Zoid

by Paul Stewart

  Without hesitating, Zabe leaps off the platform and into the air, grasps a nearby pipe, then another, and swings away into the tube-forest. Behind us, the others do the same, one after the other, until the whole troop has left the Fulcrum and is making its way smoothly and stealthily through the dense tangle of pipes and tubes.

  ‘If memory serves, it’s that way,’ says Ellis, pointing off to his right.

  ‘No,’ Belle says. ‘There’s a quicker route this way.’ She points to her left. ‘Across the grid plates, then through the sump reserves.’

  We press on through the tube-forest. Zabe is at the front. The rest of the troop follows close behind – and so silently that more than once I look round to check they’re still there. They always are.

  Finally the vast tube-forest comes to an end. Ahead of us lies a broad plain with hundreds of tall pylons, regularly spaced and connected one to the other by a criss-cross of cables. Zabe swings from the last pipe to the first cable without pausing, and we continue. All of us.

  The cyclops don’t seem to tire.

  As we approach the last of the pylons, the landscape before us changes once more. There are thousands of circular tanks filled with pitch-black oil and between them, emerging from the ground, a series of pipe-vents, each one at a different height.

  Zabe drops to the ground, and Ellis climbs from his shoulder. We follow him, making our way on foot, with Zabe lumbering behind us on feet and knuckles.

  ‘Smooth ride when they’re swinging,’ Ellis says, ‘but down on the ground, a cyclops’ shoulders are a whole lot bumpier.’

  The other scavengers have also dismounted and are all around us now, their cyclops swaying from side to side as they follow. We weave our way through the sump reserves, past tank after circular tank, until a familiar bleeping noise in my ear brings me to a sudden halt.

  Through my recon-sight I pick up a mass of blue, yellow, green and red heat-sigs. Hundreds . . . thousands of them. Too many to count. They light up the horizon beyond the sump reserves. The other scavengers are picking them up too.

  Ellis turns to Belle. ‘Sector 17,’ he says.

  She nods.

  Ellis motions to the other scavengers. ‘We’re close enough for now,’ he tells them. ‘We’ll rest up here. Eat. Sleep.’ He checks his scanner. ‘Departure time: oh-six hundred.’

  We make camp behind several circular tanks, which shield us from the ominously glowing horizon. Sleepcribs open with a flip-flap and are secured. Backcans are unpacked and meals prepared.

  The cyclops eat first – great handfuls of soaking rust-moss, reconstituted from tiny cubes that expand in heated water. Once Ellis has seen to Zabe, he gets a pot of broth going on his heatplate. He hands me a parcel wrapped in oiled paper. ‘Get ’em warmed up,’ he says. Inside are a bunch of doughy-looking things, which I toast with the glowing firespike Ellis gives me.

  Seated on the ground, we eat straight from the pot, using pieces of the crusty doughballs as makeshift spoons. I give some to Caliph. He eats greedily for a while before crawling into my lap and curling up. Ellis pours us mugs of steaming bev and hands me one.

  ‘So what do you know about Sector 17?’ he asks me.

  ‘Nothing,’ I say. I shrug. ‘My people kept to the tube-forest around our Inpost in Quadrant 4. Our leader Bronx thought it was safer that way.’

  Ellis nods. ‘That’s the way of it now,’ he says. ‘Small groups of us humans hiding out from the zoids wherever we think they won’t find us – up in the hull structure, down in the vents . . . Anywhere rusted and overgrown and no longer maintained. Sector 17 is different . . .’

  He dips another piece of bread into the pot. Dunks it in the broth. Chews, swallows. Wipes his mouth on the back of his sleeve, then looks up.

  ‘We raided the place once,’ he tells me, his gaze thoughtful. ‘Long while back now.’ He pauses. ‘Jayda’s husband died in the raid, killed by a zoid. He was just one of many.’

  He looks up at Belle, who is standing a way off, one hand raised and shielding her eyes as she stares at the horizon. If she’s heard Ellis, she doesn’t show it.

  ‘The Fulcrum is the largest settlement left, so far as we can make out. Since our Half-Life stopped talking, we haven’t been able to communicate with anyone else. There were six hundred of us back when we raided Sector 17. There are four hundred and forty-three now – some born since, though not enough to make up for our losses—’

  ‘And despite that, you’re going back to Sector 17,’ Belle interrupts, ‘to help York rescue his people.’ She has turned and is looking at Ellis with a puzzled look on her face. ‘Why?’

  ‘Because they’re humans like us,’ says Ellis. ‘Humans made up of flesh and blood, with hearts that beat and brains that have memories and feelings – love and hope and courage . . . Things no zoid will ever understand.’

  Belle turns away, but not before I see the glitter of tears in her eyes. Ellis has seen them too. He looks shocked for a moment. It is the same look of shock that Jayda had when we left the Fulcrum. Then he takes a mouthful of bev and shrugs.

  ‘That Dale must be the best cybertech in the Biosphere,’ he says. ‘I’m surprised he let you run off with his handiwork.’

  ‘You said you were going to tell me about Sector 17,’ I say, changing the subject.

  ‘I did,’ says Ellis. He strokes his beard. ‘Sector 17 was the central engineering command centre back in the Launch Times. All the robot workers that built and maintained the Biosphere were repaired and serviced there; given their instructions; guided and controlled and recalled for upgrading. For five hundred years the human engineers of Sector 17 controlled an army of robots . . .’ He pauses. ‘Until it all went wrong.’

  He puts down his empty cup. ‘When the Rebellion began, the robots turned on the engineers first of all. They drove humans out of Sector 17 and began modifying themselves – becoming zoids and exterminating us. Every time we find a way to fight back, they re-modify themselves, become even stronger. What I said to your zoid was true, York – we are going back to rescue your people because they’re human. But there’s also another reason.’

  He frowns, his dark eyes intense. ‘Last time we raided Sector 17, it was to scavenge the zoids’ latest upgrades – and we lost a lot of our finest scavengers in the process. But we came away with tech that has protected the Fulcrum ever since. But that won’t last forever. The zoids took your people prisoner for a purpose, York . . .’ He pauses. ‘Jayda suspects they’re using them for research to upgrade their weaponry in some way. But whatever they’re up to, we’ve got to get into Sector 17 and put a stop to it.’

  He stands up and walks across to his sleepcrib.

  ‘And get back out again,’ I say, following his lead and climbing into my own sleepcrib.

  Ellis smiles grimly as he zips up the front panels. ‘If we’re lucky,’ he says.

  Caliph wakes me, licking my cheek. I open my eyes to see his pointy little face in front of me.

  ‘Is it that time already?’ I say. I’m not disappointed to have been woken.

  I was dreaming that I was inside Sector 17, in the place I saw on the download I got from that killer zoid I zilched. The vast building. The silver-red of the force field penning me in. Lina, Dek and Bronx were there too. A zoid was coming towards me, a strange weapon in its pincers: a weapon that sprouted white fur, and then eight eyes, and then jaws full of visiglass fangs . . .

  I glance at my scanner. It’s not far off six. I sit up and crawl out of my sleepcrib.

  Ellis is still asleep and snoring. Some of the other scavengers from the Fulcrum are already up though, and all the cyclops look ready for action. Belle is standing looking in the direction of Sector 17, just as she was when I turned in.

  ‘You been standing there all night?’ I say.

  She shakes her head. ‘I have also been sitting,’ she says.

  I laugh. Sometimes she can be so literal. Then I remember my dream.

  The download from the killer zoid
.

  I find it on my scanner. The vast building. The silver-red of the force field penning my friends in. The steel chairs. Gaffer Jed . . .

  It’s too painful to watch. I show it to Belle. ‘Can you identify the building they’re in?’ I ask.

  She looks, nods, then grasps the scanner and downloads the information into her own memory banks.

  ‘Based on this visual data and reconfigured upload information from Ralph, I calculate that your people are being held in the meta-tertiary upgrade facility,’ she tells me. She points to the horizon. ‘There.’

  I adjust my recon-sight and enlarge the area Belle is indicating. There are two domes, with a mass of pulsing lights criss-crossing in front of them.

  A force field of some sort.

  Ellis and the rest of the scavengers are up by now, and have gathered round. They all stare off towards Sector 17 and the vast white and silver domes. They exchange grim glances. Someone lets out a low whistle . . .

  Ellis looks at his scanner. ‘Ten minutes,’ he says.

  And ten minutes later we depart.

  We pass by more of the sump-oil tanks and the pipe-vents, which emit intermittent blasts of hot air that smells of scorched metal. My recon-sight is awash with yellow, green, blue and red heat-sigs, but I can see no zoids. The other scavengers are also puzzled. Then we all realize at once that it’s the force field causing this disturbance.

  We shut off our recon-sights. And scanners. They’re useless to us here. We’ll have to enter Sector 17 blind. Ahead of us, the domes get closer . . .

  But first we have to get through the force field.

  Belle isn’t fazed. While the rest of us hunker down behind pipe-vents, checking and loading our weapons, and calming the jittery cyclops, she turns to Ellis.

  ‘The force field is a bio-deflector,’ she says. ‘It reacts to pulse-signatures and brainwaves. Living brainwaves.’

  She points to a small visiglass booth beyond the pulsing strands of light that criss-cross the air in front of us. Inside the booth, I can see a glowing holo-panel.

  ‘That’s one of the perimeter defence hubs,’ Belle continues. ‘It controls this section of the force field. I can reconfigure the power surges to create a gap large enough for you to enter the sector.’

  Through the light strands, I glimpse Sector 17 stretching off into the distance, and the two domes. Around them there are zoids coming and going. Large and small. Gigantic mech-monsters and tiny scuttle-mice, and every size and type of zoid in between. It’s hard to identify specific models through the force field’s shimmer, but I can make out tanglers, sluicers and welders, as well as strange-looking zoids whose functions are completely unknown to me.

  It is a scavenger’s paradise – or would be if it wasn’t for one thing . . .

  Killer zoids.

  I spot one. Then another. And another. I can see them through the haze. Inert. Standing in ranks beside the domes. It reminds me of the Robot Hub. Like the ancient robots there, these killer zoids seem to be powered down.

  They obviously haven’t detected us. Not yet.

  ‘There wasn’t a force field when we raided last time,’ Ellis says. ‘How are you going to get through it to reach the booth?’

  It is the question we all want to ask.

  ‘Like I said,’ Belle replies calmly, ‘the force field is a bio-deflector. As a zoid, I should be able to pass through it unharmed.’

  ‘Are you sure?’ I say.

  Belle smiles. ‘There’s only one way to find out.’

  She walks out from behind the pipe ducts and crosses the open ground to the perimeter. As she enters the force field, a low hum becomes audible and I see a pale green light glowing around her body. Like a halo. I hold my breath.

  But then Belle is on the other side. She walks across to the small hub.

  ‘She’s brave,’ Ellis observes.

  It’s an odd word to use about a zoid, especially for Ellis. Zoids obey commands. Bravery doesn’t come into it. But Belle is different. There was no command. She acted of her own free will. And Ellis is beginning to realize just how different Belle is.

  She enters the booth. I watch her silhouette through the visiglass as she reaches up and presses both hands to the glowing holo-panel. Her body goes rigid, flexes, shakes . . .

  Then abruptly, she pulls away.

  In front of us, the shimmering light pulses of the force field stutter, then stop, creating a hole we can step through. Ellis and Zabe go first, and then me, followed one after the other by the rest of the scavengers and their cyclops.

  Belle is on the other side, waiting for us beside the booth. She looks drained, but when I ask she assures me that she still has enough power.

  The sector looks a lot clearer on this side of the force field. We are standing amid neatly laid-out zoid parts that stretch off into the distance. Overhead are conveyor cables and power lines. They’re strung out in intricate sequences, spanning the distances between what look like energy hubs that sprout up like huge mushrooms. The two domes tower over the entire sector, white and glistening, with the power lines and conveyor cables converging in dense clusters at the apex of each one.

  Ellis climbs up onto one of Zabe’s shoulders, and Belle and I climb onto the other, loaded pulsers in our hands. Silently, around us, the other scavengers mount their cyclops. All eyes turn to Belle.

  Her head is lowered and her eyes stare blankly as she accesses her memory bank.

  ‘Your people are in the dome to the left . . .’ she says. ‘We can access it through the apex.’

  She points up at the conveyor cable above our heads. Zoid parts I’ve never seen before are passing along it, heading towards the left-hand dome.

  Across the vast fields of zoid parts in front of us, zoid workers at ground level are going about their tasks. Without working recon-sights, we can’t see their heat-sigs – but then, with our coolant suits and the cyclops’ coolant packs, they can’t see ours either. If we get too close though, then their vision sensors will tell them that we’re no zoids.

  We’re going to have to be careful. And quick. It’s just as well we’ve got the cyclops.

  Zabe leaps up and grasps the moving conveyor cable and holds on tight. We’re whisked high overhead. Around us, the air is filled with silently leaping cyclops and their riders.

  The conveyor cable rises higher. It takes us swiftly towards the apex of the dome in the distance, across what is now a patchwork of zoid parts spread out below our feet. The top of the dome comes nearer, and I shudder as I see we’re now passing directly over rank after rank of killer zoids.

  Luckily, like I said, they’re powered down. And the maintenance zoids scurrying around them don’t look up.

  Then I feel Belle tense beside me.

  At the top of the dome is a loading platform. There a maintenance zoid is taking the zoid parts from the conveyor cable and sorting them into chutes that lead down into the interior of the dome. Any moment now, its angular head is going to swivel round and its vision sensor is going to see a line of shaggy blue critters and scavengers coming towards it.

  All at once, Belle leaps from Zabe’s shoulder and sails through the air. She lands on top of the maintenance zoid. I see a flash of metal as her cutter severs the zoid’s neck cables – just as we saw Ellis do in the tube-forest. By the time Zabe, Ellis and I reach the loading platform and drop from the cable, Belle has deactivated the zoid. She staggers back.

  ‘You need to recharge,’ I tell her.

  The others are arriving and the platform is filling up.

  ‘No time,’ Belle says. ‘Look . . .’

  I peer down through the opening at the apex of the dome. Below me is the inside of a vast building I have seen before – the holding pen with the glowing electro-mesh on one side and steel chairs ringed by an array of tools on the other. The chutes carrying zoid parts descend from the loading platform, down through the floor of the dome below and into what must be underground zoid production lines.

>   I can see people huddled together behind the electro-mesh. My people. Though in the low light inside the dome, I can’t make out their faces.

  On the far side of the mesh, zoids are moving about on thin, curved, tripod legs, clicking and buzzing as they communicate with each other. They’re some sort of engineer zoids – the first I’ve ever seen – and as I watch, they sort through the evil-looking tools arrayed around the steel chairs, while projecting holo-images into mid-air from lenses in their round bodies.

  The air in the dome below is warm and rank, but I shudder when I see the images. They are schematics of human brains. Frontal lobe. Cerebellum. Neural pathways.

  These zoids are trying to map the human mind, and they’re using live humans to do it.

  I’m nudged and jostled as the scavengers around me take out their cutters.

  ‘Quick and clean,’ whispers Ellis. ‘And no noise.’

  The scavengers nod. They were trained for moments like this. So was I. I take out my own cutter.

  Ellis turns to Belle. ‘Can you deactivate the electro-mesh?’

  Belle nods slowly, but doesn’t speak. I only hope she has enough power left.

  ‘I’ll watch your back,’ I tell her.

  We attach zip cords to the packs worn by the cyclops, and when Ellis gives the signal we drop down into the dome without a sound. Belle and I land on a zoid, and I slash down with my cutter, while around me forty other scavengers do the same.

  We outnumber them two to one, and they don’t know what’s hit them. The zoids go down, zoid-juice spurting from severed limbs and head parts.

  My zoid crashes to the floor. I rip out its neck cables then slice down through its core. The holo-image it’s projecting – a human skull – shimmers, then blinks off.

  I swing back on my zip cord, release it and land on the floor. Belle lands beside me and stumbles. I catch her before she falls.