end, the Steam Academy had also fallen, not as a result of the continual attacks by the cyborgs, but as a result of the unquenchable thirst of a politician inside the great city’s walls.
Sebastian had had to learn quickly that surviving politics was as difficult as standing on shifting sand. He had been made the scapegoat for everything that was considered wrong inside the Steam Academy.
He listened to the Master’s words, but remained skeptical of the man’s integrity.
As cells went, this was the best one he’d been in. It was a lot better than the room back at the Steam Academy, where he’d idled away the hours with Melanie and his friend Isaac. So much had happened since then. So much had been lost. Parents. Friends. He had no possessions. He had left no trail, no trace of himself. He felt as though he was nothing more than an unwanted gray ghost in a world of vibrant people.
Another story appeared on the telescreen. It showed footage of the zeppelin wreck and the bodies strewn around. He squinted at the text at the bottom of the image. The Chargers were celebrating the brave efforts of their side in taking down a 49th Division enemy craft that had managed to penetrate deep into home territory.
Sebastian shrugged. He knew the voidship hadn’t been shot down, and he wasn’t a 49th Division soldier. He sighed. Someone was taking the glory for his work; it felt like school all over again.
There was a small book on the desk titled My Struggle: A Revelation of Philosophy. The author was the Master. He flicked through the pages, but as there were no pictures, he quickly lost interest. On the back cover were the words: Veritas vincit omnia.
He looked in a mirror that was fastened above a small sink. He’d seen so much of war, yet he had no scars. Fortune had smiled on him. But not his hair, he realized with dismay. It had gone all whooshy. If it got any wilder, he might have to think about washing it. Maybe even cutting it.
He ran water from the faucet and let the sink fill. He splashed water on his face and washed away the grime of his recent ordeals. He ran his wet fingers through his hair, brushing it back. He smiled at the reflection. With his hair standing on end, he looked a little like Nikola.
Thinking of Nikola, Commander of the Steam Academy, reminded him once again of everyone he’d left behind. He sat down on the bed, feeling depressed. He lay down and stared up at the ceiling.
Memphis was also lying on her bed. It was the softest one—the only one—she had lain on for weeks. Her muscles and bones relaxed as she closed her eyes and drifted into a semi-conscious state. Her thoughts drifted to her “bodyguard.”
Sebastian looked a bit jock-like with his big strong body and everything, but he didn’t act like it. He was a bit moody, she thought, but he carried himself like a winner. And he had an infectious enthusiasm that was obvious in every bouncing step he took, and every sentence he uttered that ended in a note of unfounded optimism. Quite simply, he made her feel like everything was going to be okay.
She wondered how he’d been able to bring down a 49th Division helicopter, and defend them against a rocket launcher. There had been rumors on the east coast that the Master had developed something with similar powers to what Sebastian seemed to have, but she was sure there was nothing on this scale. To her knowledge, there was no one in North America who could stop a bullet, let alone a rocket grenade.
Her mother had always said there was more to the world than met the eye. Then they shot her for saying it. Of course, it might’ve had something to do with the huge explosion in the secret 49th arsenal. She would never forget the soldier who had shot her mother. He’d been beyond rage as he turned and fired at point-blank range. Memphis had promised herself that she would do the same to him if they ever met again.
She looked around the room. Next to the window was a small table and chair. Next to that was a sink with a mirror. She didn’t like looking in the mirror anymore. As she grew older, she was starting to resemble her mom, and nothing hurt as much as those memories when she looked at the reflection. If Memphis closed her eyes, she could still see vivid images of her mom brushing her hair into a ponytail.
She sat down by the window and stared out at the buildings surrounding the arena.
7
THE EXOSUIT OPENED. Charlie leaned forward on the desk and hopped out of the suit onto his leg. What was left of his body ached. He rubbed his arms and wrists, massaging life back into them. He hopped forward, twisted, and sat down on the leather chair. He leaned back and stared at the ceiling.
His small telescreen flickered into life and a distorted face appeared. He touched a green button on the screen.
“Master, this is unexpected,” Charlie said.
The voice, represented by the eerily blurred photograph, crackled over the heavily encrypted line. “Are there any further developments with the guest?”
Charlie sat up stiffly. “No.” His voice was cold.
“Have you started the tests?”
“Yes, but he’s not showing many of the attributes you predicted. Not at the level you were expecting, anyway.”
“Then he can’t be the one.” The voice was flat and devoid of emotion, mechanical almost.
“We’ll kill him then.”
“No. Send him to me. And don’t let your emotions affect your duty to my instructions.”
Charlie sighed. “Same as the others?”
“Yes. The truth prevails.” The line went dead.
“Yes, the truth.” Charlie grimaced as the words left his mouth.
The truth was becoming a burden of late. He wanted to shout his anger at the pointless experiments they performed on the boys the riders smuggled across the sea, and the loss he had had to endure because of them. Nothing good ever came from over the sea. He’d often wondered what other horrors had been brought on the heavy zeppelins that flew over the city toward the east.
He picked up the photograph on the table and stared at it. It showed a woman and two young boys, both very similar in looks to their mother. And when he looked in the mirror—when he could bear to—he could see that his sons also looked like him. Most of the time when he looked in the mirror, all he saw was death staring back.
There was a knock on the door. He snapped to with a start.
“Food is ready, Q-backer, sir.”
“Thank you,” he called back. “I’m on my way.”
He struggled to a standing position, his biceps trembling as he raised himself up. He hopped over to the exosuit, twisted, and levered himself in. The machinery hissed and clicked, locking down around him.
Darkness greeted him as he stepped outside into the arena. The cold night air flowed through the suit and reinvigorated him. By the time he walked into the chamber, he was fully awake and ready for action.
> Sebastian’s door lock clicked and the door swung open, revealing the same tackle who had locked them in their rooms. He peered out cautiously.
“Your presence is expected by the q-backer for food.”
“Food? Count me in. I’m real hungry.” He paused. “Do you eat normal stuff?”
The tackle looked affronted. “Of course. Soldiers need solid, nutritional meals three times a day.”
“Is there cake?”
“There’s always cake.”
Sebastian smiled and followed.
Sebastian and Memphis entered the war-council chambers. Maps were pinned to the walls, and lines had been drawn over them ending in X’s and O’s. There was a stretcher to one side with a soldier standing beside them. A sheet was draped over the stretcher. It was obvious to Sebastian that it covered a body.
Charlie Baxter sat behind a desk, resting on an elbow in his oversized exosuit, helmet up, conferring with his support staff. He indicated for the two to sit opposite him.
“You, boy,” Charlie said when they were seated.
“Sebastian.” He sat up straight.
“My men tell me you brought down the Forty-ninth Division helicopter without any weapons. How did you do that?”
Sebastian jumped up and stood tall. “I am a tesla,” he said, throwing his cape over one shoulder.
Memphis snapped her head around and stared at him.
There was silence. Sebastian couldn’t suppress a small smile. He felt that everyone in the chambers was properly impressed. A few awkward moments crawled past.
Charlie glanced at the soldiers standing beside him. They shrugged. “Never heard of it,” he said to Sebastian. “What does a tesla do?”
Sebastian was put out by their lack of appreciation. “Well, it’s pretty complicated and difficult to explain, but basically, I control the electrical spin of electrons at the atomic level.”