Mage Against the Machine

by Shaun Barger

  “—A DOZEN NUKES POINTED AT A DOZEN LOCATIONS ACROSS NORTH AND SOUTH AMERICA IF YOU DON’T STAND DOWN! THE DEATHS OF THOUSANDS ON YOUR HANDS—SYNTH AND HUMAN! We just need MORE TIME! A little MORE TIME! We have the target’s approximate location—we can have him to you WITHIN THE HOUR! But if you continue your attack, I’ll have no choice but to detonate! And then you’ll never find your GODDAMN WEAPON!”

  “As regrettable as the annihilation of your population and the radioactive contamination of your surroundings would be,” Armitage replied, speaking over the same frequency as Machado, “it would in fact resolve our concerns even more thoroughly than occupation. At some cost, undoubtedly, but at significantly less effort. As for the rest of your arsenal, they are of no threat to us. Surrender or prepare for Torment. This will be our final communication.”

  Nikolai collapsed into a heap on the floor of the hovercraft.

  “Okay,” he wheezed, forcing himself to his feet and clinging to the rail. “Just one more . . .” With agonizing effort, he created a bubble shield of transparent akro and pierced it with his baton to create another sheet of camelos—truly making the whole thing invisible. Retching, he collapsed to the hovercraft’s floor again, curling up into a trembling ball as he completely focused his energy on maintaining the akro and camelos spells. “Go.”

  Jem gently guided the hovercraft out into the rain.

  Unable to see his body or the craft, delirious from pain and exhaustion, Nikolai felt like a ghost—like some floating point of view, zooming through the hellish urban landscape without a body.

  As they rose up over the buildings, higher and higher into the sky, it became obvious that they no longer had to worry about human soldiers trying to shoot them down. Nikolai and Jem were the least of Base Machado’s concerns.

  The air to the west surged with vast clouds of drones, large and small. Thousands of hounds and hundreds of larger, tanklike vehicles waited along the edge of the forest. Countless scuttling little dots swarmed onto the minefields, detonating every bomb to clear a path for the others.

  All at once there came a series of blinding flashes. Jem let out a cry of surprise as Nikolai grunted, squeezing his eyes shut—long phantoms of light seemingly burned into his retinas. When the phantoms cleared, he saw that every single watchtower along the southern and western borders had been reduced to a smoking, bubbling slagheap of twisted metal.

  Watchtowers destroyed, a swarm of spherical drones descended on the civilian and military districts, trailing thick carpets of yellow smoke. Some kind of gas.

  “THIS IS YOUR FINAL WARNING!” Machado screamed.

  The Synth army marched on, ignoring him.

  Dozens of sophisticated fighter planes were taking off from the airstrips to defend the base—breaking the sound barrier with painful thunderclaps as they quickly approached, little mirrored drones surrounding each jet in formation.

  The surging Synth drones separated, parting to make way for black teardrop crafts that cracked through the sky with no discernible means of propulsion, zigzagging at speeds that would kill any human pilot with drones of their own—balls of light that pulsed and zigzagged in patterns at odds with the teardrops.

  The Synth fighters rushed to meet the human fighter planes—filling the sky with fire and flashing light as they easily outmaneuvered and decimated the last remnants of the United States Air Force, losing very few of their own.

  There was a rumble, and at a dozen points across the base, darkened silos opened to reveal themselves. Impossibly loud, gleaming rockets rose into the atmosphere atop pillars of smoke, surrounded by clouds of mirrored drones similar to those surrounding the human fighter planes.

  The nukes.

  Cracks louder than any lightning bolt filled the air as shafts of light lanced across the base, targeting the rockets as they quickly gained altitude. Six of the nukes exploded—destroyed, not properly detonated. The remaining six had significantly thinner flocks of drones around them—the mirrored machines having taken enough of the damage from the beams to protect the missiles.

  A second volley of the blinding lights destroyed two more of the nukes.

  Then another—and now only one remained—scorched, without any more protective drones. But then it was gone—beyond the clouds, out of sight.

  Was it on its way to orbit? Would it be destroyed by the colonists? Or would it just fall back to earth, striking its target? Wherever that might be.

  Was this how the Mage King had felt as he watched Vaillancourt’s missiles fly? Had Julian Cosmus also struggled to breathe as the incredible depths of his failure played out in hellish splendor before his very eyes?

  A contingent of the Synth teardrop fighter planes rose up into the clouds, firing after it—but no explosion came, and soon the Synth fighters came back down to rejoin the fray.

  “The attacks are concentrated along the southern and western borders!” Jem shouted over the destruction. “Looks thinner to the southwest. I’m going for it!”

  The hovercraft was fast—fast enough that Nikolai grew dizzy as they flew over the carnage. The fences had toppled and the machines surged across the base unmolested. The tent city was lit with constant scattered pulses of lasers firing off from the spherical hound faces—now visible in the dim light of predawn—as they chased down the screaming, fleeing humans, stunning them and leaving them collapsed and occasionally trampled on the ground.

  Among the small hounds were the large tanklike machines, which had dozens of segmented tentacles reaching out from their camo shells, collecting the stunned humans as well as any stragglers who’d come within reach and feeding them into a sphincter portal on their backs. Even from high up above, Nikolai could hear the muffled screams of the people trapped within.

  Here and there were small, scattered pockets of resistance. Assault rifles flashing, SUVs wove in and out of the packs, groups of soldiers raining down destruction from atop surprisingly resilient hovercrafts until they were inevitably shot down.

  Howling sirens. Synth trumpets.

  The hovercraft’s radio crackled and Machado’s voice came onto the air, snarling, pleading. “Armitage! This is insanity! If you don’t withdraw your forces, I’ll turn this entire region into a wasteland! There will be no opportunity for intercept. I know your kind doesn’t want this. I know you don’t want this! So please. Withdraw your forces!”

  Silence. A long silence. Their hovercraft increased speed, the engine groaning with effort as they approached the tangled mess of fence that was once the southwesternmost point of the base. And suddenly they were beyond the confines of Machado Base—autumnal, crimson-leafed woodlands below looking bloody in the rain.

  “We won’t make it,” Jem said. Cold. Accepting. “We’ll never get clear of the blast zone.”

  Behind them, a new siren began to wail. Ominous and strange. Different than the others.

  The radio crackled again. And then came Machado’s voice—oddly calm.

  “Soldiers. Citizens. It has been a great honor serving with you. At times difficult. At times impossible. But always a joy. This place . . . and all of you . . . have given my life great meaning. And I hope that your time here will be a beacon in your memories—a touchstone for the incredible trials ahead. But know this. This . . . tyranny. This evil. This will pass. Armitage—the others. They aren’t gods. They’re just monsters. And monsters always fall. Humans won’t fade away. Won’t be snuffed out. We’re too resilient. Too cunning. Too good. We won’t . . .” He trailed off, sounding dazed. “I’m sorry, but . . . I can’t. I can’t do it. I won’t kill you all to prove a point. I won’t . . . please. Lay down your arms. Surrender. Go peacefully. Don’t fight back. I truly am sorry.”

  Another long silence—and for a moment, the fighting fell into a lull below—the hounds and collectors halting in their paths as humans and Synth alike stopped to listen.

  “Nikolai,” Machado finally said, and Nik was jerked to attention, stirred from his agonized stupor by the sound of his
name. “Wherever you are. This is your fault. Our blood is on your hands. And I hope you burn in hell.”

  Then, there was an odd scuffling sound, and another voice, shouting “Sir—sir, NO!”

  A gunshot went off and the other voice began to scream.

  The radio went silent.

  Jem remained silent as the base began to shrink in the distance behind them. But Nikolai could feel her hate—her guilt.

  They flew in miserable silence.

  As the lake drew near, it dawned on Nikolai that they were going to make it. That he was going to see everyone again. To have a chance to make up for all of . . . this.

  He should have been relieved. Should have been happy. But all he felt was numb, all he could hear was the muffled screams of humans being pulled into the stomachs of mechanical monsters. Of Colonel Machado cursing Nikolai to hell with his final words before taking his own life.

  “There,” Nikolai said, pointing down at the ruined house with the big charred X. He allowed the invisibility and akro weaves to melt away. The relief was so great that he almost fainted, clinging to consciousness with sheer force of will.

  They were too far away from the base to hear the sounds of fighting now—all that remained was the gentle pitter-patter of rain on leaves, of the faint splashing as little waves gently broke against the shore.

  “There?” she gasped, trembling and hyperventilating as she looked at Nikolai, then back at the house. “No. No, no, nonononono—”

  Her hands were shaking so badly that the hovercraft began to wobble unsteadily under her control.

  “Jem!” Nikolai shouted, clamping a weak hand on her shoulder. “Get a hold of yourself! Land the craft!”

  Still hyperventilating, she complied.

  They landed on the beach and she staggered out, falling to her knees as she stared up at the house.

  Nikolai came up behind her, confused . . . and then it hit him.

  “When I first got here,” he said softly. “I searched the houses, looking for supplies. I found . . . people in there. In the basement. You knew them, didn’t you?”

  She didn’t answer at first—just sat there, staring, clawed fingers digging into the sand. “They were my friends.”

  She heard something and jumped to her feet, spinning around, instantly alert.

  “What?” Nikolai said, following her gaze. She took a step back, moaning—staring at a spot over the water. There wasn’t anything there, and for a moment he wondered if she’d totally lost her mind. But then . . . he saw it. The water, running in rivulets around something—something that wasn’t there.

  With a shimmer, the teardrop ship revealed itself—hovering silently over the churning black waters. A portal formed on its side, a hole opening on the otherwise seamless surface of the craft, and a great torrent of what looked like mercury poured out, disappearing under the surface of the lake.

  Nikolai watched, frozen with horror as the immense mercurial being slowly rose from the water, fluttering metal skin taking clearer form with every step.

  Stupid. He’d been so stupid! Of course they hadn’t escaped. Of course they hadn’t snuck by. Of course it had just been following them—letting them think they were getting away so that they’d lead it back to where Nikolai had come from. So fucking obvious!

  “No . . .” Jem whispered, taking another step back. “NO!”

  She began to scream, falling back onto the ground as the giant slowly came out onto the sand, scrambling to dig something out of her pocket.

  A grenade.

  “You won’t take me!” she howled. “YOU WON’T PUT ME IN TORMENT!”

  “Jem—NO!” Nikolai screamed, stumbling back, almost falling as he moved to get away.

  She pulled the pin, opening her hand to hold it in her palm like a flower as the spoon popped off and the grenade began to sizzle. She looked up at the silver giant, wild-eyed, and grinned defiantly.

  It reached out—arm stretching impossibly long, ten feet, at least—as thin as a child’s wrist in the brief moment it took to stretch out far enough to close its metallic fingers over the grenade and snatch it away from her—flinging it back too quickly to see.

  It exploded a moment later, a distant plume of fire out over the center of the lake.

  She sat there in silent shock, staring at her empty palm as if half expecting it to explode anyway. Looking up, she reached for the pistol tucked in the back of her pants and tried to bring it up to her face, but the giant was on her, long fingers making her arms look like twigs as she struggled uselessly, firing off four shots into the air before the monster took the gun from her and tossed it aside.

  Holding her down, it looked up at Nikolai as he reached for his Focals and literally threw its arm—the fluttering mercury splitting at the elbow—striking Nikolai in the chest and melting, wrapping around his waist, binding his arm and Focals to his sides.

  Struggling, screaming, Nikolai fell to the ground, only one arm still free, the horrible living metal tightening around his waist, pinning his hand to his leg, spreading up his chest.

  It was over.

  One arm still free, Nikolai pulled himself across the sand, straining, struggling to crawl away. And then—there. He saw it. Jem’s pistol, almost within reach. With a groan, Nikolai kicked himself toward it, wrapping his hand around the grip, finger pressed against the trigger.

  “I’m sorry, Jem—I’m so sorry!”

  Looks like he’d be keeping his promise after all. Too bad it was too late to save anyone.

  Before he could lose his nerve, before the bindings could spread up his body, rendering Nikolai totally helpless, he pressed the end of the pistol against the roof of his mouth and pulled the trigger.

  Click.

  Nothing. He pulled the trigger again. And again.

  Click. Clickclickclick.

  Nothing. The pistol was out of bullets.

  “No more of that,” Armitage said, voice soothing. It loomed over him, Jem held loosely in one giant hand. It grew another arm and took the gun. The metal around Nikolai flowed up its fingertips, taking his belt and Focals along with it.

  It stepped back, looking down.

  “What are you, Nikolai Strauss? Why have you fled to this place? There’s nothing here.”

  Nikolai stared up at it, defiant. Silent.

  Staring down at him with a face like a statue, it almost seemed to sigh as it turned and walked a short distance away, where it dropped the struggling Jem onto the ground. It placed an immense foot on the side of her head. She sputtered and screamed, thrashing in the wet send.

  “I can tell when you lie, Nikolai,” it said. “Now. I’m going to ask you again. What are you?”

  “A colonist,” Nikolai said through gritted teeth. He glanced at his Focals, dangling from his belt in the Armitage monster’s hand.

  Jem’s scream changed to a squeal of pain as Armitage pressed down, increasing the pressure on her skull.

  “Please!” Nikolai begged. “Please, don’t hurt her! I made her come with me. I made her—”

  “What are you? Where do you come from?”

  “I’m—I’m an experiment, okay? From the colonial military. They—they made me! To fight your kind!”

  It made a tsking noise, increasing the pressure. Her eyes began to bulge—her squealing turning to faint, gasping chokes.

  “I’m a SYNTH! One of the others made me! One who disagrees with what you’ve done! Who thinks you’re a bunch of FUCKING MONSTERS!”

  “I can feel the bones straining,” Armitage said calmly. “Any more weight and you’ll have the pleasure of watching Ms. Burton’s eyes pop out of her skull—of watching her brains pour through her nostrils. I’ll give you one more chance. In three. Two. One—”

  “I’m a WIZARD!” Nikolai finally said. And then he started to laugh, hopeless, bitter. “A wizard, okay?” And all of a sudden he couldn’t stop laughing. Couldn’t stop chuckling at the horror of it all. The absurdity. “Abracadabra!” he wheezed, hysterical, �
��Alakazam!”

  But Armitage . . . hesitated. Slowly, gently, it removed its foot from Jem’s head. She gasped with relief and rolled onto her back, panting. It left her there—coming close to kneel beside Nikolai. Listening. Watching. As Nik laughed and laughed, tears streaming down his face.

  “Not . . . lying?” it said. Baffled.

  Nikolai tried to read the creature’s expression and wondered vaguely what it was going to do to him.

  A thread of blue light snaked through the air behind Armitage, piercing the side of its mask-face. It didn’t react—didn’t seem to feel it. Then there was another thread from the other side, going into its stomach. Then one more and—

  It screamed—a piercing, alien noise sounding neither animal nor human—and stumbled away, arching its back as the surface of its synthetic, silver flesh began to boil.

  “What? WHAT?” it managed—then the threads of light disappeared and Armitage exploded into a million blackened droplets that turned to steam that turned to dust—hitting Nikolai’s face as nothing more than a blast of hot air.

  He lay there, stunned, as Captain Jubal, Uncle Red, and Jubal’s second-in-command, Lieutenant Thane, shimmered into existence at the edge of the water.

  Red rushed over to Nikolai and pulled him into a tight embrace—openly weeping. “My boy! Oh, my boy!” he sobbed, and Nikolai just lay there, letting Red hold him—distantly thinking how strange it was to see Red crying—how he hadn’t seen him cry since they found out that Nik’s parents were dead.

  Looking past him, Nikolai saw Thane going over to check on Jem.

  Jubal, however, simply stood there, watching him. His eyes met Nikolai’s. But unlike Red, Nikolai saw no relief there. No concern, no worry.

  Just a great and terrible sadness.

  PART III.

  THE ART OF VIOLENCE

  XII.

  TERRIBLE THINGS

  Snap.

  Bright, white light. Nikolai blinked rapidly, eyes adjusting.

  Jubal snapped his fingers in front of Nikolai’s face again, then leaned back in his chair and lit up a cigarette.