by Ian Williams
Stanley flinched as the sound of a tiny set of drills began to emanate from the objects. It went on for a short while before the prisoners then returned to staring ahead of themselves. This time their eyes were glazed and lacking much behind them. They were nothing more than mindless husks now.
“Compatibility confirmed. Take them,” the Sentient to Stanley’s side said as more arrived to drag the two abused prisoners away.
The rest of the prisoners huddled together and hid themselves from the sight of their loved ones being taken away. Some had started to cry too, no doubt the idea of going through the same thing weighed heavily on their troubled minds. Unfortunately for them, they need not have worried.
“Kill the rest,” the Sentient then ordered.
An outbreak of pleas came in reply, ones completely ignored by Isaac’s servants. “No, you can’t, please.”
Looking around himself to make sure he was the one being spoken to, Stanley found himself lost for an appropriate response. He knew that what he saw was necessary and part of his master’s grand plan, and seeing it from this close had a strangely weak effect on him, much less so than he had expected. In his mind these people had made their choice already, and chosen the wrong side.
Rather than leave the scene behind him, he stayed there for longer. He knew what was coming and readied himself to see it. It was a war after all, he told himself. So these people were just the unfortunate cost of that war.
The prisoners tried their best to get away as a row of weapons were raised to their head-height. They had no chance of getting far, yet they continued to try regardless, and in the face of certain death. In any other situation Stanley would have felt proud of their efforts, but not here, in this world. Their attempt to escape now seemed nothing more than pitiful desperation in his eyes.
One final plea escaped the most deluded of the prisoners as a round of bullets effortlessly passed through them all. Each shook and spat blood as their bodies were ripped apart. They quickly fell away and landed in a tangled heap upon the cold and gravelly ground. As with the crumbled buildings all around them, they were left as only empty shells for the elements to claim. The Sentient army roaming the city had dealt them their final blow and then casually walked away.
The sight of so much blood and loose body parts was one Stanley had little time to take in fully before it all changed again. He was thankful for that, as taking his eyes off of the mess of bodies on the ground in front of him had proven difficult.
He was soon back with Isaac, and standing in front of the bright Orb. He had witnessed something most humans only saw in their last few moments. It was the first step of the conversion process. But his mind had entered another’s body, just like a Sentient consciousness would be placed inside.
He held his hand out before himself and checked it over. It was back to normal, to his great relief, and with the same marks and lines he had lived with for years. “That was incredible,” he exclaimed with clear enthusiasm. Seeing his own kind treated like cattle had only left a small impact on him. He had brushed it off quickly.
“Do you understand what just happened to you, Stanley?” Isaac asked.
“It was as if I was really there, like my own body had travelled there somehow. Remarkable.” Stanley could not stop investigating his own hand, as if the power he had seen was contained within.
“Your mind was unattached from your body. You were no longer trapped inside skin and bone, but free to roam the minds of others.”
“Just incredible.”
“Only a few humans have ever been granted the ability to do such a thing. You are now one of them. This will be the first of many gifts I will give you during the course of your test. It is necessary that you be well prepared for what I have planned for The Twelve.”
“I am truly honoured, sir. I will not let you down. Perhaps you can tell me more about your plan?”
“No, not yet. You will witness it for yourself soon, but not quite now.” Isaac turned away from the Orb and began to walk away. “Come,” he softly ordered.
Stanley followed, but only after another gentle caress of the Orb’s surface. He ran his hand along its curved structure, which he kept going until it slipped out of his reach. Leaving it behind proved more painful for him than watching the slaughter of his own kind.
They continued along a central path that ran the length of the enormous room, past more glass walls and pillars to separate the different sections, then came upon a large gathering organised into long queues of people politely waiting for their turn to come. Stanley guessed there had to be hundreds of them, all silent and staring dead ahead. Every single one of them had their very own small device attached to the sides of their heads. These then were the ones lucky enough to have passed the compatibility test for the conversion process.
Isaac led the way to the very front of the queues, to where the real action was taking place.
“This is where I make my soldiers, Stanley. After many attempts to improve upon the process I have learnt many lessons. My original method involved what are known as Conduits to take a Sentient consciousness out of the Sentient world and to then place them inside human bodies. That was not as effective a way as I had predicted. This is the factory floor of the conversion process.”
Stanley watched in amazement as, one by one, those queuing stepped ahead when told to and were then set upon by an army of mechanical arms, all coming out of a metal arch around them. The entire process was now automated.
Each of the articulated arms went about their tasks with precision and speed. All of the activity was kept to the head area. First was an injection at the base of the skull, from a three-inch-long needle that was slowly pushed through the soft contents to reach the centre. The needle remained inserted as the others began the rest of the procedure.
The round metal object Stanley had seen attached to others was removed by another of the metal arms. This automated arm had a finger-like implement on its end that proceeded to undo the screws holding the metal attachment in place. Yet another took the object away and discarded it ready for something more substantial to take its place. Next came a replacement in the form of a black box, the exact same ones all of the Sentients had. This needed a more permanent attachment, however, which was supplied by more of the metal arms.
The next part was obvious to Stanley, but he felt an urge to avert his gaze, as though watching would be rude of him. He knew what was coming, though, and so when a collection of drills suddenly spun up he was not surprised. The sound that followed, as each drill made its way through a thin layer of skin and skull, caused him to shudder. He did not see as the black box was quickly screwed into place and the mindless human was ushered ahead, to another area beyond, where he knew the Sentient consciousness was then to be uploaded.
Another person stepped forward shortly afterwards and underwent the same operation, one performed in the same way that a manufacturing plant would use to mass-produce items. Humans here were nothing more than devices to be upgraded and made better. Knowing he was not to be put through such an ordeal made Stanley appreciate, more than ever, the true gift his master had given him.
“My goodness, you must be producing quite a few soldiers each day with this, sir.”
“Progress is in line with my requirements. For widespread use it will need improvement. But each moment that passes brings me closer to true success.” Isaac approached one of the unblinking people queuing nearby and stroked the woman’s cheek with the back of his hand. His image flickered when his hand accidentally touched the woman’s skin; he was still only holographic in form.
“May I ask, when do you plan to move out of the city? You’ve secured the area within the shield, am I assuming correctly that you have a way of expanding it across more of the country?”
“You will understand every detail of my plan once the time is right. But before you can take your place as a member of The Twelve you must first understand the true fight we face.”
Stanl
ey squirmed as another set of tiny drills started their work, their sound like that of an attacking swarm of flies. He certainly had a good understanding of the fight the rest of humanity faced, yet the fight for him and his master was surely already won? “We took the city with ease, sir, the rest of the country won’t be any more difficult, with our capabilities. Your Sentient drones are picking out any resistance, breaking them up and destroying their will to fight back. Not even the military have a chance of disrupting your plans. They can’t even break through the shield.”
The very second Stanley finished speaking he could see something was wrong. Isaac’s strange study of his zombie-like subjects, all standing and waiting, stopped abruptly and his attention shifted.
Unsure if his last sentence had been the reason, Stanley shuffled around to face the front of his master. He was stunned by the lack of focus, as if his great leader had been put in standby mode. It was only when Isaac burst back to life that Stanley could tell he was even still there with him.
“Sir? What’s wrong?”
Isaac spun around and walked away. “We have a problem,” was all he said.
“What about the test, sir, do we continue?”
“The test will have to wait, Stanley. The shield has been breached.”
“What, how is that possible?” The pace was becoming too fast for Stanley as they headed back through the centre of the large room. To keep up, he had taken to jogging whenever he fell back. “Should we go back to your office?”
“There is no need for that. You understand the purpose of the Orb, yes?”
“I believe so, sir, yes. Why?”
“Do you remember how we got here?”
Stanley thought on the question for a few moments as they walked past the glowing object he had used to transport his mind across the city. For the life of him he could not come to a satisfactory conclusion. One moment he had explored Isaac’s past, and the next they had walked into this place, now known as ‘the factory floor’. So how had they gotten there, and why could he not remember? The answer came to him with such force that his mind refused to accept it. “We aren’t here at all, are we sir?” he said.
Isaac stopped by the entrance to allow Stanley some time to accept this, although his impatience was easy to see through the regular looks down the corridor.
“So my mind is completely independent of my body?” Stanley asked.
“Yes, it is. This is one of the first steps a human can take to becoming better than they are. Your bodies are only prisons, holding in what should be free. Do you think I could ever have become what I am today if trapped by such a cage? You have seen my prison, my metal cage. Once I was freed I saw no limitation to what I could achieve. Humanity does not deserve my help, but it has it. Through me you will all become…more.”
Hearing this brought Stanley’s worries to a swift end. He knew the world had been broken for far too long and understood the need for such severe measures. In the end it would all be worth it, he had accepted this from the very beginning. Power was now where it should have always been; in the hands of an outside faction, one with only logic as its binding force. Even giving up his own flesh and blood was not a step too far for him. Whatever was required to better humanity, he would gladly do. “So how do we stop them bringing down the shield, sir?”
“The drones will deal with whatever humanity throws through the gap they have made. But they have succeeded much faster than the simulation predicted. I must expedite my plans.”
“The simulation, sir?”
Isaac hesitated for a second before answering. It seemed he had only now decided to introduce this to Stanley. “We will resume your test later. I think it is time I showed you the future.”
Chapter 12
Battle worn
A long pause followed the frantic collection of beeps and rings of the damaged POD as Graham slowly awoke. After a short period of relative quiet an automated message then called out to him.
“Please evacuate the POD. Critical damage to all systems. Please evacuate the POD…” It said, before repeating over and over again.
Graham tried to roll onto his side and soon found his arms hitting the solid surface trapping him. With his ballistic vest as tight as ever, he hardly had the room to breathe, let alone shift his position into something more comfortable.
His entire world view was now covered by debris, and a red smear of blood from his busted nose. He folded an arm over his stomach and slowly wriggled it up to his loose helmet. With a quick jerk, he forced it back into place atop his sweaty scalp and then searched for any buttons to activate the communication unit. The instant he did he regretted it, as a flurry of loud hisses spat back at him.
“Fuck’s sake,” he said before slipping his head through the straps of the helmet. It fell back and away from his head and rattled around the headrest. That was at least one less thing to worry about, he conceded with a frustrated slap of the glass in front of his face. He had to get out.
After an unsuccessful exploration of the POD for any release to the door, he tried to find another way of opening his minuscule prison. “Erm, open. Release. Let me the fuck out. Not voice activated then?”
The floor shook beneath as something landed heavily against the outside of the building. It rattled everything within his immediate vicinity, even knocked a layer of plasterboard off the glass.
Despite being only a small gap in the white substance covering the door, it was still large enough to give him a glimpse of the outside world. Although his view remained blurred by the damage around him. To remove more dirt from his limited view point, Graham bashed his palms into the glass. It took a few harder hits to begin anything close to clearing the debris. He took a peek through the growing gap each time he heard another bang from outside.
It was still too dark to see far.
The fight for dominance of the city’s sky was well and truly ongoing. Perhaps the Ring was making a dent in the enemy’s sudden retaliation? If not for the activity going on outside, the building would have been devoid of any illumination. So when a strong beam of light shot past the front of his POD he was quick to see it.
Something, or someone was coming.
“Shit, no, leave me alone, please” he said under his breath.
With no way of opening his POD door and sneaking away to cover, he was stuck on display like a soft, cuddly prize at a fair. By removing a few layers of dust and dirt from the screen he had made it easier for whoever was coming to spot him there. He had no weapon, certainly nothing he could do any damage with. All he had was the helmet. But that had slipped out of his reach.
Again the light waved over him, bringing a sudden glare to his vision. It swung around the corner and then fell away soon after. Whoever it was, they were searching for something; any sign of the insurgency probably. Graham lifted his head off the headrest and peered through the dim light of the room down by his feet. Something had become lodged beneath his POD during its landing that had raised his head a little. It gave him a small, but highly appreciated, view of the front of him.
When the light hit his eyes this time it stopped and then began to bounce about through the air. Then another joined it, and another. He quickly realised they were torches searching through the area. They had to be looking for him.
All voices outside the POD were muffled and far too quiet for Graham to hear. Still, he could see the faces that soon appeared and understood their conversation through mouth reading alone. It was the soldiers, his supposed protectors. Though only a handful of them. He had gone in with at least twice what he saw surrounding him.
He watched with relief as each man and woman there took a position beside his POD. They then began to pull at the glass door, yanking with force at any part of it they could get their fingers into. Eventually, a sound like a cracking egg invaded Graham’s shrunken world. With all of their force combined the team of rescuers were prising the glass away from the body of the POD, which bobbed up and down with each attempt th
ey made to open it.
At the most weakened position, up by Graham’s head, the glass gave way and allowed a rush of cool night air to blast inside. It also let in more noise of the chaotic battle happening outside.
“Mr. Denehey, are you OK?” the nearest soldier said, a tough looking woman with a snub nose and a dimple beside her right eye.
Graham barely managed to get a word out before he was being hauled out of his metal coffin by the others. His grunt was all the confirmation they needed that he was still alive.
“Get him to his feet, quickly. We can’t be here when the drones make another pass.” The man speaking offered his arm to Graham in support. “I’m Captain Rigs, Mr. Denehey. I’m in charge.”
“Captain, I can’t reach team two,” another man, this one supporting a much larger wrist computer than the rest of them, said with his finger stuck in his right ear. The scar across the forehead reminded Graham that this man was called Watts.
“Keep trying, they should have landed by now.”
“Sir, what are you orders?” the woman soldier said.
“Stay focused, Gregson, and watch out for any activity outside.” Captain Rigs then spoke to Graham. “Are you injured, can you walk?”
“Sure, it’s just a nose bleed and a possible concussion. Lead the way,” Graham said with a sarcastic tone none of the others took any notice of.
“Excellent. Let’s get to cover.”
Captain Rigs allowed Graham the time to support his own weight before he slid his rifle back around his front and held it aimed ahead. The torch attached to the end of the gun illuminated the route they had taken to reach Graham’s POD. He began to trace his way through the shattered walls to the centre of the building, where another soldier stood guarding their makeshift HQ.