by Steve Feasey
Tia drove them out of the car park and up the tunnel.
This time there was no halting in front of the metal shutters. Jax shot the housings at the top to bits and Tia burst through unchecked.
The escapees sat in silence. There was no whooping or shouts of triumph when they finally emerged into the night air. Even before they had set out to rescue Brick, they all knew what the consequences of their actions might mean for the population of Muteville. They’d discussed it, talking long into the night about what the Principia’s response was likely to be, and how they could best avoid unnecessary bloodshed and suffering.
‘Are you all right, Brick?’ Rush asked his friend as the two bounced around together in the back.
The big guy simply nodded and returned his attention to the world beyond the bulletproof glass, as if he too was aware of the potential price of his freedom.
Tia steered the vehicle towards the agreed rendezvous.
Melk
An emergency assembly of the Principia was called, Melk despatching security agents to personally escort the ruling elite to the great hall where the meeting was to be held. In addition, a series of announcements was made by men standing in the streets to tell the Citizens what was going on. With no power, the meeting would not be broadcast on the large screens outside the parliament building as it usually was. Instead, the vast doors at the front of the building were left wide open so that anybody who wanted to could see and hear what was happening. They came in their droves. The residents of City Four – most of whom had taken to the streets in fear and terror as the sequence of explosions stripped them of light, heat and communications – were drawn to the building they recognised as their centre of power. The first to arrive were treated to a view of their president atop a hastily constructed dais. Lit by glaring arc lights powered by generators, Melk was a stark and shocking testament to the events of terror that had taken place that night.
Wrapped in bloody bandages where he’d had pieces of broken glass removed from his arm, neck and face, the man stood looking out at the principals as they hurriedly took their places. The forum was designed so the members sat in a horseshoe, an arrangement designed to maximise debate. By placing himself in the centre-front of this array, Melk guaranteed that he was the focus of their attention.
The hall was already packed beyond its capacity, and when the last principal was seated Melk tapped the microphone in front of him, pleased when he found the thing to be working. He began to speak.
‘When our ancestors emerged from the Arks and finally made their way back to the surface of Scorched Earth, they were shocked that anything up here had survived. The creatures they encountered were hideous and terrible. Stricken with disease and disfigurement, they were an aberration of the natural order of things. It has been argued that wiping them out might have been the kindest thing; to eradicate them from this planet, so their miserable mutated genetic material would not be perpetuated. But the mass extinctions of the Last War were still too raw in our ancestors’ minds, and the Mutes were allowed to survive. Not only did they endure, but they thrived. And we –’ he looked about him, not just at the dignitaries but also at the multitude of people crammed into the auditorium, many of whom were relaying his words to those in the streets beyond – ‘we ignored the threat living on our doorstep. We are to blame for what has happened here tonight.’
He let the noise of the discontented voices wash over him for a few moments before lifting his hand for quiet.
‘Out there –’ he pointed, holding out his arm so the bloodstained dressings could be fully appreciated – ‘is a race of people who have done nothing to build this world back up again. And yet, despite that, they believe they are somehow entitled to the privileges we have worked so hard for. They resent us. THEY HATE US! And tonight they have committed an act of war against the Citizens of City Four and all the cities of Scorched Earth, to prove just how much they hate us!’
There were loud cries and shouts.
‘Our weakness in the face of this enemy has finally been exploited. Our unwillingness to deal with this scourge has come back to bite us!’
He allowed the shouts and cries to rise and then slowly die away. Eventually he leaned in to the microphone, and when he spoke again it was in a low, bleak tone.
‘I have terrible news for you all,’ he said, lowering his head and shaking it. To everyone in the auditorium he appeared like a man only just in control of himself, struggling for composure. When he looked up again, there were tears on his cheeks. ‘My son – a man I hoped might take my place as your proud leader – was . . . assassinated tonight!’
There was a tumult of gasps and cries as people turned to look at each other in shock. The news must have quickly spread because more expressions of dismay could be heard from outside in the streets.
Melk carried on, his voice slowly rising in pitch and volume. ‘He was killed trying to save me from the mutants who broke into the city with the express wish of ending not just my life but the lives of so many others with their bombs and wanton destruction. He was killed defending the people of City Four, defending them in the way the Melks have done for generations. He was killed defending the rights of the people he loved. And before he died in my arms, he demanded something of me. He demanded that I continue in the role I’ve had the honour of holding for so long now. He demanded that I avenge his death. He demanded that this act of terrorism not go unpunished. HE DEMANDED JUSTICE!’
The noise in the hall was deafening now, the crowd whipped into a frenzy by the news, delivered in Melk’s fervent oratorical style.
‘Now I know this is not the way this parliament is run. I know that there are procedures and processes. But desperate times require desperate measures, and I say we don’t have time for niceties! I want the Principia to vote. In fact, not just the Principia. I want all of you here tonight to vote, to give me your mandate. I want you to tell me, this very night, that you will let me lead you in ridding ourselves of the mutants for good!’
An ocean of noise broke over him. It seemed as if every voice was shouting out in support of his proposal. He’d played his hand very well.
As planned, he left the podium, nodding to his right for the speaker of the forum, who just happened to be one of his oldest friends, to take his place.
The man addressed the audience, asking them for a show of hands if they were willing to allow Melk to continue as president for an unprecedented fourth term. There were few dissenters. And those who did try to make their voices heard were quickly shouted down. Even so, Melk made a careful note of who they were, not in the least surprised to see Towsin Cowper among them.
Nodding his head, Melk left the great hall wearing a grim expression. It was only once he’d passed through the door at the rear, and was safely in one of the antechambers, that he allowed his features to break out into a satisfied smile. Waiting for him was General Razko. The assembled crowds didn’t know it yet, but these two men together would become an all too familiar sight in the coming months.
The military man turned to his president, raising one bushy eyebrow in a characteristic gesture. ‘That went surprisingly well. I must say, sir, I expected more resistance from the members of the council.’
‘I didn’t. They’re soft. They proved that when they stifled so many of my bold plans in the last few years. I can assure you, general, they will not do so again. There are one or two that may prove troublesome, but I’ll deal with them.’
‘When do we strike back at the mutants?’
‘Not yet. I want our response to be decisive and brutal. That requires a full assessment of what military forces and armaments we have at our disposal. Things have been allowed to slip a little in that regard, I’m led to believe.’
‘The Principia has made a number of cuts in recent years, sir. We’re horribly undermanned and under-resourced.’
‘Then you and I will have to put that right, won’t we?’ Melk gave the other man a searching look. ‘Tell me, Razko
, what happened to Project C-27?’
‘The cyborg programme?’
‘Yes.’
The general paused, considering his response. ‘Officially it was scrapped.’
‘And unofficially?’
‘I had it put on ice.’
‘Then I think it’s time it was thawed. And I believe I have the perfect candidate to use as our first test case.’
Steeleye
There was a jolt – a flash of blinding light and pain that made him grunt and jerk on the cold, flat surface. As his faculties slowly returned, he became aware that he was not alone in the room.
Steeleye Mange lay on his back. He opened his eyes, one of which had not worked for a very long time, but now, amazingly, appeared to be relaying data: facts and figures about the visual input signal as well as information regarding the current status of various systems operating within him. He paused and shook his head. Systems?
Without any idea how, he knew the images and data he was receiving came via his HUD, or Heads-Up Display, and that it had been installed in his right eye socket where the ball bearing had been. He turned his head to look in the direction of the people his perimeter scanners told him were occupying the room with him.
The two men and the woman were wearing white coats. The information in his HUD told him the one staring back at him was called Dr Arnak. The other two – Drs Svenson and Levitt – were too engrossed in the analytical data displayed on their omnipads to pay him any attention. Their identities had already been programmed into his information database. He frowned and shook his head again, a wave of terrible nausea washing over him. Information database? What the hell was going on?
‘We have lift-off,’ Arnak informed his colleagues, a dry smile ghosting across his lips. He turned his attention to Steeleye again. ‘Welcome back, Commander Mange. Now, things are going to feel rather strange to you for a while. The reorientation of your organic body to your bionic augmentations will take a little time to get used to; that’s perfectly normal and as expected. We’d like to run a few diagnostic tests on you before you have the chance to meet the person responsible for your . . . rebirth. Would that be OK with you?’
Commander Mange?
Steeleye sat up and, ignoring the doctors’ pleas, swung his legs round.
The first thing he noticed was the high-pitched whine of the servo-motors as his motorised legs sprang into action. The feedback in one part of his HUD was a stream of data about the orientation and speed of the limbs, but he completely ignored it and concentrated on getting upright. His stomach rolled, making him feel as if he might throw up, and he felt light-headed. The solid clunk! noise as his feet made contact with the floor was like two bowling balls being dropped. He had no idea how much he weighed, but it must have been one heck of a lot.
‘Well, that was very impressive, but I suggest you –’
‘What the hell have you done to me?’ Steeleye asked, raising first his human right arm, complete with its covering of tattoos, then the matt steel one in place where his left one had once been. ‘Where are my legs? And my arm?’
‘As I say, I suggest you –’
‘ANSWER ME, DAMN IT!’
‘We’ve . . . enhanced you.’ Arnak shot his colleague Dr Levitt a glance. ‘Get Melk and Razko.’
On one wall was a series of viewing panels, designed so that observers could see what was going on inside. Right now, the observation area was empty and dark, transforming the glass panes into black mirrors.
Steeleye approached, staring at himself.
One side of his face remained, along with his nose and mouth. On the other side, from the back of his jaw, up his cheek and through the centre of his forehead, a metallic skull looked back at him. Wherever the two interfaced was an ugly ridge of puckered flesh that appeared to be riveted to the metal beneath. Bloody tissue still lined these borders and would clearly take more time to heal. His natural eye took in its domed plaziglas partner. Despite the lens being tinted, mechanical parts could be seen moving behind it as the optical device constantly adjusted focus. He lifted the arm again, this time holding the hand out before his face and flexing the articulated metal fingers. He could sense the power in the thing. Everything he did was accompanied by a flow of information streamed right into his brain.
He turned to the doctors again, his look unreadable. He was amazed at how calm they were, considering they were shut in a room with a huge half-man, half-metal monster.
‘You made me into a ’borg?’
‘As I said, all will be explained to you when –’
With a roar Steeleye threw himself at them, his robotic arm pulled back, ready to pulverise them all into bloody little pieces.
‘SVENSON!’ Arnak barked, and the woman jabbed at a button on the omnipad she was holding.
Steeleye froze.
His organic self was still fully operational – he could breathe and feel his heart beating. But his mouth wouldn’t work, and he guessed that, despite leaving the soft tissue of his lips and tongue in place so he could talk, they’d mechanised his jaw. He was still able to move his eyes, and information streamed across his vision, in the centre of which flashed the words EXTREMITY MOTOR FREEZE.
As if on cue, two men appeared in the doorway. Steeleye’s HUD identified them both: President Melk and General Razko.
The older man, the politician, entered, taking in the situation. He turned to the scientists. ‘Why’s he frozen like that?’
‘He was getting a little . . . excited,’ Svenson said.
‘I see. Can he hear me?’ Melk looked to Dr Arnak for confirmation before stepping forward and narrowing his eyes at Steeleye. ‘Well, it suits my purpose to have his undivided attention right now.’ He pointed a finger at the mutant cyborg. ‘I’m guessing that the last thing you remember is the botched raid on the mutant safe house. The one my son allowed you to be part of. Would that be right? The Mute kid hitting you with the rock. Bam!’ He smacked a clenched fist into his other palm. ‘Straight in the middle of your head – like David slaying Goliath!’ He sighed and shook his head. ‘Well, that blow caused a huge amount of harm. Even with a thick skull like the one you had, the doctors tell me the impact resulted in untold damage to your brain.’ He paused for a moment before going on. ‘Bad things have happened since then. My son is dead, and I’m now back in charge.
‘Before his death I was made aware of the deal you two struck – that you wanted to join our forces for a chance to get revenge on these troublesome Mutes we’d been looking for. The very same Mutes that tried to kill you during the raid.’ He locked eyes with Steeleye, letting this sink in. ‘And I thought you deserved a second chance. I said to myself, in honour of my son, I will give this man that second chance. Now, if I get these good people behind me to unfreeze you, are you going to behave yourself? Hmm?’
Steeleye grunted something that sounded vaguely like agreement, and Melk nodded at the scientists.
There was a whirr of motors coming back to life and Steeleye was able to move again. He lowered his arm and straightened up to his full height.
‘Do you still want your revenge, Mange?’
‘What do I have to do?’
‘All you have to do is find them.’
‘And when I do?’
‘They’re all yours.’
Epilogue
Escape had been straightforward. But the knowledge of what they were leaving behind weighed heavily on all of them. The children at Silas’s school were collected, many of them fast asleep, and along with Dotty were put aboard the stolen vehicle or Tink’s wagon. Silas got word out to ward leaders and other mutant heads that trouble was coming to Muteville and that everyone who could should leave. There was little else he could do. No doubt Melk’s revenge would be terrible, and those left behind in the slums would be made to suffer, but Silas and those he was directly responsible for knew they could not stay; they had to get away, and hope others heeded their warnings to do likewise.
They head
ed north, always looking over their shoulders for pursuers that didn’t appear. When they eventually stopped, it was at a fishing community established at the edge of a huge lake. Silas knew the people there, and the fisherfolk agreed to give the group shelter in a large outbuilding they used to build boats. It was only a temporary arrangement for the adults and teenagers; not so for the younger members of the band. The young orphans would stay behind when the others moved on. Despite the tears and upset this arrangement caused, everyone knew it was for the best.
‘What’ll happen now?’ Rush asked Tink that first night. They’d all eaten a meal of fresh fish, and the pair had volunteered to do the washing-up down at the waterfront.
‘I don’t know.’
‘You don’t know, or you won’t say?’
Tink gave a sigh. ‘Things’ll get bad for mutants – all mutants. But they’ll be worst for this group. You’ll be hunted, and you’ll have to fight to stay alive.’
‘Will we all make it?’
‘Now that I really do not know. What I do know is you’re far stronger together than you are apart. Nobody needs a vision to tell them that.’
They finished up and went back to rejoin the others. When they were all together again, bellies full, Silas stood and addressed them.
‘For a long time now, I’ve fought for mutants to have rights. Nothing special, nothing unreasonable – rights you’d think everyone was entitled to in a world where man cares for his fellow man. But these things have not been granted to us, so now it’s up to us to try and take them. What we did back at City Four, rescuing Brick like that, was the right thing to do. But President Melk will turn it into something else. We’re outlaws now, and he’ll do whatever he can to bring us to justice, at least that’s how he’ll see it.