*
The sun crept forward towards the horizon as they walked, twisting their shadows into strange, eerie forms. The wind, which until then had been a welcome barrier against the insufferable heat, brought an almost as bad chill to the air. Now and again, they would come across another chasm in their path, but they were far smaller than the first and easily crossed. With every crossing, they encountered more and more signs of civilization; whether it be a discarded tool or battered signpost.
More than once, they came upon the remains of a campsite, the rusted pots overturned and the aluminium skinned tents torn to shreds. It was an harrying sight, and they did not linger for very long. In time, Barsch began to feel the first symptoms of sleep appear; as his vision began to cloud and his feet started to draw lines in the dusty earth. He could see similar symptoms in Alza and Kingston, though both hid it better than he. Even Maloch, normally a pillar of stamina and strength, took shorter strides and let his massive hands hang at his sides.
As Barsch stared, he started to see the damage he had missed previously. Maloch’s eyes were dimmer than when he had first seen them, and he now bore countless scratches and gashes in his once clean chassis. One in particular, running from his right shoulder to his left hip, seemed to be particularly bad, judging from the slow but steady trickle of green fluid originating from the ‘wound’. Barsch fancied that he could even see a sliver of the deep blue reactor that gave the re-mech life.
Thinking logically, it was no surprise that Maloch bore so many wounds, considering all they had been through. His -possibly- once-broken leg aside, no one else in the group seemed to have suffered as much as the re-mech.
“It must be hard, to continuously put your life on the line for humans and not even have the option to refuse.”
Until the entirety of the human race had entered the Great Sleep, re-mechs had been nothing more than slaves and soldiers, forced to comply with humanity’s every whim, no matter how dangerous or absurd.
Even after humans had gone to the stations -when the re-mechs theoretically should have been free- they had worked for the benefit of mankind. They had been programmed to toil away for five-hundred years, rebuilding a world that was not their own. And what would the humans say, when they finally awoke? “Thank you?” or “You are free now?”
Either option was as unlikely as the sun rising in the west. Most likely they would simply say, “Your next task is to...”
Curiosity overcoming his common sense, he asked, “Maloch, would you like to be free?”
Instead of the anticipated answer of “I live to serve my human masters, freedom is not a priority nor is it a goal”, Maloch turned to him and simply said, “Yes.”
Barsch had known from the moment he had met him that Maloch was not like a normal re-mech, but his answer still caught him off guard. “Well, when this is all over, you will have you freedom, I swear it.”
Although his face was made of metal and therefore emotionless, Barsch fancied he could see the gratitude in his face as he said, “Thank you, Barsch La Tergan.”
While they talked, Kingston was several feet ahead, scouting out the landscape. His travels as a young soldier had taught him much, including the importance of cherishing the quiet moments and always wearing fresh socks, but they had also taught him about the beasts of the world. He was relying on that knowledge now, as he tried to remember the hundreds of different signs that separated one animal from another. He glanced down, noting the fresh tracks in the dust. Each set of footprints was quite far from the next, suggesting that whatever had made them had quite a long stride. He knelt down, ignoring his protesting hip, and placed his hand inside one of the prints. It barely filled it.
So, whatever had left the tracks was big. Worryingly big. Another thing that worried him was the number of tracks; with his rough count coming to at least twenty separate animals. Judging from the fact that they were all heading in the same direction -west- and that they were travelling in a pack, he could tell that they would be a threat to watch out for.
Alza on the other hand, wasn’t concerned in the slightest with re-mech slavery or strange animal tracks. Instead, her eyes were focused on the horizon, as if merely staring hard enough at their destination would bring it closer. It was because of this wistful attitude that she was the first to see it.
‘It’ lay half a mile away, still somewhat obscured by a rock outcrop. As they neared, Alza could make out more details of the strange object.
It was a mining vehicle, that much was clear from the crossed pick-axes emblazoned on the blackened hull. From the way it lent to one side, it was obvious that it had been abandoned due to some mechanical problem. However, she revised her initial opinion as she drew near, noticing the gaping hole which ran along the length of the side nearest to her.
She was in the midst of analysing the vehicle when a hearty voice called out, “Would you look at that!” It was Kingston, who had managed to sidle up to her completely undetected; which was quite a feat for someone his age.
Turning to Barsch and Maloch, he yelled back, “Here! Come and take a look at this!” As he waited for them to catch up, he began to move around the vehicle, inspecting its black and red surface with a critical gaze.
When they had all gathered around the vehicle, he said, “Do you have any idea what this is?” He was met with a sea of blank stares. “Ah, young people today! This... this is a Voxner 250! I didn’t know that one still existed! And here I thought they had scrapped them all due to safety concerns!”
“Safety concerns?” asked Barsch.
The old hermit had already climbed into the two-seater cab at the front of the vehicle, and didn’t even turn around when he said, “Oh don’t worry, it’s nothing major... just some problems with the brakes that they couldn’t fix. If we keep her under 300, we should be fine...” and then, in a slightly softer voice he repeated, “Should be fine...”
“Wait, you don’t expect us to ride in it do you? What about the huge hole in the cargo bay? Plus, I’m sure it’s supposed to have more wheels than this.” Barsch’s worries went unanswered, which was worrying in itself.
Kingston, fresh from inspecting the cab, reappeared and dropped down beside Barsch. Placing an arm around him, he grandly proclaimed, “Just think of it m’boy, you’ll be one of the last people to ride in this beauty for at least five-hundred years.”
Once Kingston was out of earshot, Barsch muttered to himself, “For once, I completely agree with you,” he took another look at the ancient machine, “One of the last alright...”
Awakening Page 111