Hammerhead Resurrection

by Jason Andrew Bond

  The Sthenos hooked metal shackles onto the man’s feet.

  “Suit-Con, zoom out two fold. The image backed away until she could see the man’s entire body as the Sthenos picked him up by the shackles, the man hanging upside down, his arms limp over his head, wrists and elbows loose, eyes wild with fear. The Sthenos hung him on a rack with moving hooks. She’d seen that type of rack before… in a meat processing facility in Greely, Colorado.

  The sliding hooks moved the hanging man, swaying slightly, toward the wall. The wall shifted open, and he passed through. When the doors closed, the blonde woman with her hair cut short, was allowed into the space. The Sthenos guard touched the rod to her chest and the pulse flashed again. She fell. He shackled and racked her as he had done the man, and the woman, hanging upside down, moved off.

  Stacy remembered a memoir of World War II in which Jews were told by Nazi guards to fold their clothes carefully and put them where they could find them when they came out of the showers. To lead people to the slaughter one must simply give some hope of survival until the last moment. If the people in the pen around the Sthenos destroyer knew what was happening inside those walls, they would not go quietly, they would revolt even if it meant death. At least she’d like to believe they’d rather die fighting than strung upside down.

  The rack snaked through the area. Biped creatures with long, delicate limbs—smaller than the Sthenos—worked with shrimp-like speed. They wore white garments, spattered red. Men and women hung from the rack every few feet, all moving with a swaying grace. The first creature cut a circle around the ankles and the wrists of the man, whose eyes remained wide but facial muscles slack in paralysis.

  Stacy wanted to look away, but a mixture of duty to report what she’d seen and target lock prevented her.

  Another of the creatures, working beside the first, slit from the first cuts up the insides of the arms and legs to the torso. At the next station another slit the skin from groin to throat, gripped it at the ankles, digging with clawed fingers, and tugged the skin from the body in one large sheet. The sheet of skin was thrown onto an pile.

  The man, now a body of muscle and tendon, his face lined with runnels of blood, moved to another creature, who sawed open the breast bone, and slit the belly wide. As it worked the blade inside the torso, bowels and organs fell out. Another creature threw the entrails into a pit dug into the ground. Around the edges of the pit Stacy saw lengths of gut, small wet things she thought might be kidneys, and other gore.

  Only then did a creature cut the man’s throat with one quick motion. As blood poured in a great torrent out of the neck, the life faded from the man’s eyes. Stacy felt grateful for it going.

  The next creatures removed major muscles. One took the thighs, another the calves, another the glutes. One creature worked down one side of the back while another did the opposing side. The chest was worked through. Fat and sinew were tossed into pits while the larger wet, red muscles were set onto conveyors, which carried the meat through openings in the side of the ship.

  When they’d finished, the man’s body was nothing more than a skeleton with full head, hands, and feet. As it passed over a dark pit, the final creature whipped a broad blade through the ankles. The remainder of the man fell into the pit. The shackles still held bare feet. The creature took them from the hook, tossed the feet into the pit, and re-hung the shackles, which moved out of view through an opening in the wall.

  Finally, Stacy was able to look away.

  “Suit-Con, eliminate zoom.”

  As her view returned to normal, she realized with some disappointment in herself that her hands were trembling. She gripped them into fists.

  Get off this roof and do what you came here to do.

  Leaning over the edge of the building, she saw that the pile of rubble not only blocked the streets, but had been shoved up along the side of this building. If she rappelled down from here, she’d end up on it, which would make far too much noise.

  Walking to the corner of the building, she looked down, scanning the place where she’d stood looking up at the rubble. She lay down and leaned over. The overhanging cornice ran around the top of the building here as well. That’s all she needed.

  She felt along the small seam where the stone slabs met. Sitting up, she looked around the roof and found a thick steel grate set in the floor. She pulled on the grate. It lifted out readily.

  No use.

  She looked to the stocky legs of the water tank. Walking over to it, she tied her line to one of the angle-welded legs. As she returned to the ledge, she played out the line. Taking a small, black plasma cutter from a chest pouch, she ran it along the mortar seam between two stones. With a huffing sound, it vaporized the mortar six inches deep.

  She sat in silence to see if the sound of the cutter had attracted attention. Her timer said she had twenty minutes to her target turn-time.

  Setting the rope into the gap she’d created, she found it wedged nicely.

  She’d done a swing-out descent before, but not with an extra fifty-five pounds on her back. It had to be done that way though, as there was no way to lower the warhead down. She simply had to go for it. Stepping up onto the cornice, she walked away from the destroyer playing out another sixty feet of line, which should give her five to ten feet of clearance over the rubble. She set her auto-braking belay device on her suit’s center harness clip and ran the line through it. As she entered her height from the ground, the estimated height of the rubble she needed to clear, and her current distance from the pendulum source, she hoped the belay device would pay out line correctly. Too slow and she’d swing back and crash into the rubble, making a hell of a noise and surely exposing herself. Too fast and she’d hit the ground at a dead fall, break her leg or worse. Again, screwed.

  No time for the timid.

  She pulled the rope snug against the gap in the cornice. When she activated the ATC it clamped down on the rope. Fighting the urge to grip the free line, she drew a deep breath as she positioned her boot toes at the edge of the cornice. A pigeon flew by eighty feet below. Crouching down she exhaled as she leaned forward, face first out over the street, and as her weight pulled her forward, she shoved hard with her legs, pushing herself as far away from the ledge as possible.

  Her guts went electric with the zero G, and the wind roared in her ears. As she arced downward, she held the line loosely in her hand, just enough to keep herself head up.

  As she fell, the line remained taught, pulling her in an arc. She groaned through gritted teeth as the heavy pack strained at her back, threatening to pull her upside down. She gripped tighter on the line as she swung toward the rubble. As it came racing up at her, it appeared that she wouldn’t clear it. The building also felt far too close. The rope swept her forward. The rubble blurred under her feet, and she was arcing out over the ruined street. The belay device came alive, whirring, and she had reflexively gripped the line, which now flashed a burning pain in her hand from the friction as it played out. She relaxed her hand, willing herself to not let it go entirely. As the length of line extended, she did not go upward, but moved parallel to the ground like a casted fishing lure. Slowing to a stop, she fell. The ground slapped a sharp pain into her feet through her boots. Her eyes followed the line from her hand up to the roof ten stories above.

  “I can’t believe that worked,” she whispered to herself.

  Remembering that the rope was hanging out like a flag, visible to the Sthenos, she removed it from the belay device. She’d played out all but four feet of the line.

  When she let the line drop, it slithered back to lie across the rubble pile, it’s dark gray and brown mottled surface disappearing in among the urban colors. She moved quickly away from where she might have made noise. As she approached the liquid-mesh fencing her back ached from the weight of the pack coming down on her at the end of the descent. She crouched down on her heels. The burning pain in the palm of her left hand told her she’d cut through the glove but couldn’t af
ford to evaluate her injury. No blood dripped from the hand and she still had full, if painful, use of it. Not as much as she could say of the right hand with its snapped tendon.

  She looked to the thousands of people beyond the fencing.

  Chapter Sixty

  Some sat on overturned stones, others on the dirt-crusted stumps of trees. As with the prisoners she’d seen earlier, they were all younger than perhaps forty, most in their twenties. Here and there she saw teens. Sthenos walked on their four legs among the people, who stayed well clear of them. The Sthenos from time to time would let fly a bolt of current from the rods.

  To her left, she saw where a pit had been dug. Boards hung out over it. A woman sat on the board relieving herself, totally exposed to everyone. In her face, Stacy saw someone who had lost everything, given up all hope. On the other side of the park, Stacy saw people eating out of metal bowls.

  As the wind shifted, the scent from the pit reached her, causing her to gag. The rancid smell shocked her back to her purpose, the weight of the pack on her back. In a best case scenario she was to mount the warhead up against the ship, but the fence appeared to border the entire area where Bryant Park and the New York Public Library had stood. While she couldn’t see beyond the towering base of the Sthenos destroyer, she assumed the fencing circumnavigated the space. She didn’t have time to recon the entire fence-line. The fence had been erected perhaps three hundred feet from the ship. If she planted the warhead at the fence line, it would cut out the entire bottom section of the ship reaching up halfway along its length. There would be no recovering the destroyer at that point. The entire drive section would be ripped away into the singularity.

  Pushing against the weight of the pack, she got to her feet and walked to a nearby building foundation. There a gap into a service tunnel lay exposed. She dropped down into the low tunnel to find a broken pipe extending from the concrete wall. Pulling the pack from her shoulders, she hung it on the pipe.

  That’s that.

  Pulling herself slowly and quietly out of the hole, she felt a massive relief at no longer having to shoulder the pack’s weight. She would be able to move much more quickly without it. She looked at her HUD and saw that she still had twelve minutes until her designated turn-time. Extra time was always good. When she looked out on the people beyond the fencing, she saw the girl from the transport, who had reminded of her of her sister, sitting near the fencing in a patch of grass and daisies. Stacy walked quietly over and stood watching her. The girl, completely unaware of Stacy, sat with a blank expression.

  She plucked a dandelion and held it out to the fence. Stacy crouched down and watched the girl touch the flower to one of the glistening webs of the fence. The flower smoked and melted in half. Several petals dropped on to Stacy’s side.

  Acidic?

  As Stacy settled into a cross-legged position, her boot scraped along the ground, pushing a small rock aside. The girl stared at the rock and then directly at Stacy’s chest. Her eyes scanned through her, focusing on nothing. She looked back to the rock. Her eyes came back to Stacy, but focused too low, missing her eyes.

  “Hello?” the girl whispered.

  Stacy’s chest flushed with electricity. She should go, now. Instead, she leaned forward, close to the acidic webbing. She wanted desperately to talk to this girl. To tell her she was there, that they were going to put things right. But she wouldn’t put things right by her. She was going to kill her.

  Stacy looked out on all the people beyond the fencing. She was not here to save them, but to destroy the destroyers. They didn’t have the ability to do both. She remembered what Jeffrey had said. No matter what you find, plant those warheads. Keep them on your back if you have to.

  All dead.

  “Is someone there?” the girl whispered again. “Hello?” She said louder.

  If she draws too much attention, they might sweep the area, find the warhead.

  “Shhhh,” Stacy let out before fully weighing the risks of speaking. The girl fell silent. As Stacy watched the girl’s dark eyes, large and pretty in her delicate face, she wished she’d not come over to her, wished she’d never seen her.

  “Who’s there?” the girl whispered.

  Unsure of what to do, Stacy said nothing. No contact had been her orders. She’d already broken that and now found herself backed into a corner. She had to figure out how to get out. Standing, she took a step.

  “If you leave, I’ll scream,” the girl said a bit louder, “Please—” her voice choked for a half beat, “don’t leave.”

  Stacy settled back down and whispered, “Okay. Just don’t make any noise.”

  The girl put her hands to her face, the half burned dandelion still between her fingers. When she lowered them, tears had wetted her cheeks.

  Stacy’s HUD told her she had to begin her return journey in eight minutes.

  The girl whispered, “You’re here to save us right? Please tell me you’re here to help us.”

  I’m here to kill you all.

  “Yes,” Stacy said, and had to clench her teeth after the lie.

  “Who are you?”

  “Special Warfare.”

  The girl sobbed at that and covered her mouth. She looked over her shoulder at the nearest Sthenos guard who walked through the crowd of people quite a distance away.

  “They let you sit this close to the fence?”

  “They don’t care. When we got here a man tried to take one of their weapons. They threw him into…,” she held out her hand to the glistening tubes, “whatever this is. He passed through it without so much as slowing down. She pointed toward the sewage pits. You can still see him down at the end.”

  Stacy did indeed see a scattered pile of something where the girl pointed.

  “We can’t touch the fence, can’t overpower them, can’t do anything. Please, you have to help us.”

  “I will,” Stacy lied.

  Just get the girl calmed down enough so you can get out of here.

  As she imagined herself walking away, living while the girl was left to die, she considered sitting here beside her. It would be better to die with them than live having killed them. She would have done her job… but what of what she’d seen? Jeffrey had told them to make careful note of Sthenos interactions and, if possible, report back.

  Someone else will report it from one of the other locations… maybe.

  Still, she knew she had to leave if she was able.

  “Everything’s going to be okay.”

  “My parents are dead,” the girl said, as her eyes brimmed anew. “They electrocuted them and…” She fell silent.

  The girl’s tears reminded Stacy of the heavy weight of losing her own father. The image of him slumped in Maxine King’s reeducation chair came to her. The suddenness of the memory caused her to gasp. She shook her head and muttered to herself, “Let it go.”

  “What’s that?” the girl whispered.

  Stacy remained silent.

  “Hello?” the girl whispered, her eyes going a bit wider as she leaned forward. “Are you there?”

  “Yes. I’m here.”

  The girl’s head dropped and she exhaled. She looked so pitiful, Stacy said, “I’m going to get you out of here,” and wished with all her heart it wasn’t a lie. At least the quick death Stacy would give her was better than what the Sthenos would offer.

  The girl’s back and shoulders trembled with crying. After a moment, Stacy heard a quiet, “Thank you.” The girl lifted her head to face what Stacy knew was only an empty street. The girl’s eyes, red from crying almost caught Stacy’s but shifted lower like a blind person’s. “Please hurry. There isn’t much time.”

  “Why do you think there isn’t much time?”

  “They’re butchering us.”

  Chapter Sixty-One

  “It wasn’t here,” the girl said, her eyes falling back to the dandelion in her hand. She tossed it toward Stacy. Passing through the fence without resistance, it fell into smoking pieces. “The
y ate my parents in the front yard, right out in the open. My mom shot one of the fuckers arms off before she died though.”

  The foul language coming from the young, pretty girl seemed the worst thing the Sthenos had brought to the world in that moment. As the girl pantomimed her arm blowing off with her fingers flicking wide, Stacy found it strange how, through all the dark things she’d seen, one harsh word could have such an impact on her.

  “I couldn’t look away as they—”

  When she faltered, Stacy said, “My father was beaten to death,” surprising herself in her bluntness. She hadn’t spoken about it in years, having finally put the ghost to rest… as much as it would rest.

  The girl’s eyes rose again. “I’m sorry,” she whispered. “I’m so sorry.”

  “I understand how hard it is.”

  “Did you have to watch?”

  The question did not strike Stacy as cruel or dark, but hopeful as if searching for someone who would know her own pain.

  “No, but the woman who ordered it made me look at his body afterward.”

  The girl said nothing.

  Stacy, in her early twenties at the time of her father’s murder, had already had her mind steeled by the military. This girl was nearly a decade younger. She should be planning for her first dance, worrying over who would ask her to go, not watching her father being eaten alive.

  “You don’t have to tell me if it’s too much.”

  “No,” the girl said, wiping her nose with the back of her hand. “You have to go tell them what they’re doing here.”

  “I know what they do,” Stacy said, hoping to spare the girl the grief of having to recount it. “Its…” but she fell short, not wanting to tell the girl what was happening on the other side of the wall.