Humanity Rising

by A. R. Knight

  Sax gets this information from the mask without feeling it, as the transparent suit does its best to keep Sax’s body at prime operating temperature. The mask also blunts the smell of burning things, letting Sax focus on what lies ahead - namely a forest of branching paths, doors, and ramps leading to other levels.

  Nearly all of these entrances and exits have shifting signs next to, hanging over, or imprinted on the floor. Only a couple appear to be on, and that’s because cargo sleds are heading their way, with the signs displaying shipment names and directions.

  Except everything’s stopped now, and dozens of eyes stare down the corridor at them.

  “Are you always this obvious?” Agra-Red says. “Of course it has a control center. We just have to find where that is.”

  “I liked you better when you couldn’t talk.”

  “I’ve never liked you at all.”

  Bas has no time for them, apparently, as she takes off running. Sax follows, because what else can he do except chase the one he loves? Behind them, Agra-Red yells for them to slow down, but every second means more guards, and the Whelk’s not worth mission failure.

  “Where are you going?” Sax hisses ahead to his pair as she pads past the first split in the corridor, with ramps on either side moving up and down.

  “The Amigga are obsessed with being at the center of their creations,” Bas says. “If this place has a control, it’s going to be as close to that middle as we can get.”

  “What about the Meridia?” Sax asks. “The Chorus sits at the top.”

  Bas skids to a stop, glares at Sax. “They live in the middle. Trust me, Sax.”

  He’s never had a problem doing that, and doesn’t have a problem now, so when Bas resumes her run, Sax follows.

  They pass by those cargo sleds, and the Flaum piloting them don’t bother to shout. Neither do the uniformed workers moving from one station to another, nor the delegation of what looks like inspectors, leading their furry Flaum selves around the station in all-white uniforms.

  No, the first obstacles come as they near the end of the corridor. A trio of Flaum, but ones in heavy exo-suits. Sax almost laughs - these are Vincere relics, used before the Oratus came to power to give Flaum some combat advantage. They’re black-metal and give the Flaum an extra two meters of height, made for exploration and hostile suppression.

  Normally, Sax would expect to see a wide shoulder rack sporting miners on the exo-suits. These don’t carry any laser weapons, though, and instead look to have had those racks melted and refined into large hammers, making a pair of them per suit. Sax supposes they might have industrial applications, but these three are clearly lined up to prevent the charging Oratus from getting through the smaller door behind them.

  It’s hard to know what’s funnier - the idea that three Flaum could stand up to the Oratus alone, or that they thought these exo-suits would give them a chance.

  “Left,” Sax hisses as they get closer.

  Bas takes the hint, and when they’re a dozen steps away from the Flaum, who are raising their slow fists to do... something, the two Oratus leap onto the walls, their talons and claws biting through the sides as they keep scrambling forward.

  The Flaum in their iron workhorses don’t, can’t respond fast enough. Sax is on the left, and his target makes a clumsy, lumbering step-and-swing at him. The aim is low, and would be barely enough to clip Sax’s lower claws if the Oratus didn’t jump from the wall and land on the outstretched, punching arm. With a twist as his claws tear through the metal, Sax rips the construct’s arm out of its socket.

  Unfortunately, the Flaum’s machine has a second arm, and it backs up its fallen partner, swiping down at Sax, whose ridden his victim limb to the floor, as the Oratus throws away the busted first arm. Lying flat on his back, Sax digs in with his talons and kicks, scooting himself out of the way of the hammer blow, towards the Flaum and its suit. When the Flaum’s fist hits the floor, it splinters the chromed tiles like they’re made of glass. What the fist doesn’t do is stop Sax from planting his foreclaws on the ground behind his head and using the momentum and their leverage to flip himself up and over.

  Sax flips onto the exo-suit’s chest, with the Flaum getting a terrible view of Sax’s talons. The Oratus commences tearing, aiming for any wires. Sparks fly and pop into Sax’s mouth, each one stinging with victory. He feels the exo-suit slant to the side as the right leg loses power, and Sax is about to scale up and go for the pilot when something slams into the back of the exo-suit and tips it forward.

  Sax can’t get away - his claws are all caught mid-rend - and the whole suit falls on top of him, pinning the Oratus to the ground. The glass shield blocking the Flaum shatters, pressing the furry creature against Sax’s torso as the Oratus tries to breath. The exo-suits, it turns out, are heavy, and Sax isn’t in position to move it.

  The pressure on Sax’s vents is too intense; all his air’s going away. Sax snaps at the exo-suit with his mouth, but it’s a futile gesture - all that’s there is metal, and there’s no way he’ll be able to get himself free before he suffocates, even if the mask keeps the weight from crushing his bones.

  Of all the ways to die. Killed by a Flaum.

  Heat burns through the exo-suit, and Sax feels the Flaum pilot eject itself, run through the metal cage that had been stabilizing that glass windshield. The heat, though, doesn’t die away, and suddenly the exo-suit feels lighter, a clanging bang sounding through the hallway as its other arm drops away to the floor.

  “C’mon you dumb Oratus,” Agra-Red’s voice carries. “I don’t have enough power to cut the whole thing apart. Lift!”

  A bit of inspiration can go a long way when it comes to strength. Sax takes the prodding of the Whelk and pushes. The exo-suit moves slightly. All four claws, talons and tail, though, aren’t enough to get himself clear. Still, that tiniest of spaces is enough for Sax to open his bruised vents and suck some much needed air.

  “Can’t!” Sax manages to hiss.

  “Your pair’s busy with the other two,” Agra-Red counters. “You want her to die? No? Then get yourself going.”

  There’s another blast of heat, and the foot of the exo-suit falls off near Sax’s head. Those few kilograms, coupled with the adrenaline-fear for Bas and the breath of fresh air, give Sax enough motivation to try another heave. This time, rather than lifting the suit straight up, he goes for a squeeze, sliding himself along the floor as he tilts the suit ever-so-slightly. Just enough for him to slip out.

  Enough for Sax to stand, look and see Bas leaning against the far wall, laughing, while the Whelk is shaking its head, its heavy assault miner glowing from its own heat.

  “She told me you have to learn to be patient,” Agra-Red burbles. “You’re diving right in without playing the battlefield. You could have waited for me to burn down each of those things from a safe distance - or did you not notice they only had big clubs?”

  Bas... watched him? Sax nearly died there. He looks at his pair, knowing frustration, betrayal’s showing on his sharp, gray-scaled face.

  “Stop it,” Bas hisses when she notices. “You almost got yourself killed this time. Next time you go leaping in without thought, you might risk all of us.”

  “What was I supposed to do?”

  “See the strategy!” Bas roars back. “Communicate with me, with our allies. Work as a team, for once.”

  Sax shakes his head. Teamwork? Bas is his pair. They are a team, always. He takes a breath, is about to tell her exactly what she can do with her suggestion, when Agra-Red wheels around and takes a pot-shot with his miner into the heavy door blocking their way forward.

  “Anyone have an idea for this one?” the Whelk asks. “If you’re all done with your relationship problems, I mean. Otherwise I’m happy to wait until the hordes descend upon us.”

  Sax has a usual method for getting through doors; namely, his claws and hacking and slashing with them until an opening presents itself. This door, as Sax discovers with a few trial swipes, i
s both chrome-plated and full of thick, reinforced metal behind. There’s no way they’re getting through.

  A quick glance back down the wide corridor shows a bunch of Flaum heading their way - Cavignum’s guards finally catching on and coming to defend their station. Which means there’s only one way for them to go: up the ramps.

  “Follow me!” Sax hisses, and starts off.

  Once again, Bas gets to play carrier for the Whelk, hustling the gel creature as the two Oratus run and leap up the cargo ramps. The first jump brings Sax up to the slanted surface of the ramp, then a couple of steps gets him to another corridor, similar to the first but instead of a soft orange glow from pulsing energy, this bears a blue tint from the translucent cables lining the hall - the power starting to pump into battery packs and outbound connections.

  Coupled with the chrome, it’s a beautiful array of colors shifting between the cold spectrum. One that Sax could watch for more than a second if doing so wouldn’t result in him being turned to molten mush by a pack of angry guards.

  There’s one more set of ramps, though, so Sax makes another leap, hearing the shriek of Bas’s talons as they grip the metal behind him. Then they’re at the top level, and here the light’s a standard, dull yellow-white; the energy by this point refined to its usable level. And, like the lower levels, there’s a door.

  The difference? This one’s open.

  Standing next to the control panel, with a small miner pressed to a Flaum guard’s head, is Plake.

  “Took you long enough,” Plake says. “Let’s go.”

  “How?” Sax manages to ask.

  “Everyone went chasing after you, so I made a friend here who told me which doors would be the last to lock in an emergency,” Plake says. “So we came to this one, and once I heard your manic hissing, I figured you’d be coming my way.”

  There’s plenty of noise coming as the guards make their way around and up the ramps, so Sax, Bas, and Agra-Red - whom Bas dumps on the ground as soon as they stop - dash through the door. Plake slips through after them, dragging her hostage with her, and tells the Flaum to shut and lock the door.

  Then they take a look at what’s around them, and Sax’s hearts fall.

  Batteries stack in front of them, the sapphire ends of the piled cylinders indicating they’re charged and ready for shipping. This section is a vast ring, one that starts its curl as Sax looks to the left and right, a curl that slowly shifts in color, the stacked batteries showing less charge as the ring goes ‘round.

  The walls behind the batteries are massed cables, shunting energy refined on prior levels from pure heat to the batteries meant to store them. Above, through what Sax assumes must be meter-thick glass, glows Cavignum’s great orange ball. This close, Sax can make out the thin lines holding together the nano-netting meant to capture and hold the font of heat coming from Aspicis’ core.

  What this technological wonder doesn’t have for them, though, is terminals. Wherever the control center might be, it’s not here.

  “We need the control center,” Sax hisses at Plake’s hostage.

  The Flaum cowers at first, but finds its spine somewhere in its dark blue uniform. “You’re three levels too high. It’s underneath, where it’s safer.”

  “Any good ideas on how to get there?” Agra-Red says to the hostage. “Think hard, cause your life depends on it.”

  And, given the sudden banging on the door behind them, their own might too.

  “Think while we move,” Bas says, a suggestion they act on.

  Unlike the earlier corridors, though, the central battery ring isn’t lined with doors. As they move, Sax catches the battery colors fading from blue to green, and eventually to yellow and still no exit. Finally, with only an endless chromed wall on their left and infinite batteries on their right, Sax hisses for them all to stop.

  “Is there a way out of here?” Sax asks the hostage, who lets loose a chittering cackle.

  “One way in and out,” the Flaum says. “The batteries funnel up here, and then they’re taken out the door we came in.”

  “Funnel up from where?”

  The Flaum, though, shakes its head. Plake shoves the miner against its side, enunciates the threat with a deadly whisper, but the Flaum only replies with another brisk shake.

  “Not telling you anymore,” the Flaum says. “I’m going to die anyway for getting you this far.”

  “We’re trying to help you all,” Plake tries, shifting to diplomacy from her more aggressive means. “Taking down the Chorus is going to help the galaxy.”

  “That’s what you think? That taking away the only security we’ve ever known is going to help us?” The Flaum chitters another weak laugh.

  Sax tears the creature from Plake’s grasp, tosses it down the ring, back the way they came. “We don’t have time for this.”

  Plake takes a look back towards the hostage, as if she’s thinking about getting the Flaum back, but then the furry creature gets to its feet and starts to run. Plake raises the miner, then shakes her head, holsters it.

  “Let’s go,” the Vyphen says. “Some people will never understand.”

  “They will, when we win,” Agra-Red adds as they get back to their run around the ring.

  It’s not hard to find the funnel the hostage mentioned; it’s a wide gap in the line of batteries, filled partly by chromed scaffolding and a lifting mechanism. A look down shows a dead batteries being loaded far below by precise conveyors.

  “It’s a tight fit,” Bas says, peering in.

  “You see another way?” Agra-Red says. “Cause I don’t, and I’m not wearing a mask, so I’d rather not get shot.”

  As if hearing the Whelk, the rapid pounding of feet on metal echoes around the ring. Agra-Red slimes its way closer to the gap, starts to look at how it can fit in there. Plake draws her miner, covers behind them, while Sax and Bas look the other way.

  “Can you make it?” Plake asks the Whelk.

  “Not a problem for a gooey thing like me,” Agra-Red says. “You’re tiny too, captain.”

  “Don’t call me tiny.”

  “Facts are facts,” Agra-Red replies. “As for the big monsters, don’t know about you.”

  “Go,” Sax hisses. “We’ll figure it out.”

  Adding to the mystery, the rapid footsteps have stopped, seemingly just around the ring’s bends. There’s a heartbeat or three of nothing, then a very clear scratching of a heavy nail on metal. A sound Sax knows, because it’s one he’s been making this entire time.

  “Leave,” Sax says. “Now.”

  “Don’t have to tell me twice,” Agra-Red says, and the Whelk disappears down the gap, slipping and sliding its slimy self along the bars.

  “Get through this alive,” Plake says as she follows the Whelk. “Never thought I’d say this about a pair of claw-mongers, but we need you.”

  The Vyphen, winged arms fluttering, disappears, leaving Sax and Bas alone in the hallway. The scratches are coming, deliberately loud now. Sax uses the threat to take his own look down the battery gap.

  There’s no question - the Oratus, standing three meters tall, with thick tails, are never going to fit through there. Not unless Sax gets to carving a wider hole, and there’s no time for that. There’s no time for anything, anymore.

  On either side of them, standing alone in the center of the corridor, are two mirrored Oratus’. Their scales reflect the batteries and white lighting, giving them a shimmering appearance, with their outlines showing as slight distortions in what Sax can see. With their every move, the light bends and twists around them, so Sax can barely tell where the creature is, much less where it’s going to be.

  “Only two of you?” Sax hisses, looking at the one facing him, knowing Bas is doing the same to the one looking at her.

  Their tails touch, ever so slightly.

  “More than enough to deal with a couple of Vincere traitors,” says his Oratus, and Sax recognizes the voice, the same one from the train station. “Where’s the rest
of your band?”

  “I told them we didn’t need their help to take care of you.”

  Kah hisses a laugh - unlike Sax’s own, it’s a strange thing, distorted and mechanical. These creatures might be alive, but they are designed just like the machines moving the batteries around them even now.

  “At least you still have your confidence,” Kah says. “But do you still have your intelligence? The Chorus has an offer for you: in exchange for what you know about your leader, Evva, and her plans, the Chorus is willing to see you sent back to your former post.”

  “Not going to happen.”

  “No? We have a lead on the Sevora homeworld, Sax. Come back to us now and you can still make it to the end of the war you’ve been fighting your entire life.”

  The Sevora homeworld? Sax wasn’t sure that even existed - he’d resigned himself to finding the last of the little slugs on some drifting seed ship somewhere. How the Sevora had managed to keep an entire planet hidden this long...

  No. That’s not the point. He’s not fighting that war any longer.

  “I’m not fighting for the Chorus anymore,” Sax says. “I’m fighting for our species. For the lives we deserve to lead.”

  Sax expects another laugh, or another offer. What he gets instead is a slight bow.

  “I respect a warrior with a cause, even if they are a traitor to their own,” Kah replies.

  “Can you kill him already?” Bas whispers. “Every second we’re talking here, Plake and Agra-Red are in danger down there.”

  A single mirrored Oratus nearly cost Sax his life. Now there’s two, and Bas doesn’t know what she’s up against. And unlike the train station, there’s no space for a miner standoff. It’s going to be up close and brutal. Before Sax can give her any warnings, though, their enemies burst forward, striking with a long swipe of their sharp claws as they dart in.

  With slight pressure on his tail, Sax knows which way Bas is going to go, and he leaps right, dodging the swipe and ending up against the ring’s outer wall. Bas clings to the inside, hanging above the empty hole for the batteries, while the two mirrored Oratus sit in the middle, each one turning to face their respective target.