by Travis Borne
84. The Visitor
Abell stood near the door. The giant prepared for the worst. As though the drones had penetrated the steel and were grinding into the rock-hard slabs of bread he’d stacked as a first layer, the sounds had changed. He readied himself. Then two words fell out of Rico’s mouth.
“It’s here…”
Rico said it as if he was dragging it, and just as the incoming, apparent savior reduced its speed. The three of them (not counting David) were trapped inside the control room where most screens displayed different angles of—the visitor. Dumbfounded by the immensity of it in comparison to the wall, Rico mumbled something unintelligible. Ron accompanied him with mutual amazement; both had their eyes superglued to the HAT. It was mere feet away from Jewel City now. Not unplucking his eyes from the spectacle, Rico reached over to the panel behind him and instructed his fingers to temporarily disable the seemingly useless forcefield, just in case.
The visitor looked bigger than initially calculated, the size of a football field! It passed over the wall at thirty-three miles per hour. The flat bottom crept silently, no more than ten feet from the top at the same location the drones had hurdled it, west behind the now torched gardens. Beneath its shadow Jewel City resembled the glowing embers of a freshly stoked campfire at dusk.
But the bright noonday sun had it gleaming. Similar to those massive metal Goliaths in the library’s old science-fiction movies, the ship appeared to be fabricated by humankind, having large galvanized-like metal panels in varying shades of silver and grey. And its hull had a faint teal glow—its own protective forcefield—made apparent after receiving blows from lasers and suicide drones. With each hit it shimmered like electrified plasma. But it was dealing more hits than it was receiving. Indentations dotted streamlined grooves around the sides of the ship, each hole housing a laser; and there were hundreds. Intelligently, they blasted every hostile, even intercepting most incoming fire.
Front to back, the ship’s deepest groove was wide and flat, narrow in the front as it climbed the nose, widening toward the back before veering outward at the rear. The inner edges of the groove also contained lasers; all were operational, and powerful. And the side panels had…wait for it…coming into view now…myriad of markings—written words, English!
“It is one of ours, look!” Ron exclaimed, pointing. And he could almost read it. Rico chose the best of their still surviving cameras to view it from the side, for it was headed straight toward the facility and had just fully cleared the wall.
“It looks like a sleek flat pill,” Rico said, letting his imagination get the best of him. It did, bulky but streamlined. The flattened back housed its propulsion drive which emitted a cerulean-blue glow, and like the sides, had smoothly angled lips at the edges—possibly for stable aerodynamics at high speeds. Its flat-black bottom bore resemblance to a type of heat shield and housed twelve inset glowing discs that were also the same intense blue, save for outlining rings of hot orange.
And the decals made it a billboard. Rico, Ron, and Abell made out the flags first, and it piqued their hopes. The bow was crammed with them. Dozens, every color and design, obviously from countries of a bygone era, when the globe was so divided; the pre-2020s when quarreling nations squabbled over ceaseless controversy and land. It seemed there was at least one from each, hundreds, yet many were unrecognizable. Newly conquered territories? Provinces, states—nations? As well, there was writing between the orange and black stripes lining the port and starboard sides: black and bold text in boxy letters with bright reflective-white outlines. Rico and Ron read it out loud slowly as the visitor passed into view of their most well-positioned camera. “RESCUE SUPPORT 486!” They both leapt for joy then quickly re-glued their popping eyeballs.
Unrelenting in its barrage of laser fire to the curious drone pests, the ship slowed to a crawl and eventually stopped over the park. Center circle, the wall’s bullseye, and it hovered at wall height.
“Give me a closeup. I want to see what it’s doing,” Rico said. And Ron did just that. The both of them inspected each of the ship’s many facets. Bottom lasers, dozens of them protruded like marbles under the ship. And they were firing at a much faster pace than could the wall lasers—also burning hotter, longer, more intensely. The beams zapped drones like harmless flies, sending them crashing to the ground like a firecracker’s last fizzle, mere gobs of smoldering coal.
The drones hesitated, obviously having had signaled each other.
Inside the control room Abell was ready to battle, flesh versus machine. He had a six-inch-diameter by six-foot-long steel well-water pipe gripped like a baseball bat, and his color was again flushing with rage red. He lowered it when the chaos relented. The pounding and cutting noises that had been torturing them diminished, and quickly the noises sounded distant.
With a horde mentality they set forth, withdrawing from the facility and every hole they’d dug. Like fire to oxygen in a backdraft, the drones swooshed from the hall. The team exhaled a much-needed sigh of relief. All pounding on the broadcast-room, control-room, and safe-room doors ceased. The freight train of noise disappeared in rapid diminuendo. And the unrecognizable bay, now like a multi-impacted crater, was empty once again.
The swarm was a streak of metallic black and chrome and joined those already encircling the ship. As if it was the sun and they were the asteroid belt, a wide orbit was quickly achieved; the great wall bounded their rotation. There was hesitation, an intermission. The swarm scanned the intruder, likely plotting its next move against the lead-brick adversary. The ship held silent and firm, flaunting its extraordinary armor and enormity, and likewise had ceased its firing. Both sides were in remission and a good five minutes passed before...
The drones de-swarmed, occupying every square foot of airspace! The air was precision cut so each had an equal distance from one another. The ship’s lasers, top, side, bottom, zapped the bugs incessantly, but this time hit mostly empty air. The attacking everywhere was intelligently dispersed using a clever algorithm to manage the defensive swerving position of each and every drone. Exhibiting a newfound prescience, they avoided the red beams, mostly. But the ship caught on quickly; it was a battle of wits and omnipotent intelligence. Learning at light speed, the bulbous one managed to resume its efficient fly swatting and once again sent the pests into the burning embers that once had been a town. Some bounced onto the streets like hardened tires, others disappeared into an inferno.
But overwhelmingly, there were still too many. And the horde mentality was equally ingenious, employing the physics of the universe to its full advantage, making every large or tiny attacker count. Efficiency level: maximum. They attached themselves to the ship and began—the destructive phase. Their goal, now obvious, had been to get close.
“There’s just too many. Come on Number 486, you can do it,” Ron said. He realized the position they would be in right now had the ship not arrived. “They have the entire thing cocooned! Are they moving it?” It began to descend slowly.
“I don’t know,” Rico replied, “I’ve never seen anything like this.” Not even the wonders of—Felix, that awesome place, he thought, comparing one inconceivability with another. “They’ve totally enveloped it! How are our wall lasers doing?”
“Seventy-three down, only twenty-three left! And half of those have exhausted their auto-repair cycles—including the ones in the bay. The remaining lasers are assisting but support is extremely minimal. It would take a year to zap that many, even at 100%.”
“Zoom in, right here.” Rico pointed to a spot on the top of the ship. The ship was descending, faster now—or the drones were pulling it down. Its hull looked alive, oscillating randomly as though it wore a blanket of a million roaches. And oddly, it was beautiful, like a star, with mostly reds, but also blues, greens, and purples; lasers of every hue, millions. Now evident, they were designed to penetrate various substances. Beams escaped it creating a brilliant starburst. To an ant it would be a supernova. Dozens of 486’s lasers
were able to blast through the living, moving crust, but each time a new layer of pests capped the outburst. And it seemed that at close range the ship’s lasers were lacking in effectiveness; likely the drone mentality knew and decided to take advantage. Open patches glimmered like mirrors receiving the sun once more.
Now, finally being lower than the great wall, Rico noticed a dome atop the ship. Its lasers were like windshield wipers, occasionally clearing areas just enough, and he made out some details. He exclaimed, “Look, the bridge!”
“And there are people inside!” Ron said. He quickly zoomed in on it. There were several indeed, all wearing orange jumpsuits and managing their stations. A woman stood behind eight or more, same orange suit, arms crossed and unworried. Those manning the panels sat erect, punching buttons and controls as if the rescue was a routine everyday operation—although it sure seemed like anything but.
It struck Rico as odd, though. He figured their advanced technology would be able to tackle a whole host of functions, that its automation would mostly, if not totally, manage every process—similar to that of the lender facility. He wondered exactly what they were doing manning the controls so rapidly, and for what purpose. Even the survivor drop-ships—that ended with Amy’s arrival—were unmanned, flown and managed using nothing but automation. But it had been a long time since he’d seen anyone or anything new and assumed that he was likely ignorant of much that could have changed.
And so, Rico felt powerless in the control room. The three of them had done all they could; they didn’t have buttons to push and systems to manage like the crew of the descending ship. Their systems were almost completely automated, therefore, highly effective, lending much advantage over slower human decisions and reaction times for fast-paced battles like this one. And they could only wait, watch, and hope.
At times Abell would grunt while watching the screens. The light from the chaos flickered on his face like the glow of a late-night action movie. Rico momentarily looked up at him, knowing he would rather be outside. He imagined Abell pouncing on the drones with his extraordinary might and muscle. He pictured Abell swinging that pipe; a pipe he himself probably couldn’t even lift. Yes, he’d surely take a few out.
Few. But the word didn’t jive with their situation. Taking a few out would be akin to killing a hundred humans when the world was brimming with them. Even a thousand, a hundred thousand, it wouldn’t make a noticeable dent. The sheer numbers, the magnitude…too many. And it was chilling to observe a million, presumably a billion drones, in action. Collaborating, cooperating, malignant. The hair stood up on Rico’s arms as he nearly wobbled, in awe of the battle. There were seemingly unlimited methods of attack by the drone army, too. Many smaller black drones had transformed to create a shell around a hull-gnawing chrome attack drone. And the core entity exploited its carte blanche, unrestricted in its ability to melt and drill, safe from the lasers until its easily replaceable shell of assistance was compromised.
Others bound themselves together like magnets. A larger, more deadly power was born. And they would crash into the ship, exploding violently. Tremors from the suicide hits were felt like an earthquake’s punch. Drones coordinated with these more rare but devastating attacks in order to limit collateral damage.
Some simply waited for a turn on the front lines. They hovered, or perched on the great wall, making use of its ramparts; Rico had reactivated the forcefield, which did dissipate lasers, so it was useless to go farther or higher. Next up, next up…one after another. Focusing a beam on a single spot—like the glaring eyes of an owl—no matter their motion the beams held their target. Precise burns, intense heat. And for all attacks, after a drone was destroyed another stepped up to take its place; the reserves seemed limitless. Unmitigated coordination made the horde deadly potent.
The ship neared the ground. It edged the lake, bottom now protected. Setting itself down on extended stabilizers, the mass pushed four-foot-deep impressions into the soil. Then, a slot opened on the port side overlooking the lake and a hose sinuated out. It stabbed the water like an enraged tentacle. The forcefield surrounding it became easily apparent as it animated the water’s surface with an electrified teal glow. Drones swiftly attacked but did zero damage to the hose while air-hungry whirlpools formed around its tip; the swirling motion was so powerful it crushed the wooden boat like a whale’s shitting ass to a wooden ship it had swallowed. Chunks flew outward with the snap. Then suck, all was vacuumed in. And the water level of the lake lowered, lower, lower, following that of the canal until nothing but mud, flapping catfish, and flexing crayfish remained. The tentacle dried the entire reservoir in less than four minutes! Then the hose retracted, the teal sparkling ceased, and the port sealed shut.
The cerulean-blue propulsion went dark and Number 486 ejected anchoring cables that burrowed into the ground. Next, its shield intensified with a more energetic teal charge and the drones began to have trouble clinging to its hull. The current, like electrostatic webbing, went through each and every one. Something—was happening.
“Why did it take our water?” Ron questioned. He was in a zone, talking mostly to himself. “A power source of some kind?”
“Look,” Rico said, “movement, something is pushing up on that layer of drones.”
The drones bulged between the bridge and aft—center-ship. Then a murky blast flicked them away like fleas: water cannon, pond life included! Frogs and fish rode the geyser. It was focused with the pressure of Europa’s geysers and spat at the clear blue sky its laser of brown water. Before a minute could pass, clouds formed: dark and heavy, brownish-purple and tumultuous, a dirty-cotton big-bang. In reaction to this, and as if having a singular mind, the drones hesitated in surprise. They, and three dudes in the control room, watched as the spout that had fired the geyser began to rotate like a wandering eye; it stirred the sky like a paint stick, mixing the thunderous storm until it was manipulating a galactic spiral. The center cleared as the velocity of gyration increased, letting return the vivid blue of the day. It was noon and the blaring sun was directly above. Rainbows painted the inner cylinder and the mist became violently prismatic. If it was some kind of attack, surely it was a fascinating one!
Clouds orbited the storm’s shrinking eye and, it needed no further stirring. The spout ceased its spitting. The water ran out.
“Our lake…” Ron said, completely engrossed, “…is in the sky.”
Save for the ship now reflecting light like an aluminum moon, enjoying a single diminishing beam of sun, the town was heavily shadowed and the temperature dropped. A violent, eerie stew. Thunder cracked. Reverberations bounced from wall to wall as if there was a giant speaker catching, amplifying, and stretching out the rumbles. White lightning sizzled and the storm pronounced its electrified rage. Clouds went round as if there was a blackhole in the center. But quickly everything merged, sealing the blue eye which became the pit of its focused power. And the drones, now obviously apprehensive, redoubled their efforts!
Thunder rocked the facility. Citizens in the safe room huddled and cried. Rico continued sending them, as well as Ted, updates as he’d been doing since the strife began. In the broadcast room several lenders woke up, sending the feed to plummet: yellow status! Jim and Amy remained asleep—deeply immersed, somewhere. The lenders who were disturbed, mostly the newest and least experienced, drunkenly rose, some falling off their beds. An unexpected logout twisted the mind for days. The newly minted zombies mumbled incoherently to Ted, stumbling to get an update, but he sternly redirected them to the break room. He then instructed the twins to console and inform. Ted also told the two to scoop up blankets from his living quarters, and whatever else they needed.
A ten count after the leg-wobbling thunderclap, the top of the ship began to emit an azure electric glow. It seemed to be vacuuming the teal field about its hull, refocusing it. And the storm above it took shape, spinning faster and faster until a funnel emerged, radiating electrostatic blue sparks. The descending cone of wind and w
ater reached to meet a gleaming metal rod, now erecting from the ship.
“Looks like the broadcast needle,” Rico pointed out.
The drones still had no intention of retreat, seemingly they angered and intensified. They gnawed at the rod, and delivered every fathomable machination. Bright, melting arcs of energy, spinning drills and cutters, lasers of every wavelength. And many teamed up, now clumping into groups as large as a city bus. Crash! Right into Number 486. But the enhanced shields protected it—the ship, mighty, almighty Number 486, had gotten a serious upgrade. Since the propulsion engines had powered down its shields became impenetrable.
Above, the full-blown tornado went to work. The conjured destructor vacuumed drones by the hundreds; it extirpated trees, debris, the flames—say adios to Julio’s pizza stand—all sucked away and shredded to oblivion.
“There must be 200-mile-per-hour winds!” Ron yelled.
“At least!” Rico replied at the top of his lungs. The noise reverberated throughout the facility, a harsh tonal roar as if a horn-blasting freight train was on track, encircling the rim of the wall above.
And then the tornado met the ship’s rod. The electricity discharged in a snapping crack not rivaled by its earlier thunderous counterpart.
Other lenders awoke.
Wall lasers stalled. Intelligently the system made a choice—keep the outer ships up as long as possible. Two outer perimeter ships had already set down. The others increased speed to maximum, filling the gap, but the boundary could not afford another loss. Another flood of drones would be the end. Broadcast feed: borderline red, and the previously full buffer was depleting quickly.
The townspeople in the safe room had more space because they huddled together, tighter, gripping each other, hoping, and like old times, praying.
The cameras in the control room displayed static, making it difficult to see; the spinning debris made the inside of the wall its racetrack. Static faded as the tornado stabilized and morphed into a tighter more narrow shape. With the change debris rose to overcome the height of the wall and was flung miles into the desert.