Project Hyperion

by Jeremy Robinson

  Focusing back on the VR projection, I watch Lovecraft spin around, arms splayed wide, tentacles flared open. A guttural growl rolls over the harbor.

  Am I hurting it, or just making it angry?

  As the lasers’ batteries fill up again, I bank left, taking the Swarm with me. When the battery symbol flashes green, I turn back toward Lovecraft and find the behemoth staring up at me, its black-eyed gaze haunting.

  Back in the lighthouse, goose bumps cover my arms and legs.

  “It’s seen you,” Collins says.

  I target the center of the thing’s head, hoping the brain is where it should be, and that it’s not the size of a baseball. The Swarm flares out around me, the AIs matching my target. With all hundred directed energy weapons focused on the same spot, I pull the trigger.

  But even as my finger pulls against the remote control’s trigger, the Kaiju is in motion, anticipating the attack. It leans to the side, but the lasers’ guidance systems respond, tracking the monstrous forehead.

  And then the target is gone, covered by a white cloak.

  With the target lost, I pull the trigger and fire one hundred 30-kilowatt lasers. Lovecraft’s raised wing is peppered with laser blasts, which spark against the skin, scoring it, but not punching through. Those wings are strong enough to fend off a MOAB attack. Without the focused targeting, the lasers are all but useless.

  Ripples of blue and green light surge through the beast, building to a crescendo, and I realize what’s about to happen just a moment too late. The massive wing sweeps open with enough force to send a cyclone of air spiraling toward the Swarm. Hydra One hits it head on, and I lose control. Spinning toward the ocean, I catch glimpses of several other drones, falling toward the water. I try to regain control, but fail. I flinch when Hydra One plunges into the ocean.

  Sensing that the drone is out of commission, the AI toggles my control to the next still functioning drone in the sequence, Hydra Seven. On the far right side of my heads-up display, there are two vertical lines of fifty dots, each one representing a drone. A moment ago, all one hundred were green. Now more than a quarter of them are red.

  The bad news doesn’t hold my attention for long. The sudden shift in view staggers me again, but there’s no time to acclimate. The Swarm is still on a collision course with Lovecraft’s head. I bank hard to the right while targeting the monster, locking onto its black eye. Just before I lose sight of it, I pull the trigger. I have no idea how many of the Swarm have locked on target, but as I peel away, I’m chased by an angry wail.

  Careening around the Kaiju, I see a large number of the Swarm rounding the far side, the AI’s collision avoidance system taking an alternate route around the monster, which means only a small number of drones could have fired on the monster. I doubt I did any serious damage, but the creature sounds pretty upset.

  “That do anything?” I ask.

  “Made it angry,” Collins said. “Clutched its eye for a moment, but it looks fine now. It’s tracking the Swarm. Maybe it will follow you back out to sea?”

  “Good idea,” I say.

  If I can’t kill it, I can at least draw it away from the coast. While I can’t predict what Nemesis will do when she arrives, I doubt it will be anything Boston could survive. Better if the fight takes place out at sea.

  “Coming around for another strike, then I’ll head for deeper water.” Boston sweeps past below me as I direct the Swarm around in a wide arc, keeping a careful distance from Lovecraft. When I turn to face the beast again, its wings rise up in front of it, cloaking its body and partially covering its face. It peers over the wings with a glowering hatred that reminds me of my third grade teacher. Sister Mary Phelps was a tank of a woman who ate salads in a trough-sized bowl, which wasn’t enough food to keep her from occasionally passing out. She compensated by writing all of the class notes on the chalk board before class started. She generally had the energy level of a beached whale, but if you crossed her, and she raised her head from the desk and you saw those eyes glaring at you over her arms, a ruler would soon be rapping your knuckles. The look in Lovecraft’s black eyes tells me it might have a similar punishment in mind, but instead of a ruler, it might use a Navy Destroyer.

  I target the forehead between its eyes again, hoping it won’t anticipate the shot. As quick as it is, it can’t move at light speed.

  When the targeting system locks on, I notice the side of its head and the two holes I drilled into it. The purple stain of blood and the black starburst are still present, but I don’t see any other damage. The wounds have healed.

  Nothing short of incinerating this thing’s brain is going to put it down. And maybe even that won’t work. Who’s to say the alien brain would cease to function with a hole in it? For all I know, this thing shits out of its mouth and has a brain in its ass, which is still submerged in the water.

  “Fingers crossed this thing shits out of its ass,” I say.

  When Woodstock says, “What now?” I pull the trigger.

  As hoped, Lovecraft doesn’t see the attack coming. Sparks and gore fly away from the target area. The head snaps back, the wings spring open, and its arms splay wide, fists clenched. But it doesn’t roar in anger. Doesn’t shriek in pain.

  For a moment, I think I’ve done it.

  Fall over, I think. Fall over, damn you.

  The only reason this thing would remain silent is if the blast destroyed its brain, right?

  The massive head comes forward again.

  The wings and arms draw in.

  The eyes return their gaze straight at me.

  Wrong.

  The alien Kaiju let me take the shot. It absorbed the pain, showing a massive force of will to not react to it. And now, locked in its gaze again, I can feel what it’s thinking: You’re fucked.

  “Oh, we’re fucked,” Woodstock says, seeing the same message I am.

  “Heading out to sea,” I say, banking the Swarm toward the harbor’s exit and slowing so I don’t pull too far ahead. “Is it following?”

  “Hold on,” Collins says. “It’s—yeah, it’s coming. But it’s—you might want to slow down some more so it—”

  Lovecraft roars, this time with a guttural rage that dwarfs all of its previous vocalizations. I clutch the headset, pushing it harder against my ears, and scream. I can’t hear Collins or Woodstock screaming until the roar suddenly stops. Our screams die down a moment later, but not fast enough.

  “It heard us,” Collins says. “It’s looking right at—oh, shit, it’s coming this way!”

  I set Hydra Seven on autopilot and peel the VR headset off. The shift back to the real world is disorienting. I stagger out onto the catwalk and see the giant white body, lit in the warm orange hue of a clear sunrise. Blue and green shimmer through its tentacle-laden body as it wades through the harbor, heading straight for the lighthouse.

  I slide the headset back on and say, “Get me downstairs.”

  “What? How—”

  “Carry me!” I shout, taking back control of Hydra Seven and banking around toward the lighthouse and Lovecraft beyond it. I feel myself being lifted up by Collins, whose arms are under my armpits, and by Woodstock, who’s holding my legs. I can feel myself being carried. Can hear Woodstock grumbling and Collins breathing heavily. But I keep my attention solely on what I can see.

  I target the beast, and it takes no defensive measures. Doesn’t need to. I know that now. The best I can do is stagger it. Buy us some time. My first shot strikes its chest, where if it were human, its heart would be located. The Kaiju grunts and flinches, but continues forward.

  These quick bursts aren’t getting it done, I think, and I disengage the lasers’ safety limits. If I can keep a sustained blast focused on one area, I should be able to punch a hole clean through it. If that doesn’t kill it, it will damn well hurt it, and maybe distract it long enough for us to make an unconventional getaway.

  After switching off the AI’s collision avoidance protocol for all but three of the dron
es, I target the creature’s head again. With all seventy-three drones locked on, I fire. The invisible beam of energy glows red in my VR view, striking the Kaiju’s forehead and then sustaining as the fleet of aircraft close the distance.

  Lovecraft presses forward, roaring in anger, and then in pain as the directed energy weapon burrows into its skull. The creature turns its head to avoid the shot, but the targeting system moves with it. Steam erupts from the wound, spraying purple.

  It’s working, I think.

  Then the wings come up, shielding the head and throwing off the targeting system. The lasers hammer against the wings, but separately. Then all at once, the overwhelmed batteries are fried. The barrage ceases with a blinking Christmas display of warnings clouding my view.

  Screw it, I think, and I direct the Swarm to collide with the monster. Maybe the force of seventy drones slamming into it will knock it back.

  The drones explode upon contact, striking the monster nearly as one. And to my delight, the already stunned Lovecraft is knocked back. The monster stumbles and falls into the ocean, sending up a wave that will hammer the coast.

  Still in the VR headset, I feel the air change around me and know that Collins and Woodstock have managed to carry me down the spiral staircase and out the door.

  I swing the remaining drones around toward the island and select a small stretch of stone just barely large enough to accommodate the three small aircraft. I direct the AI to perform a vertical landing. When I feel the AI take over, I reach up and yank the helmet from my head.

  We’re at the end of the platform leading to the lighthouse door. Collins has just leaped down and turned around to catch me. Woodstock is behind me, ready to lower me down. “I’m good,” I say, and I jump down beside Collins. “Our ride will be here in a minute.”

  “Ride?” Woodstock asks and slides over the edge on his stomach.

  I point up to the three drones lowering toward us.

  “Uh, boss, those things don’t have cockpits.” Woodstock says.

  I leap over the craggy rocks, heading for the designated landing zone. “Nope. But they have handles.”

  “For fuck’s sake,” Woodstock says, but he follows with Collins.

  The ground shakes, stumbling us.

  “I think it’s up,” Collins says, picking herself up.

  A quick glance over my shoulder confirms it. Lovecraft steps up to the small island, rising high above us, wings outstretched, fists raised. I have no doubt this thing has the power to erase the island from existence. We just need to be gone when that happens.

  As the giant arms descend, I know that’s not going to happen. We need another minute. We have a second. I catch hold of Collins’s hand and squeeze. Our eyes meet, saying a lot in a fraction of the time we would by speaking.

  This is the end.

  I love you.

  See you on the other side.

  And then, something like a force of nature appears between us and the Kaiju. A giant man? A suit of armor? My mind struggles to recover from the fact that we’re still alive, and it races to identify the thing that has just appeared and caught both of Lovecraft’s arms in its big, metal hands.

  Metal hands.

  It’s a robot.

  A Kaiju-sized robot. And for some reason, it arrived just in time to save us.

  Still clutching Lovecraft’s wrists, holding the Kaiju at bay, the robot’s head, with its glowing red eyes, turns down, looks right freaking at me and shouts, “Dad! Get out of here!”

  22

  Nothing about the massive machine standing above me looks familiar, other than a hint of 1980s Saturday Morning Cartoon style. In all our sifting through history and the files pilfered from GOD, there has never been even a hint that something like this existed. I’m taken totally off guard by its appearance, and I’m nearly unhinged by its use of the word, “Dad.”

  I stagger back as the robot’s arms shake under the weight of Lovecraft’s limbs, pushing down. The masked face that reminds me of a Spartan warrior’s helmet with dashes of Samurai, a smackerel of Wolverine and clearly non-human influences turns back to its Kaiju adversary and pushes back. The robot is a little smaller, but their strength seems equally matched.

  My heel catches on an outcrop of rock, and I fall to my ass, looking up at the robot’s back. It’s armored, clearly designed for battle, maybe even battle with a Kaiju. Ancient and/or alien symbols are carved into the armor, forming decorative patterns, or maybe just warning messages that say, ‘Stay the hell back,’ in Klingon. I see the thing’s face in my mind’s eye again. I see the glaring eyes of a solemn judge, but it doesn’t have the vengeful hatred of Nemesis. How could it? I wonder. It’s a robot. Then the single word repeats in my mind.

  ‘Dad.’

  The deep baritone voice projected from the robot sounded foreign, but the inflections beneath the rumbling exhortation...and the word.

  Dad!

  Collins grabs my shoulder, yanking me back to my feet. “Jon!”

  I stumble back, staying aloft only because Collins didn’t let go of me. “Maigo...”

  “Jon!” Collins shouts. “We have to go! Now!”

  I turn toward her, eyes wide, no doubt looking manic. “It’s Maigo.”

  Collins’s next shout catches in her throat. “What?”

  I point up at the robot struggling with Lovecraft. “That’s Maigo!”

  She stands in shock for a moment, and I see her mouth the word, ‘Dad,’ as the color drains from her face. Then she’s back to reality, pulling me back. “If we don’t leave now, we might never. Move your ass!” She slugs my shoulder. The pain pulls me from my shock.

  The three remaining Swarm drones have landed on an outcrop of rock, their engines still running, ready to lift off again. Woodstock has already climbed up and is standing behind one of the drones. “Handles, my ass. How the hell are we supposed to hold on to these things? They’re smoother than my ex-wife’s—”

  I leap up behind one of the drones, lean over the top of it and push down on a horizontal line near the nose. A metal bar pops up six inches. They’re used for transporting the drones, but will work as a handle bar. “Lay on top,” I say, and I demonstrate, centering myself over the drone’s back. “Just don’t let go.”

  While Collins and Woodstock climb aboard their own drones, I place the VR helmet back on and see just a subtle shift in my view, moving slightly forward and a little lower. The only real difference is that I can no longer see my arms in front of me. Feeling my way, I slide my arms under the handlebar and flex them up, holding the bar in the crook of my elbows so I can still operate the two remotes clutched in my hands.

  “We’re on,” Collins shouts. “Get us out of here.”

  With the island shaking beneath us, I take control of Hydra Seven and lift off, rising straight up. When the HUD shows that Collins and Woodstock have lifted off the ground, too, I start heading away from the island, taking it slow as I start to see warning messages about balance and weight.

  A grinding noise pulls my thoughts away from flying, and I hear Collins shouting over the din. “They’re falling! Go, go, go!”

  I punch Hydra Seven forward and clutch the metal bar with my arms, slowing only when it feels like I might let go. The warning messages being sent from the other two drones let me know that Collins and Woodstock haven’t been flung free. Yet. Not wanting to pull a ‘Prometheus,’ fleeing in a straight line from an object falling toward me, I veer hard to the left.

  I can’t see what’s happening behind me, but when I hear an impact, and feel a pressure wave slap my back, I know I’ve made the right call. I check the warning messages, confirming we’re all still present. Then I take us in a wide loop, distancing us from the action, while turning around for a better view. Collins and Woodstock can turn their heads, but I’m limited by the drone’s field of view, and looking back while flying forward just isn’t possible.

  When we come around arcing past the coastline, I see the giant robot that is ei
ther being controlled by Maigo remotely—I hope—or has her trapped inside it, pinned beneath Lovecraft. The Kaiju’s wings are folded back tight against its body, which is writhing with tentacles and shimmering with color. The giant arms and three-digit hands are pushing down, reaching for the robot’s head, but they’re still held back.

  Proving it has much more than a primal mind, Lovecraft moves its arms to the side, opening up a clear path to the robot’s face. It leans in, face-tentacles spreading wide, twitching with anticipation. The layers of teeth spread wide enough to envelope its enemy’s head. And once it does, I have no doubt those strange jaws are powerful enough to send those teeth spearing through the head, and whatever is inside, like toothpicks through a deep fried clam.

  I target the back of Lovecraft’s head, hoping three lasers will be enough to distract it. I pull the trigger and see three red beams blaze between the drones and the large white orb. There’s a puff of smoke, hardly any effect compared to the scalding holes drilled into its face, but the reaction is comparable.

  Wings flare wide, and the two big arms come up and over the head, shielding it behind the thick fingers. A roar rips through the air, but rather than cringe from it, I smile and make a mental note: the back of its head is sensitive. Maybe even a weakness.

  I prepare to take another shot, trying to aim between the fingers, but the robot takes full advantage of the opening.

  The big metal fist, which I note has just two big fingers and a thumb drives a punch into Lovecraft’s side. The Kaiju’s body bends with the blow. I don’t think it’s done much damage. But there’s time for more.

  Hit it, I think, hit it again!

  But the giant robot fist stays lodged just below the Kaiju’s ribs—if it has ribs.

  What the hell is it doing?

  C’mon, Maigo.

  That’s when I notice long channels along its forearm sliding open. It takes just a second, and it’s quickly followed by three L shaped blades that spring out. The blades unfold and lock into place as they snap up and then forward, plunging into the Kaiju’s side.