Divided Worlds Trilogy 01 - Disconnect

by Imran Siddiq

  “You don’t have a proper plan. I’ve seen what they can do, up close, in my face. They have machines that will flatten you.” Zachary grabbed her hand. “How do you know that there aren’t more soldiers? Sokolov isn’t stupid. He won’t have sent his whole army to Underworld. You’ll be surrounded. He knows we have his Intel. He knows that Underworlders escaped.”

  Bhavini stiffened. “Nine years ago, a handful got in. They did it. So can we.”

  “Nine years ago, you lost your husband.” Zachary didn’t break his look into her eyes. “Sokolov didn’t have a big army then.”

  “Under that vest, I can see your heart pounding with fear. I know you’re scared, and you don’t have to come. But, if getting to Hadrian Tower to rescue Rosa means so much to you, then I don’t have to spell out what’s at stake. I’ll let you decide.”

  Zachary pictured Assayer from afar covered by bellowing smoke hiding any view of Jupiter. How would that be different from District Two?

  “People will die,” he said.

  Bhavini placed loose bullets into her revolver cartridge. “People die every day because we sit back. I can’t make promises for Rosa’s safety. If she’s in Hadrian, then she’s already a part of this.”

  Pressure mounted inside Zachary, pushing his composure to burst. Resisting the urge to scream, he gritted his teeth. If Carell was right about Sokolov using Rosa against him, then Zachary’s presence was all the more required.

  He flinched at the weighty gun handed to him. “I don’t know how to use this.”

  Bhavini ran through the safety switches, the loading mechanism, and the intensity-flick to increase the rate of fire from single to multiple.

  “Oh, and another thing,” she added. “Sokolov isn’t the only one with machines.”

  Chapter 24 - Rank Unit Four

  Zachary didn’t have much time.

  He shot down the ladder to the lowest level of the Ark. An arched door separated him from the long, dark room where the machines rested.

  A man in baggy clothes leaped out from behind the door. “And you are?”

  “I wanted to see what you’ve got.”

  “Why?” The man adjusted the smeared goggles under his hat.

  “To see if they’re suitable.”

  “Suitable? These bad boys have been dormant and waiting for a day like this for years. Oiled up, re-cogged, fired up and packing some juicy shells. Trust me, they’ll make the pesky patrollers think twice about caging us in.” He checked a beeping clip on his belt. “I got some schemas to load. Don’t go touching anything. I’ve just loaded up their commands.”

  Zachary eyed the room. “Loaded? Are they on factory settings?”

  “Course,” frowned the man leaving him by the door. “I don’t want them thinking twice about tackling a Rock-Walker.”

  “You’re going to send them in? What if they get damaged?”

  The man continued his walk. “They’re only machines.”

  Zachary rolled his eyes. Taking away choice from a machine made it no better than a stove. To the protesters, the machines were simply tools. Were these machines inferior to the androids of the Souls Programme? To some the Souls were lumps of metal, but to the General, they were the chassis for continuing life.

  Rears against the wall, twelve droids of varying sizes and multi-tooled arms stood in a line. Bhavini had told him that they’d all been uncovered from melting-pits; unused until now, their time to serve had arrived.

  Zachary’s fingers pulsed over the formidable Pounder-1978 droid. Its ram that resembled hands would be perfect for battering hard material, however, its bulging torso, hollow on the knock, wouldn’t withstand a direct fireball. No matter how many smoke bombs the protesters threw, these droids would be noticed.

  “Do you have a name?”

  The Pounder’s single red eye gazed onto him. “Rank Unit Two, support to Arsonists. Downloading at eighty-nine percent,” it warbled in a mechanical tone. Head upright, the droid stood still.

  “Do you understand where you’re going?”

  “Hadrian Tower. Downloading at ninety percent.”

  Zachary walked along until one of the metallic zombies caused a smile. A Haulage-404.

  “What rank are you?”

  Not looking, the droid replied with a deep tone, “Rank Unit Four, Cannon-Bomber. Downloading at eighty-eight percent.”

  “Are you downloading an attack plan?”

  “Affirmative. Downloading at eighty-nine percent.”

  Zachary peered to the doorway. “Are you allowed to change the plan?”

  The Haulage-404 droid’s blue eyes blinked. “Is this an application for further commands? Downloading at eighty-nine percent.”

  “Further commands,” repeated the other droids, all of their heads whirring to face Zachary. Each spoke over the other with their respective downloading status.

  “No, just for Rank Unit Four.” Enthusiasm rippled through Zachary. “Can you handle more than what you already have without affecting your commands?”

  “Slots available for further commands. Downloading at ninety percent.”

  “Show me.”

  Tilting forward, the droid’s head opened down the middle. A casing unhinged to show four slots, two containing circuit boards.

  Zachary removed Patch’s chip from his pocket. Melted along the corner with scrapes and a deep scratch going down the centre, he hoped it wasn’t beyond use. He slipped the chip into a slot. A silver pin clasped it, before currents sizzled through.

  The droid’s head shut. “Activate? Downloading at ninety-one percent.”

  “Go for it.”

  “Activated. Downloading at nine –” The Haulage-404 jerked, knocking his right shoulder against a thin-armed Welding droid. “Ac-tiii-vaaa-ting.”

  Oh no – had he damaged it? Zachary jumped up to grab the droid’s head. An arm clattered him against the wall. Sliding down, he cringed from the numerous beeps coming out of the droid.

  Rank Unit Four flexed every finger. “Override. Misinformation. Conflicting. Hacked. Shutdown. Abort. Shutdown. Reconfigure. Realign. Con. Con. Connor.” The Haulage-404 glanced left to right. “Is this where droids go after service?”

  Zachary blinked back the sudden tear in his eye. “Patch?”

  Looking downward, the droid’s jaw panel mumbled. He caught Zachary’s leap up and rested his hand behind Zachary’s head. “I have legs.”

  Zachary wiped the droid’s face. “You don’t how it feels to hear your voice.”

  Patch’s eyes glowed bright. “New commands have been loaded. Hadrian Tower to be attacked. Freedom for Galilei. Dispose of General Masim Sokolov. Is this true?”

  “All of it, and you’re part of the –”

  “The Rusty Dozen,” grumbled Patch. “This crew has a detrimental name. I will see to it that it is changed. You look young, Zachary Connor.”

  “I scrubbed up.” He held the droid’s hand. “Dad’s dead, and I don’t want to lose you again.”

  Patch’s voice whirred. “I am sorry to hear this.”

  Zachary blinked. A machine had empathised with him. Did he mean that, or was his emotive chip relaying an expected response?

  “I cannot predict the outcome of this attack, but I feel,” Patch’s hands twitched to the wide-barrelled cannons holstered on his legs, “like I’ll have a better chance than sitting on a wall.”

  “Stay close to me. If you go down, I’ll take your chip.”

  Patch shook his finger. “No – you are not coming. I have seen the plans. They are dangerous. The slash and bomb approach will produce casualties of high magnitude. You must stay here.”

  “I can’t.”

  “Why?”

  “For Rosa. She’s in the Tower. They’ve got her. They took her away from me.” Zachary stared into his palms. “I had her, Patch. In my arms.”

  “And you think that by participating, you will locate her?”

  “Yes.”

  “No.”

  Zachary
punched the wall. “Why not? She needs me.”

  “She does not. She is an Overworlder.”

  “I’m practically one too. There’s no Underworld left. We’re not worlds apart anymore.”

  “Being in the same world does not make you equals. Life is full of levels, and you still occupy the bottom cog.”

  “I will change that,” whined Zachary. “You know the plan. When they’re in the Tower, they’ll knock out the communication blockers and send a message to the Confederation. Sokolov will be punished for my dad’s death.”

  “And what about Carell? Does he not deserve punishment? My cognition is rife with information of Carell. I detect admiration from his followers, even though his method of survival depends on deceit and selfishness. I calculate he will benefit greatly from this.”

  Zachary squeezed the bridge of his nose. “Why do you have to always take over my mind? Can’t you shut down your mathematical brain? Just stop calculating the outcome all the time.”

  “The line between right and wrong is blurred,” said Patch. “Overworld is in a confused state of what it wants as opposed to what it needs. Freedom does not always come with war.”

  “So why are you prepared to fight for them then?”

  “I am programmed to. I cannot disobey.”

  “Then what do I do? I thought my life was over when the soldiers came. And it didn’t get better in IOTA. Diego lied to me. And when they killed Dad …” Zachary’s insides burned. He looked up from the droid’s comforting hold. “If I don’t try, and something happens to her, I’ll never forgive myself. I watched my dad die, Patch. I watched him, and I did nothing about it.”

  “Could you have helped him?”

  The image of his dad’s bloodied hand smacking the IOTian chamber’s porthole flashed in Zachary’s head.

  “I couldn’t get to him.”

  “Then you cannot take the blame.” Patch’s hands tightened around Zachary’s head. “Commands indicate thirty-six minutes remaining before the Right Order Movement proceed to battle. Now would be the ideal time to release your pain.”

  Choking back the lump in his throat, Zachary wept against Patch’s torso.

  Chapter 25 - Scrapheap

  It took the protesters little time to navigate through tunnels and pipes to reach an empty aqueduct. They were a short climb away from the open streets that led to Hadrian Tower.

  Pistons ground above the protesters who were grouped into gangs of fifteen and swapping ammunition. Their noise opposed the tactic a scavenger would have used.

  Caine placed two hand-sized grenades into a launcher whilst mumbling into an Intercom attached to the collar of his half-armoured jacket.

  Zachary imagined Carell sitting in his comfy chair, relaying commands. Send the irrelevant to do the dirty work; yeah – that sounded like Carell’s style.

  Bhavini checked the quick release of the safety catch of her handgun. “The diversions are underway. Building sites in west Assayer have been set on fire. Let’s hope Hadrian deploys its units to intercept.”

  In synchronisation, most of the protesters pulled down their balaclavas. Human eyes appeared eerie compared to the blue circles of the soldiers. Some eyes showed youth. Inexperience. Fear.

  In Underworld, the young worked to survive. They didn’t fight with guns. Is this all Overworld had to offer?

  “Quit slouching,” whispered Bhavini. “Others are noticing.”

  Sitting up, Zachary licked his lips with a serious expression. He scanned the balaclavas, giving passive nods. It felt wrong that ROM regarded him with honour and used his troubles to encourage them.

  I’m not your hero.

  “Patrollers are moving west to locate the root of the attacks,” said Caine out loud.

  The glow of a small tablet that Bhavini held up shone onto her face. “The Rusty Dozen are passing through the nitrogen conduits. Crunch time.”

  Zachary gripped his knee. Everything was happening quicker than he imagined. He heard another protester report the intercepted orders of patroller units to increase their numbers.

  “Have the machines made it?” asked Zachary.

  “Not sure, we’ve lost their signal,” sighed Bhavini. “Damn, I knew they might get caught.”

  “Caught?”

  “Some of the conduits have tremor detectors implanted. It’s one of their ways of catching people sneaking in from underground. If they detected the machines, they’ve probably locked down the conduits.”

  Zachary visualised Patch releasing his cannons. “They could still make it.”

  “Not through two-metre-thick barriers. And if they try to blast it, they’ll take out a whole sector.”

  Tilting away from Bhavini, Zachary gnawed his fingernails. Nothing could prepare him for going into battle against people who used guns like screwdrivers. He’d devised a plan with the Haulage-404 that didn’t involve carving Carell’s name into Assayer. Get to Hadrian Tower. Find Rosa. Get out.

  Finger on Intercom, Caine raised his fist. “The units have left the road to Hadrian clear. Final round check. Get ready.”

  Dread tickled along Zachary’s veins. His fingers clicked back and forth on the trigger of his rifle, hanging by a strap that weighed his shoulder down.

  Caine stroked his grenade-launcher’s barrel. “This is our time to change Galilei. Don’t look away when your enemy stands ahead of you. Bring it to them. ROM!”

  “ROM!” bellowed the gangs.

  A group burst beyond Caine toward a ladder positioned below an open hatch.

  From behind, Bhavini tapped Zachary to tell him to ascend the ladder. He climbed up into a sloping pipe. Warm air covered him. Keeping his head low, he frowned at the pinging clatter the guns made. The pipe got hotter. Steam, not toxic like before, spurt along the edges. Bringing his elbows in, he shuffled. How did Caine manage to get through this?

  A hand pulled Zachary out into a room decorated with polished ornaments. Price tags floated ahead of vases with invisible joins. This wasn’t an alleyway, but a stall. Protesters ran between cabinets to the front where a horizontal window faced a street. An orange flash surprised him. Smoke trailed over a crater in the road. A second explosion razed a stretch of the pavements. Who’d fired? ROM? The army?

  Bhavini brushed past him to the doorway. “Are you ready?”

  Zachary held the rifle tight across his upper chest. Cold metal pressed against his lips. “How do I know if I am?”

  “You’d have turned back if you weren’t,” she smiled, before racing out into the dimmed streets of Assayer.

  Zachary charged after her. Smoke rushed over him.

  “Bhavini,” he called out.

  “Blow the Officers’ Establishment,” shrieked a male.

  What?

  Squinting, Zachary spun with the taste of the rifle’s metal vexing his mouth.

  A building, whose structure curved as it met the ground, erupted. Shards flew across the street. An alarm sounded in the distance. A scream. Bullets rattled. It was District Two all over again.

  He couldn’t see Bhavini. Where were the gangs? Had they abandoned him?

  A protester hobbled into sight, clutching his shattered kneecap. Puffs of smoke escaped his torso before he fell.

  Zachary gulped at blue eyes piercing through the smoke. The soldiers had arrived. He bolted to the side, locating a safe street without smoke or fire. His gasp choked at a burning truck rolling ahead of him. Crouching, searching for mounds of waste to hide behind, Zachary panicked. Without an Intercom, he had no method of contacting members of ROM or knowing which way to go.

  “Hold it!” A soldier approached taking slow steps with the nozzle of his gun showing an orange glow. “Hand over your communication devices and state your intentions.”

  Zachary shook. “I don’t have an Intercom.”

  “Don’t lie to me.”

  The road behind the soldier blasted upward. Zachary ducked, throwing arms over himself. Rotating, the soldier fired into the distance. A second
blast blew the soldier in half.

  Zachary crashed onto his back. Grimacing, he rolled over to grip the rifle. Pain throbbed above his hip as he watched a large metallic figure whir toward him.

  Patch looked down. Bullets attacked the Haulage-404 droid’s back. “Either get out of here,” spinning from his waist he fired a shot from his cannon, “or shoot.”

  Zachary wobbled to stand. “Where are the others?”

  “I separated from the Rusties to find you.” Several panels on his long cannon lit up. “The Tower is ahead. Do we execute plan B?”

  “To the Tower,” nodded Zachary.

  The droid’s pounding feet matched Zachary’s heartbeat. The streets of Assayer resembled the Wastelands. Flashes joined sounds of carnage. People fled like wisps of smoke between raging fires. Specks of ash floated in the air. Several feet ahead,

  Patch piled shot after shot into an area where wall debris had been collected to form a barrier for the soldiers. “Keep going. Stay straight.”

  Zachary’s finger shook on the trigger. “We have to stay together.”

  “I will hold them off. Go straight.”

  But …

  A soldier, with one functioning blue eye, limped out of a cloud of grey smoke. In one motion, he unhooked and aimed forward.

  Zachary fired twice. The soldier’s chest and neck shattered. Red blood gushed onto the white road. Nausea crippled Zachary as he struggled to justify this kill. He had to do it. The soldier would have killed him. His stomach churned.

  “We’ve got movers,” wheezed a voice within the grey smoke. “Check it out.”

  Charging into the smoke, Zachary thumbed the switch from single to multiple, then pushed the trigger. The rapid fire of his rifle staggered him. Four blue-eyes collapsed. Zachary kneeled beside the protester moaning on the ground between the soldiers. It was Bhavini.

  “I’m not hit,” she said pressing above her chest.

  “Where is everybody?” Zachary cried, examining her frame for leaking blood.

  “Divided. The army were waiting for us. I don’t know who’s still alive. The lead gangs have been battered.” Bhavini showed a double-tube device clipped to her inner vest. “Carell’s message. I’ve got a copy. It’s up to us.”