Devoured World: Volume One

by Fleet, Ricky

  “Squad, forward!”

  The head of the column moved towards the gloomy interior of the building. Andy glanced upward and marvelled at the thickness of the retreating barrier. Eight-inch steel plates were folding into the overhead runners on thick, oiled hinges. Effectively a holding area, the room was eighty feet square with unbroken walls. Cameras moved, watching their advance and automated turrets rested in standby position. From half of the sentient, menacing weapons issued the hiss and blue jet of a pilot flame. Flamethrowers? What the hell would they need flamethrowers for? Andy wondered.

  “Squad, halt!”

  Hardie placed his palm on a second reader and the outer door started to trundle back into the closed position. A resounding metallic clang echoed in the sealed chamber as the floor plate hit home. Pneumatics hissed and drove thick bolts from the left and right of the door into sealing rings.

  “Please hold for bio scan,” chirped an electronic voice from a hidden speaker.

  Coming to life, the eight turrets rounded on the waiting soldiers, drawing a couple of anxious yelps.

  Master Sergeant turned to them. “Nothing to fear from them. They’re just a failsafe.”

  Failsafe against what? Andy thought as lenses mounted in every wall started to glow. A blue light streamed from the optics and illuminated every inch of their bodies, moving up and down, left to right. After ten seconds the lights dimmed and shut down.

  “Bio scan, negative. You may proceed.”

  Whatever the machine had failed to detect proved satisfactory for the heavy weapons aimed at them. Deactivating, the barrels rose and settled back into rest mode. The second roller door opened and the squad moved into the next area.

  “Squad, fall out! Take a seat on the right and wait for a technician.”

  Their superior moved away towards a supervisor’s booth to sign in while the soldiers took in the surroundings. They were in another holding area, but one with a lot more activity. The small window to the office was only large enough to fit a head through, with a microphone communication system mounted above. People moved around on unknown errands, smiling at the newcomers. It was the massive machine that got the men and women talking, though.

  “How big do you think it is?” asked Zip.

  “Eleven, maybe twelve feet,” Andy replied.

  “It’s well equipped,” she remarked appreciatively.

  The imposing black hulk was stood dormant in an alcove. Hydraulic pistons gleamed in the arms and legs, with mirrored glass where the pilot’s face would be. Hinges on the thighs, chest, and arms of the Mech showed where the human would gain access. On each forearm were a trio of razor-sharp blades bolted to the chassis. The smaller left arm contained a fully functioning hand with fingers three inches in diameter. The bulkier right arm was tipped with a dual barrelled weapon. A smaller, ported barrel would fire normal bullets, with a sealed belt feeding system protruding from the inside of the arm stretching around to the back. The wider barrel could only be a high explosive grenade launcher. A similar, but larger, circular feeding tube ran side by side with the squared edges of the bullet feeder. Rotating mounts lay on each shoulder, with thick wire couplings hanging from the fixing bracket.

  “I wonder what goes there?”

  Turning to Zip, Andy could only shrug. “I doubt it’d be a pair of feather dusters.”

  “You never know. We could be used as cleaners while things are quiet.”

  “At least we’d be able to get to the awkward to reach places in one of those.”

  “What about the holes?”

  Andy looked closely at the armour and made out the dozens of dark apertures covering the body. “God knows. Ventilation?”

  Zip shrugged and turned her attention to the third set of doors which clanked open, revealing a team of overall clad figures with clipboards. At their head was a lady, wearing white in contrast to the others who were all adorned in black. While the subordinates moved into the room and waited, she moved across to Master Sergeant Hardie at the booth.

  “They look like a bunch of chuggers,” Andy whispered. They bore the same hungry look of the annoying street accosters who would try and sign you up to the infinite number of ‘charities’. It was unlikely that infuriating practice had survived the apocalypse and Andy chalked a point to the benefits of the end of the world.

  “Well they’re shit out of luck, I can’t remember my bank account details,” Zip replied.

  “Account details? I can’t even remember if I had a bank.”

  “You probably didn’t. You strike me as the ‘keep it under my mattress’ type.”

  “I think I’m more the ‘don’t have enough money to worry about hiding it’ type.”

  “That works too,” Loco called out from down the bench. “You can’t take wealth with you when you croak.”

  “They won’t even let us croak,” grumbled Andy, thinking of his dead family.

  Seeing the look of grief, Mo reached across and clasped his shoulder. “You’ll see them again. Once the war is over, one way or the other.”

  “Do I really want to be a clone dad to clone kids and a clone wife?”

  “The choice will be yours, brother. I know what I’m going to do.”

  “Do you truly believe something better comes after? Even for forgeries of who we once were?”

  “I still feel a soul burning within me,” Mo declared confidently. “It could be we’re parts of a whole and when we finally reach Heaven we become as one again. Have no doubt, brother, paradise will be waiting for us both.”

  “I hope so.”

  Hardie said a final word to the senior technician and then led her back to the soldiers. “Troops, this is Mia Ferdinand, the incredible mind behind the Mech program. She’ll be taking it from here.”

  “Thank you, Master Sergeant,” Mia said, stepping forward. “The process you’re going to undertake today will be comprised of three tiers. Should these prove successful, you’ll continue onto the next stages over the coming days. The first is a simple test to check your compatibility with the psy-ware we use which will allow you to pilot one of those.” She pointed at the sentient machine.

  “If you’re unsuccessful, you’ll be sent back to barracks. If, however, you manage to forge a neural link, then we move onto stage two. This involves creating a unique mental fingerprint which will allow you to sync yourself with any machine within seconds of boarding it. In the event of a concerted assault by the infected it could mean the difference between survival or being overrun. Stage three will see you use your newly forged connection to live fire the arm cannons in the test range. For obvious reasons it’ll be armour piercing rounds only, not the heavy artillery of the adaptive grenades. Stage four will begin on day two. You’ll mount an unarmoured exoskeleton of the Mechs to practice mobility drills. They’re a lot more responsive than their size suggests, which can take a bit of getting used to. If you demonstrate a suitable level of proficiency, you’ll be taken deep below this facility to face the final test.”

  Loco’s hand shot in the air. “What’s the final test?”

  Mia looked at Hardie, then back to the soldiers. “An RTCS, which stands for Real Time Combat Scenario.”

  “We have to fight the infected?”

  “Yes.”

  “Sounds like fun, count me in!”

  “I appreciate your enthusiasm, but one step at a time,” cautioned Mia with a smile. “Once that final test is complete, you’ll be accepted into a Mech squad, should you so choose. If your strength lies elsewhere, however, you’ll be kept on the reserve list and may be called upon from time to time. Any questions?”

  “What’re the holes for?” Zip had to know.

  “They’re a countermeasure for close contact in addition to the arm mounted blades. If you get a few of them on you, don’t panic. The tubes house compressed air activated retractable steel spikes that’ll impale any aggressor.”

  “Those little beauties will save your ass in a pinch,” said a gruff male voice.


  Hardie nodded at the man who emerged from the shadows of the bay door. “Squad, this crazy son of a bitch is Carson Bateman, the longest serving Mech operator. He’s saved my team on more than one occasion and he’ll do the same for you.”

  “If you’d stop getting yourself in trouble I wouldn’t have to. I’m getting too old to babysit your ass.” Carson’s booming laughter echoed around the room.

  “You could always retire,” Hardie proposed.

  “I’d eat a bullet and make them clone me before I’d retire,” he retorted, striding up and down the line of seated recruits. “Good. We have some strong looking candidates here, and I’ll be damned if I don’t recognise some of you. Names aren’t my strongest suit, so for the most part I’ll be calling you by your assigned Mech number.”

  “Captain Bateman, would you have time to talk to the soldiers who make it through to stage three? I’m sure they’d be grateful for your input.”

  “Of course. I’m sure they’ll be delighted to hear about the heat and claustrophobia.”

  “Thank you… Captain!” Mia said, dismissing him with a stern gaze. Turning back to the waiting soldiers, she continued, “You’ll now be taken into the cerebral analysis suite. You’ll all have a cracking headache by the end of this test, so your assigned mentor will give you a painkiller before you begin.”

  “Squad! Attention!”

  Everyone leapt to their feet and obeyed. One by one the soldiers were claimed by a technician who led them after the enigmatic captain.

  ∞∞∞∞∞∞

  “Please, sit down,” urged Tamsin, Andy’s neural tech. Her bobbed, brown hair framed a plain but pretty ‘girl next door’ face. Her glasses magnified intense green eyes which flashed between the various consoles to the side of the small booth.

  “What do you need me to do?”

  “Nothing at the moment. I’m just uploading your DNA signature to the program. It’ll give the best chance of synaptic association with the software.”

  “You make my brain sound like a computer.”

  “Brains are computers in a way, with electrical impulses, memory storage, complex problem solving, you get the gist.”

  “Can’t computers get viruses though? What’s to stop your software crashing my system?” Andy’s mind returned to Paul’s catatonic gaze in the mess.

  “That’s never happened… That I know of. But then again I’ve only worked here for a year.”

  “A year? Are you sure you know what you’re doing?”

  Fingers rattling away on the keyboard, Tamsin glanced at him. “I’ve only got another six months until I become accredited. As a trainee, they like to let us find our own way and overcome any mistakes.”

  “Mistakes?”

  “Vomiting, involuntary explosive diarrhoea, ocular haemorrhaging, partial deafness, you know, the usual stuff.”

  Andy stared at her, aghast. Seeing the spreading grin turn up the corners of her lips, he felt like a fool. “You’re joking?”

  “Of course,” she replied, rolling her eyes. “We train for years before they let us near a human subject. You’re in safe hands.”

  “Glad to hear it.”

  With a final flourish of the keys, the console lit up with a bold ‘Ready’ across the screen. Picking up the bulky headgear, Tamsin checked the connections and wires. “This is going to feel strange, but don’t fight it. The software will scan your brainwaves and attempt to synthesize the pattern. The program will adapt itself to your mind, mirroring the neurons that control your body and nervous system. It’s this link that allows you to effectively achieve symbiosis with the Mech. If it’s successful, you’ll find yourself on a beach. On the sand will be a waiter holding a margarita. You need to walk over, take the drink, and say the following words; I accept. That will create the final link between you and the Mech mainframe. Any questions?”

  “Will I be able to drink the cocktail?”

  “Of course. It’ll taste just as good as the real thing. Our systems are closely linked with the holographic entertainment suites located throughout the city.”

  Andy was about to ask about the entertainment, but Tamsin carefully dropped the helmet into place. The weight took him by surprise and he nearly dropped the expensive equipment when his head lolled forward.

  “Sorry, I should’ve warned you,” she explained, securing the chin strap.

  “Don’t worry, I won’t mark you down on my customer feedback card.”

  “That’s mighty gentlemanly of you, I appreciate it,” she said with a wink. “I’m going to secure the goggles and ear cups now, so you won’t be able to see or hear anything until it’s finished. We find the attempted link goes much more smoothly if you lose those key senses. Ready?”

  “I guess we’re about to find out.”

  “That’s the spirit!”

  Dropping the eyepiece into place, the flexible cushion moulded to the exact contours of his forehead, cheekbones, and nose. The darkness was absolute. Moments later, his ears were sealed too, cutting Andy off from the world completely. Almost instantly, his other senses magnified tenfold. Sniffing, he could detect the faintest trace of body odour beginning to penetrate the standard issue deodorant Tamsin wore. The cup of synthetic coffee she had consumed an hour ago was as potent as if she wafted a steaming mug under his nose. Brushing his fingertips over the arm of his seat, the dimpled surface was like fine braille. Each distortion of the plastic spoke of the aged press in which it was formed.

  A pulse of energy shot through his brain, causing him to flinch. “That hurt,” he muttered, the voice sensed only as vibrations in his ear canal.

  A dazzling light burst into being in his vision, but his eyes were firmly closed. The madly whirling, kaleidoscopic colours were inside Andy’s own mind, projected on the receptors which governed sight. The patterns flowed without purpose, or so it seemed. Countless shades merged, then dispersed, finding other hues to meld with. Andy watched the show in silent awe. Slowly, the disparate pigments took on an orderly development. Patches of the scene firmed up and he could finally see the purpose. A small dune, a rolling wave, edges of the blazing sun, the lower legs of the waiter, gleaming white shoes sunken into the soft sand. Another pulse precipitated a complete firming of the beach.

  “Did it work?” he asked, surveying the island paradise.

  The waiter smiled and held out a silver tray, topped with the pale green drink.

  Holding out a hand, Andy marvelled at the sensations. “I can feel the heat. I can smell the salt in the water. This is amazing.”

  The waiter continued to smile, unmoving.

  Andy approached the statue like figure in his immaculate white suit. “I hope that tastes as good as it looks.”

  Taking hold of the glass, the chill of the ice spread through his fingers. The sour rim of lime and salt gave way to the sweet burn of tequila and orange liqueur. Groaning in ecstasy, Andy closed his eyes and swallowed. The alcohol left a trail of heat as it flowed down his throat.

  “That’s the best damned margarita I’ve ever tasted.”

  The unblinking waiter ignored the compliment.

  “Oh, that’s right. I accept.”

  The waiter’s smile disappeared, and the untouched glass was back in place on the shiny tray. Andy frowned, staring at his now empty hand. Probing with his tongue he could still taste the salt crystals stuck to his lips.

  “Thank you, Mr Burton. Network link established.”

  As if someone had flicked a switch, the whole scene blinked out, leaving darkness again. Tamsin raised the ear cups and the everyday world flooded back in; the low chirps of the equipment carrying out unknown processes, the muffled conversations of his fellow soldiers in the adjoining booths.

  “That was the strangest experience of my life. It all felt so real!”

  “To your mind it was real,” she replied, removing the goggles and lifting off the weighty headgear.

  “The taste is fading, but I’ll be damned if I can’t still fe
el the heat in my gut.”

  “For some, the sensations last a few minutes. For others, once the connection is broken everything goes back to normal immediately. The former are the ones who seem to be able to forge the strongest links with the psy-ware.”

  “You mentioned holographic entertainment a minute ago?”

  “I did. It’s one of the only reasons people can hold it together through this nightmare.”

  “Everyone can use it?”

  “Absolutely. It’s encouraged to prevent mental breaks in the population.”

  “But how’s that possible? If some people can’t connect with the Mech systems, how can they experience the holographic suites?”

  “They’re completely different things. Resistance to the neural link required for Mech control is quite normal because it’s much more intrusive. You must willingly adopt the program, at which point it becomes a part of your mind. The entertainment is only electrical impulses, no different to the signals received while watching a show or listening to music.”

  “I think I understand.”

  “Good, now all I need to do is attach this electrode to your temple and we can create your unique access. Think of it like a password, but a lot more secure than typing one, two, three, four.”

  Sticking the pad to his skin, Tamsin entered another command into the console.

  “What do I need to do?”

  “Nothing. The machine is scanning your memories and uses them as a type of code.”

  “I hate to tell you this, but I don’t remember much of the past.”

  “It doesn’t matter, they’re just hidden from you for the moment. They’re inviolable, it’s just a matter of time until they return.”

  “I’m not too sure I want them to return. I had a family once.”

  “So did I,” she muttered, tapping the display screen with enough force to risk cracking it.

  “I’m sorry, I should’ve known.”

  “I’m not angry with you. I’m angry with those fuckers out there in the galaxy somewhere for what they’ve done to us. I use the hatred like a fuel to keep me pushing on, even when I feel like giving up.”