by Eve Langlais
“My ship has no computer components. Not one except for the food replicator, and this would be why.” She sounded grimly pleased that her theory of computers one day revolting had come true.
“I don’t know how you expect us to distract a machine. It’s obviously searching for heat signatures.”
“Good point.” Ursy ran her fingers over the undercarriage of Lowqi’s ship.
“What are you doing?”
“I’m about to make us cold.”
As if that was possible with her nearby. Even in danger, his blood heated around her.
She found the panel she wanted and, rather than hunt down a wrench, blasted at the bolts with her gun.
Unlike a house that could be reinforced so weight didn’t matter, materials for a ship had to be chosen with lightness in mind. Which meant strong and durable, unless blasted at close range on the highest setting.
The scent of burning metal filled his nose, but it was better than the vibrating air as the drones reached the edge of the shore.
“Where the frukx did they come from?” he muttered, peeking out at the approaching robot army.
“My guess is every single island and ship around.”
“Called because Snype’s drone didn’t like Lowqi poking at it?”
“Doesn’t matter why. We need to escape. Aha.” She turned to him, holding a hose, the end of it twisted. “Keep your mouth and eyes closed.” He found out why a second later as she sprayed him, the fluid—usually meant to keep engine components cool—sluicing all over his body, coating his skin and making it cold. Oh so very frukxing cold!
“Go!”
“What about you?”
In reply, she turned the hose on herself. It occurred to him that if this didn’t work, then he should find out before she ran into a hail of bullets. Limbs lethargic and freezing, he stepped out from under the ship and paused, waiting for the rat-tat-tat, only it didn’t happen.
He took another step then another. “Ursy,” he yelled. “We need to go now.”
The drones were about to swarm the rooftop. Tiny eyes blinked, pinpricks of light that he swore were looking right at him.
Movement from behind and a very slick-looking Ursy flew past him. “Last one to the ship is a rusty cog,” she sassed.
“Oh no you don’t.” He took off behind her, his long stride eating up some of the distance, but the exertion also heated his parts. A few of the drones zoomed toward him, which turned out to be lucky because the bullets being fired from Lowqi’s ship hit them instead of Wulff.
And then he was diving into the Bandit with Ursy cranking the door shut even before he’d pulled in all his limbs.
It didn’t stop the drones. They tapped at the exterior.
“We need to get out of here,” Ursy stated even as she shucked her soaked freezing clothes before even reaching the cockpit. He joined her in stripping, only he hit the lavatory to grab some cleaning cloths before returning to her side. She made a sexy picture, sitting naked in the chair, working the controls, keeping a cool composure despite the haze of drones fluttering in front of the window. A swarm that thickened as he wiped her down, running the cloth over her limbs and removing the cold goo.
“Why aren’t we moving?” he asked. The engine under his feet had already begun to chug, steam escaping from a few pipes as it warmed up.
“I’ve got to inflate the balloon to lift us.”
“What? Why not just use the thrusters?”
“Because this is a house, not a launch pad. If I use the thrusters, it might collapse on Lowqi.”
“Who would have thought you’d be so sentimental about an old lover.”
She cast him a glare. “He’s useful as a scientist. You, on the other hand, are just extra weight.”
For some reason, the remark brought a chuckle. “Nice to see some things never change.”
“Hold on, we’re about to lift,” she stated grimly. She yanked on a lever, and there was a clunk as the landing gear retracted and the ship began to float.
But the drones floated with them, crowding closer, bouncing off the glass, hundreds of machine bodies. None of them with enough momentum to do damage yet, but there were too many. As if sensing they were about to escape, the machines threw themselves harder against the Unicorn Bandit, forcing Ursy to fight to hold them steady against the onslaught.
“Hey, is that Lowqi outside?” he exclaimed, pointing out the window. Sure enough, the male stood on the ground, firing at the drones, the large energy cannon he held with two hands picking them off one by one.
Ursy barely bothered to look.
“Aren’t you going to help him?”
“Seems to me he’s doing fine.”
Indeed, Lowqi showed excellent aim, not that he really needed it given the drones chose to ignore him. They wanted the Bandit, or the people within it.
Wulff glanced down at his thumb and the cog inside. The cog that once resided inside the drone Lowqi had tampered with. The tiny gear that remained warm inside his flesh made him wonder if he carried around a homing device of sorts, one he couldn’t ditch.
The Bandit wobbled.
“What’s happening?” he asked.
“They’re getting jammed in the directional streams.” Hot pushes of air, which expelled from the sides of the Zeppelin to guide.
“We need to get higher.”
“Even if we do, some will follow,” she said.
“Let them. Once in space, they won’t last long.”
It surprised him the robots remained so intent. How were they controlled? Again, he looked at the cog in his thumb and thought of all the metal in his body. All the latmevilium. Sentient metal. And the fact that it could think intricately behind the enhancements to flesh. And he’d never thought twice about it.
Not until now.
How do we know it means to do good?
The blasphemous suggestion wound around him insidiously. How dare he question the word of the Mecha gods?
Except, was it really their word and will? The first priest of the Mecha Order was the one to tell the Siyborgh what the gods wanted. Their bible gave them the rules. It was up to them to obey. By enhancing the flesh, they became closer to the gods.
Or did they?
What if the metal we seek isn’t interested in making us better but in taking over? The latmevilium required a host to truly live. And here he was looking for more. Changing the flesh of his body for that of an alien.
Something must have shown on his face because Ursy frowned at him. “What’s wrong?”
“Have you ever wondered if perhaps there were never any Mecha gods?”
She blinked. “It took you this long to question? I haven’t believed in the Mecha gods since my ninth revolution of the mighty cog.”
He stared at her in shock. “But you went to church. I’ve seen you pray. You are an avid collector of gears.”
“Oh, I believe in the power of the mecha parts. I just don’t think the temples we’ve found belong to gods.”
“You would deny the proof?”
“What proof? Ancient drawings and dead bodies wearing cool gears do not make them gods.”
“Then who were they?” he asked.
“The previous hosts to the gears. They were the ones who wrote on those walls. I think the priests have been translating their words and wishes wrong.”
“What do you think they were trying to say?”
“In short? Beware the parasite.”
13
“To doubt the word of the Mecha gods is to reject the gear within. In order to properly merge, you must believe.” – The Mighty Mecha Bible
“That’s blasphemy.”
“To you maybe. But exactly what about it is wrong?”
He sputtered. “If you believe that, then why do you still have gears?”
“Because they make me strong. But believe me, if there was another way, I’d have them removed in the tic of a cog.”
His mouth opened and shut a few times
before he exclaimed, “I need to bathe.”
Poor Wulff staggered out of the cockpit, shocked but also thinking, finally questioning a doctrine drilled into them at an early age. She’d always found his strict adherence to the Mecha religion baffling. Actually, she was of the opinion that anyone who blindly followed without question was odd. No one ever seemed to think about the fact that someone wrote the bible. Someone, in this case, being the first explorer, Jool Ius’verrn, providing his own interpretation on the writings of a race long gone. Making those obscure messages and images on the walls into laws and edicts. Creating a religion out of a dead tomb.
Mecha gods? She saw the bodies interred in solidified hydrargyrum as a warning. Scans of their remains showed them more machine than biological. Yet it was also clear they started out much in the same way a Siyborgh did. They should have been perfect. So why did they choose to die? And not just die but ensure no chance any of their parts could be resurrected?
Ursy had a few theories, none of which could be found in any bible. Questions were frowned upon. A Siyborgh was expected to blindly accept. Ursy often wondered why she couldn’t until she discovered like-minded people.
The agnostics she began to meet with also questioned the origin of the gears. Expressed doubts about the so-called Mecha gods.
But that didn’t stop her from gathering upgrades. She didn’t need to believe to use the enhancements.
What bothered her was the sudden attack by robots. Lowqi implied that his study of the Snype drone triggered it. Triggered what? A mass attack spread via a fast-acting virus? Why? Those machines wanted to harm. Kill. To what purpose? And would the virus spread?
Considering how quickly it happened, and how thoroughly it managed to take over, it worried. Thankfully her ship had only mechanical parts, nothing with a thinking chip except for the food replicator, and she already planned to avoid it.
Given everything that happened, she cranked the dials, and set a course for their homeworld. Time to touch base with the others and regroup.
Speaking of touching, she should check on Wulff. Despite the fact he’d obviously bathed, she found him working out. His method, she realized, of handling problems.
Leaning against the wall, she watched him, the ripple of his biceps as he hoisted himself up and down, over and over. His expression remained grim.
“Are you still moping that your gods never existed?” she couldn’t help but mock.
He glared. “The temple is proof they did.”
“The temple is a tomb. Don’t you think a god should be able to live forever?”
Up down. Up down. He took a moment to reply. “You think something killed them? All of the original Mecha…” He paused as if seeking for a word.
“Some liken them to lords instead.”
“Who does?”
“The Nonns. We are a growing group of Siyborghs who don’t believe in the bible.”
He paused midair—his strength incredible—and stared. “There’s a group? How do you know of them?”
“Like minds have a tendency of finding each other.” She shrugged. “We have meetings where we discuss the improbability and inconsistencies of the Mecha religion.”
He began pumping faster than ever, biting out words. “I don’t know you at all.”
“Why? Because I have a different belief than you? I am still the same person I was when you were between my thighs.” Yes, she played rusty and reminded him of what they’d shared. Now that they’d escaped the danger, she couldn’t help but remember. To tingle.
“If you don’t believe, then why do you chase down the gears?”
“Because they make me stronger. Of that there is no doubt. But I don’t need to worship make-believe gods to have them work.”
“What do you believe then?”
“I think that, like us, there were a race of beings who discovered the latmevilium metal. Probably by accident. Maybe there were mining and came across a vein of it. Spilled blood pulling it out. Discovered it could meld with flesh. From there, they evolved their use. Did you not ever wonder why some Tinqqers can create and shape the metal and others can’t?”
“Because they are chosen by the gods.”
“The Nonns believe they are the ones who took into their flesh a smart chunk of latmevilium. That the metal guides their designs.”
He hopped down, hitting the deck with a thud. “You believe it controls us?”
“To a certain extent.” She shrugged. “In truth, it uses us, and we use it.”
“Can it have thoughts we don’t know about?” he asked, for some reason staring at his thumb.
“Maybe. Why?”
Rather than reply, he stalked toward her. “Where are we going next?”
“Home.”
“Wrong answer.”
She frowned. “You have another destination in mind?”
His lips curved. “Frukxing right I do. Bed.”
“What makes you think I want to resume that?”
His steady step brought a shiver, and she had to look up at him when he stopped in front of her. “Don’t play that game again.”
“Or what?”
“Or I’ll have to prove you wrong.”
She couldn’t have said who reached first, only that their lips meshed and they barely made it to a bed before he was inside her. Thick. Strong. And able to make her orgasm so hard her toes curled.
They spent a lot of time in bed over the next turns of the cog, and he didn’t let her leave it until she climaxed four times. She should have been sated. It only made her hunger for more, which was how the next cog cycle they ended up in the shower, which proved a tight fit.
They also had sex on the table. Against just about every wall. The floor. Cockpit. It made the time pass, and she wished the trip would never end because surely this would all stop once they reached their world.
A world that took longer than expected to reach.
“What’s wrong?” He found her sitting in the cockpit, eyeballing the game board then the view of a planet out the window. The opposing poles were the dark red of lava, then a strip of white, and running through the middle, in a narrow band, dark green and brown. “Where are we? I don’t recognize the planet.”
“Neither do I,” she mumbled. She checked the measurements and the coordinates the ship indicated against the view outside. “According to the board, we are supposed to be home.”
He frowned. “That’s not our world.”
“No, it’s not. The Bandit’s navigation system was hijacked.” She glared at it.
“Where are we then?”
Much as it pained her to admit. She shrugged. “I don’t know.”
14
“The Mecha Gods scattered their wisdom and temples universe-wide. Be vigilant in your travels.” – The Mighty Mecha Bible
Ursy might not recognize the planet, but Wulff thought he did. He couldn’t help but remember a symbol. One repeated, along with a dozen others, upon the walls of the five temples discovered thus far. Several orbs, each painted slightly different. Dotted. Striped. Solid-colored dark, light. There existed many theories about what those symbols meant.
Looking out the window, Wulff was pretty sure he’d found the correct one.
It represented a planet.
As if in reply, the cog in his thumb heated. Had the little chunk done this? Somehow taken over the controls of the ship to ensure they arrived here?
If yes, then why?
“Can you change our course?” he asked.
She slid the token for the ship on the directional game board to no avail. Her craft appeared determined to land.
“The cog-jammed thing won’t listen.” She slammed her hand on the controls, frustrated and with reason. She’d taken every precaution she could to ensure not a single computer chip remained on board—she’d tossed the food replicator not long after they left Lowqi. Everything on the vessel had parts designed to work in conjunction to commands she imparted via levers and dials.
> All except the game board for flight. It used a strange kind of magic to operate. Recycled latmevilium not potent enough to power a gear but apparently more than sentient enough to effect a change in their course.
“Guess we’re going to see what’s on the surface,” he remarked, scooping her from the chair and planting her on his lap.
The initial awkwardness of being together intimately had long since faded. She welcomed his touch, and he embraced every molecule of her body.
A part of him had hoped they’d never arrive home, worried that this strange thing budding between them would shatter when faced with reality. Was this diversion his fault? Had the cog read his mind and changed their direction to please him?
He might have believed that if not for the striped planet. “Can you scan the surface?”
“We can try.” She leaned forward, and he couldn’t have said if he preferred the appealing roundness of her bottom or the use of “we.”
She yanked on a lever, switching the hue of the window. It reacted much as a goggle lens, changing according to the planet’s heat signatures. Hot. Cold. And somewhere in between. She flipped the lever to another position, and the planet view swapped to show metal content.
They both might have gasped as the distinctive green that they’d come to recognize as the presence of latmevilium illuminated in a bright chunk.
“Is that…?” she whispered.
“A big hunk of latmevilium?” He nodded even though she couldn’t see the gesture.
“We need to go check it out.” She fiddled with the dash, and the ship aimed for the surface of the planet, the atmosphere as they entered causing a shudder in the vessel.
He wrapped his arm around her waist as they penetrated the outer atmospheric layer. But they no sooner hit the other side than the ship began to sink.
“The gravity is extreme,” she noted, tapping on the glass dial that had an arrow indicating gravity pull. It was all the way to the left. “I’m going to inflate the balloon.”
She had to leave his lap to activate the steam that would fill the sack that spent most of its time deflated and packed atop the ship. Only she spent several ticks of a cog fiddling, and they kept sinking, faster and faster. He could see the fog from the planet rising, enveloping them in a cloud that blocked all sight.