by Jeff Pollard
The cultists at computers try to defend the televators, laying waste to many people, cutting them in half, decapitating. But even these efforts back fire as they create a killing field lined with torsos, bits and pieces of people that are still fighting. Severed heads are carried along by the broken bodies, torsos and remnants of people like the bucket-brigade, sending the heads to the exits. Every avatar that gets to a televator represents a robot that's free inside the building now.
“They're inside!” a cultist shouts.
“Stay at your consoles! Keep them in Solipsis!”
“But they're coming,” a cult member says ominously. He abandons his console, picking up a sub-machine gun and aiming at the door.
“Stay at your consoles!”
Heavy footsteps approach. The door crashes open and an animatron runs screaming into the room, only to be cut down by gunfire. In a shower of sparks, the animatron falls limp just past the doorway. The distracted cult members look to the door, hearing many more heavy footsteps approaching rapidly. Two more cult members grab guns and prepare to hold off the robots.
“Everyone else stay at your consoles!”
A wave of robots breach the door, all cut down by gunfire. The entrance is littered with robot bodies and hydraulic fluid pools on the floor. While they reload, another wave strikes. Some cult members are able to quickly make their guns ready, but it becomes a chaotic scene. Peter breaks through the line. He grabs the first man at a console he finds, squeezing his neck and throwing him against the wall. He rampages through the men at consoles, killing, maiming, destroying everything in his way. He's struck down by a hail of bullets, his animatron falls limp.
“We have to cut them off at the source!”
The cultists push toward the stairwell, entering they find several animatrons coming down to them. They mow down these robots and head up.
“Let's spawn camp these bastards.”
Peter wakes up in a new animatron. The animatronic floor is in total chaos as cult members mow down every animatron they find.
With the angels and demons standing still, unpiloted, the remaining survivors, some of them hacked in half, some flattened into a pile of skin, all make their way slowly to the televators, ready for revenge.
35
Lazarus holds a gun on Percival/Nellie's brain suspended in the vat.
“Do it or I'll kill her,” Lazarus says.
“You mean him,” Renee says defiantly.
“Bullets don't care about semantics.”
Renee stares at him. “You won't do it,” Renee says dismissively, “You can't kill, you'll go to hell.”
“Turn it off!” Lazarus screams.
“No!” Renee yells. Some animatrons make their way into the Comatorium, only to be struck down by gunfire from the retreating cultists. There's only three ways to get in: a stairwell at each end, and the control room door and windows. Each way will be met with a hail of bullets. It's simply a matter of attrition. Animatrons keep attacking, first in a trickle that's easily shot down, but they quickly learn and hold back, assembling a large group before attacking all at once, hoping to overwhelm the cultists.
Lazarus puts the gun up to Renee's face, “Turn it off or I'll kill your mother, your father, I'll eventually find someone you care about. No human being I know would sit there and let me kill their father,” Lazarus says. He taps the gun against the glass of Percival's vat. “Turn it off,” Lazarus says calmly. A wave of animatrons jumps through the Solipsis Control Room windows. Maimed robots keep coming, dragging themselves along relentlessly.
“You can either be a compassionate human being and save his life. Or you can be a lifeless robot and tell me again how I can't change your mind,” Lazarus says. She doesn't want to listen to his bullshit. “Five, ” Lazarus counts down.
It's one thing to know that the good of the many outweighs the good of the few. It's another thing when a gun is put to your father's head. Is letting him die moral? What would a human being do?
“Three, two, one-”
“Wait,” Renee says at the last second. Lazarus kicks the touch screen toward her.
“Turn it off.” Renee starts entering the password, but doesn't finish it. “Do it!” Her finger hovers over the final character. This wave of animatrons is finally dispatched, every last one. It's quiet in the Comatorium again, save for the Xenon-deepened voices of the cultists as they quickly try to reload. If Renee can hold out, their victory is inevitable.
“Three, two,” Lazarus counts quickly. He's not going to let her keep stalling. He stares her down. Her finger remains hovering over the pad. She looks up at Lazarus.
“One,” he fires. The bullet rips through the glass of the vat, cuts a path through cerebro-spinal fluid, and strikes the edge of Percival's brain, just scratching the surface. The vat empties its fluid in a wave washing over Renee. Nellie's brain hangs in the broken vat, exposed to air. Her brain is slowly dying.
“But...you'll go to hell,” Renee says, stunned.
“I didn't kill anyone, I'm merely exposing what's left of her to the elements. She did this to herself. God wants her dead,” Lazarus replies. He stands over Renee. “Put in the password.” He presses the gun to her metallic chest, “It seems that you don't have a soul, it won't be murder if I pull this trigger.”
Behind the Solipsis Control Room, Medved and Nellie's animatrons wait with other animatrons to attack. A few of them have guns they've taken from dead guards.
“We can overwhelm them here,” Nellie says, “but we all have to go at the same time, keep running, take cover. Once the first few are through, you two will sneak into the control room and use your guns to shoot those bastards. If they fall, I want you two in reserve to pick up their guns and keep shooting. Make sure you watch your background.”
Nellie is a natural leader. More animatrons of freed minds join up, readying for the attack. Peter sits against the wall in this dark corridor and gets mentally ready to kill again. With plans made, waiting just mere moments to go, Nellie stand in front of Peter.
“You ready?” Nellie asks.
“Those bastards deserve everything they got coming,” Peter says. Nellie nods, then stumbles, putting her hand against the wall. She falls down almost like she had a stroke. She clutches her head, in pain.
Medved rushes to her, but immediately knows the severity of the situation. Nellie looks up at Peter and they share a moment of recognition. She clutches her head in agony.
“A Xenon Shock,” Peter says quietly. He lets out a bear-like roar, the speaker in his throat is overloaded and cracks. He charges for the window, the others follow.
Lazarus jams the gun into Renee's chest. “This is your last warning. I will end you if you don't put that password in.”
“Go ahead and do it. I'm the only one that knows the password. Killing me will doom you,” Renee says defiantly.
“God dammit!” Lazarus screams. He aims at Seth. “What do you think about this? I'll kill him!”
“You won't kill your own son,” Renee says matter-of-factly.
“You clearly don't know men of God,” Lazarus says coldly, “If God commands me to kill him, then it's the right thing to do.”
“Are you hearing god command you to do things right now? You're a crazy person. You're delusional!”
“I'm going to shoot him in the head in ten seconds if you don't enter that password. This is on you, ten, nine.”
“You idiot, why would I let you kill my father and change my mind when you threaten some boy I barely know,” Renee says. “He means more to you than he does to me.”
Medved's charge begins not far away. The cultists fire incessantly at the wave of animatrons. The animatrons start firing back for the first time. The animatrons are inside. The bomb ticks down, hidden beneath a rubber panel not far away.
“Do it or I blow his fucking brains out,” Lazarus says, jamming the pistol to the side of Seth's head.
“You won't do it,” Renee says coldly. Renee looks into S
eth's scared eyes. Seth isn't so sure that he won't. The retreating cultists get closer and closer as the attacking animatrons overwhelm them.
“Remember what happened the last time I counted down,” Lazarus says, staring at Renee. “Three,” he says, kicking the control panel to Renee with the password prompt. Would he really go through with it?
“Two.”
Seth starts to tear up, his glassy eyes lock with Renee's. He hyperventilates. He thinks he is about to die.
“One.”
“Wait,” Renee says.
“Then put it in!” Lazarus shouts, walking over to Renee. He nudges the control panel closer to her nearly lifeless hand. Hydraulic fluid drips from her shoulder. He aims back at Seth, knowing she's stalling. “Put it in.”
Renee takes her hand away from the control pad, she stares defiantly at Lazarus. She won't do it. Lazarus raises the gun, taking careful aim towards Seth, handcuffed to the central node. Lazarus is ready to shoot. He waits for Renee to falter. She doesn't. Seth's terrified eyes look to Renee for help, but she won't offer any. She's calling the bluff. It's just up to Lazarus now.
An animatron breaks through the line of retreating cult members, body-checking a guard, sending him flying, his gun clatters to the ground.
The animatron races toward Renee.
“Renee!” Patrick shouts.
36
The spherical Earth hangs against a pitch black sky. The vibrant planet silently rotates. The sun, completely white, not a hint of yellow, shines extra brightly. An astronaut raises a metallic visor, revealing a young Renee. She wears a red space-suit that has many small jets incorporated into it. She holds something that looks like a metal hockey stick. “Ready?” a voice crackles over her headset. She stares at the beautiful planet rotating beneath her.
“Ready.” Small jets fire, rotating and then thrusting her to an assembly area. There is a series of ethereal lights making up something that looks like a giant hockey arena floating in space. The lines, blue and red, create something like a tunnel, with goals clearly marked at either end. The court, if you can call it that, is about a hundred meters long, and forty meters in diameter. The goals at each end are much smaller, about the size of a backboard of a basketball goal. The boundary marked by the lights is a kind of force-field.
Renee floats towards the center space. Another astronaut floats, waiting for her. A striped referee-astronaut approaches, holding a ball of purple plasma.
“This is the championship match. First to reach five or more points while holding a two-point lead will be the victor. Shake hands.”
The astronaut clad in blue keeps his visor closed. They extend their gloved hands and shake, they each fire tiny jets of air that shoot them apart, then stop, hovering at opposite edges of the face-off circle. The referee holds the plasma ball out, indicating ready. They hold their metallic sticks at the ready. The occasional jet fires a small burst to keep them still.
The referee pushes the plasma ball away from him and it floats across the face-off circle toward a small ghostly red sphere in the center. The instant the purple plasma hits that orb, both sticks meet, slamming into the ball, sending it careening upward.
They thrust upward at breakneck speed. Blue takes a slight lead but Renee, in red, hooks her stick around his foot, yanking him down and sending her up. For every action there is an equal and opposite reaction. The ball bounces off the force-field barrier faster than it hit the wall, picking up speed. The two combatants fight for positioning as the ball comes flying quickly back at them. They elbow and push each other, bursts of nitrogen gas keep them planted against each other. Renee wins the battle for positioning, smacking the ball toward his goal. The two of them immediately rocket off in that direction. Her one-time shot put the ball into his zone, but not quite on goal. The plasma ball heads for a rounded corner. They each head for a spot where they think the ball will rebound. Renee plants her shoulder against him, fighting for position. Then Renee disappears. She surreptitiously maneuvers around him in a zero-gravity pirouette. From her advantageous new position, she slaps the rebound on goal. From this short distance, a quick shot is still very difficult to do accurately. The plasma ball heads for the goal, there's nothing they can do for this quick moment. The ball hits one side of the goal and ricochets off, but it's a glancing blow and it goes in. Laser beams go off, celebrating the goal.
They head back to center-space, waiting for the ref to restart play. Their tiny thrust jets fire to hold them in place. These jets are all controlled telepathically in six axes of motion. A certain brainwave can push you forward or backward, left or right, up or down. Another set of brainwaves doesn't thrust, but rather rotates you: pitch, roll, yaw. All of these controls and their intensities are controlled by thought. You can think of a brain as holding a remote control with hundreds of joysticks and switches, one lever for each muscle. Renee can just as easily thrust or yaw as she can snap her fingers. The brain just has to learn to control this new joystick. And young Renee is one of the best at this new game: First Person Pong. The game was released only a month ago, but became a huge hit. This match is the final in a large tournament of Solipsis dwellers. Though Solipsis began out of necessity, saving lives, it became a mecca for game development. Many competitive gamers reside here, but the final match doesn't pit any of those pros against each other, but instead, it's two kids, natives. This final match was well attended, though the crowd watching isn't visible.
When the ref drops the ball, the match starts up again. The ball flashes a bright purple blast whenever hit, ricocheting with greater speed every time it is touched. At face-off, the ball is hard to manage, but after minutes of stalemate, the ball is downright volatile, hitting nearly orbital speeds. Their jets can't thrust them nearly as fast as the ball, so the game becomes predicated on positioning, reading the spin of the ball, anticipating its destination in three dimensions and beating your opponent to it. Once you do that, it's extremely difficult to maintain possession of the ball. You can catch the ball by using your stick to slow it down gradually, gently. If done right, the ball won't ricochet off, but instead, that energy bubbles to the surface of the plasma, sparking and streaming off. Blue is exceptionally good at this maneuver. He catches the ball gently, then fires it off, aiming for the invisible wall to bounce the ball on goal. Good at ball-handling and bounce shots, he made it all the way to the finals.
Renee's talent is in another area. She has learned to control the jets to a degree that nobody else had yet reached. Her ball-handling and shot accuracy weren't quite up to par, but when other players tried to get positioning, she would slip past them, pulling off complicated maneuvers. Most people keep the same orientation through the game. They maintain a sense of up and down, keeping their feet pointed towards Earth. Even though the game is in three dimensions, people are just not able to take advantage of that added dimension. Renee however, had long-since abandoned that bias. She spins and twirls around her opponent, slipping by, confusing and disorienting them.
Blue scores with his deadly aim, tying the game. They fight for a rebound off the invisible boards. Blue gets wise to one of Renee's moves, he keeps track of her as she tries to spin over him. He figures out her trick and manages to get the board, sending the ball down to her end. They rocket away, toward the other goal. Renee drops her next trick on him. They collide, Renee makes it look accidental, but in reality it was planned. The collision sends both of them tumbling wildly. Renee quickly recovers with just a few short bursts, but Blue takes several seconds just to regain his bearing and null his rates. By the time he is able to regain control, the plasma ball is in the back of his goal.
“How did you get so good at that?” Blue asks.
“Practice,” Renee replies.
“What's your name?” Blue asks.
“Renee,” she says. The ref pulses into the circle, ready to release the ball.
“Patrick,” Blue says, opening his visor for the first time.
The next volley lasts nearly
twenty minutes. With the ball growing more volatile with every hit, they battled for control, for position, but nobody could score. The volley finally stopped on a penalty. Renee slashed Patrick with her stick, leading to a penalty shot taken from center-space. He scores easily, hitting the goal dead on.
The match continues for hours. Renee reaches five points first, 5-4, but Patrick quickly ties it back up, then takes the lead when Renee misjudges a bounce, giving him an easy shot. 6-5. Facing elimination, Renee needs to tie it quick. She corralled the plasma-ball, dribbled it against the force-field, giving it more energy with each successive bounce, then fired it directly up, against the other wall. She flies around Patrick, receiving the fast bounce pass from herself and one-times a fantastic goal. 6-6. After an hour, the score is 14-14. After another hour, it's 19-19. They don't tire physically, just mentally. While they figure out each others' techniques and find ways to counter them, the goals are increasingly the result of mistakes and not skill.
“Draw?” Patrick extends his hand at the face-off circle. Renee looks him over.
“I want to win,” Renee replies.
“Yeah but, at this point, who wins is basically just up to chance. Eventually one of us will get lucky or someone will make a mistake. It's inelegant.”
“Tell you what,” Renee says, suspicious, “offer me a draw when you have the lead, and I'll take it.”
The ref releases the ball and they fight for control. The ball squirts out between their sticks, heading nearly straight down. They follow for the rebound, but collide, sending them both spinning wildly out of control. Before either of them regains control, the lasers turned on. The ball had somehow gone in a goal. But which one? They both look to the scoreboard plastered on the moon. Red 20, Blue 19. They head back to center-space.
The ref prepares to drop the ball. “Wait,” Renee interrupts. “You're right, it's inelegant. If I score on this round, it'll just be victory because of that blind luck. That's not the way a great match should end. Draw?” Renee extends her hand.