Awakening

by Hayden Pearton

  *

  The ç'aether pulses had become frenzied, bathing the cave in violet light. Unbeknownst to the sleeping occupants, the temperature had begun falling rapidly. Frost coated Maloch, outlining his sleeping form with a crystalline blanket.

  “Initializing memory C-008 playback in three, two, one...”

  “Re-mech no. 76654-B, model type ARK-13, A.I. Designation: Sovereign, ready for deployment.”

  Darkness surrounds me. Suddenly, a dim green light breaks through the darkness. It pulses with a mesmerizing radiance. It means something. Something important. Slowly, the darkness fades, as more emerald lights appear. I am standing in a strange metal room, alongside two others like me. There are people here, humans, dressed in blacks and greens, with large weapons strapped to their backs. Each of them is wearing a pressurised helmet, and all of them have a small, black bag in their laps. They are soldiers, just like me.

  Probably veterans, judging from the manner in which they hold themselves. They are not afraid of death, only of failing to perform their duties. The re-mechs to my right and left are called Killo and Meddoc respectively. Killo is a combat model, like me, while Meddoc has been assigned the role of medic. We are travelling in an ODS, an Orbital Drop-Ship, or Odyssey as the troops call it, on route to the battlefield.

  This is to be my first battle, and hopefully not my last. Killo has assured me that the battle will be over quickly, as the enemy will no doubt flee at the sight of two combat re-mechs falling from the sky, raining death and destruction. Even though I have no reason to distrust him, I do not think it will go so well. Perhaps the scientists who created me did not correctly calibrate my optimism index?

  Outside, it is quiet, the kind of quiet that one can only find at the very edge of the atmosphere. Above me, the green light changes to orange. We are approaching the drop-zone. Reaching forward, I re-check my Mjolnir for what seems like the hundredth time. 300 armour-piercing, death-dealing bullets, all accounted for.

  The drop-ship rumbles, as the last vestiges of gravity give up trying to keep the ship planet-bound. We have reached maximum altitude, and only the harness bolted into my seat keeps me from floating through the zero-gravity. The others do not give any indication of distress. They have most likely done this a hundred times over.

  At last, the light changes for the last time. The red light turns the cramped compartment into a crimson blur. Hugging my Mjolnir tightly to my chest, I wait for the inevitable drop. With a small hiss and a mechanical clunk, the world appears beneath my feet. The trapdoor instantaneously deposits me into the upper atmosphere alongside my comrades. For an instant, I can see the curvature of the planet, lit by a distant sunrise.

  From my lofty perch, I can clearly see the wide blotches of pollution that have stained the planet's surface. Our destination lies at the edge of one of these blotches, a minute patch of green and blue beside a massive swath of black and purple. Finally, gravity remembers that we exist, and hastens to pull us out of the sky.

  We fall, six man-made shooting stars streaking through the atmosphere, towards their final destination. We do not belong up here, in this realm of the gods. Already, I can feel the pull of the planet, tugging on my joints, tugging at my core. For the first time, I feel home-sick. Thankfully, the feeling will not last long.

  The ground beneath us is getting closer, the cold, hard earth waiting with open arms for our fated arrival. Less than a mile to go. My human companions cannot hear it yet, but there is a fierce battle being waged below us. I hear the rumble of tank treads, the cry of sniper rifles, and the screams of the dying, all mixing together in the cacophony of war. Five hundred feet left. Three-fifty. One hundred.

  With the skill and grace of those born to fly, the humans pull their chutes. A split-second later, my core advises that I do the same. The parachute stops me dead, leaving me to float gently to the war-torn earth. Meddoc and Killo land beside me, one ready to harm, the other to heal.

  The soldiers have already rushed ahead, eager to join the battle. Cocking my weapon, I follow Killo into the war-zone. We soon draw near to a large open-air tent, in which a general is sitting at a map-covered table. The beleaguered man doesn't even look at us as he says, “Reinforcements? Speak to the lieutenant to find out where you're headed.”

  We heed his words, and quickly find the lieutenant, a young man who looks as if he graduated from the military academy the day before. “Killo, Sovereign, I want you two on the front-line, covering the troops making the assault. Meddoc, head to the Medic's tent and help out the doctor there.”

  I am apprehensive, but I dutifully follow my orders and head towards the sounds of battle. Killo takes the lead, his weapon already up and primed. A mere two minutes later, we find ourselves in the midst of the battle. The enemy has fallen back, but they will no doubt return before long.

  With fifty human soldiers and three other re-mechs, we pursue them. Maybe this won't be so bad. Maybe Killo was right? Maybe I won't have to kill anyone today?

  Suddenly, I hear a tremendous crashing sound. A man screams, “Basilisk!” From the top of the ridge, a titanic machine emerges, spewing fire and death. The tank is massive; even I would only come up to the top of its treads. It's two turrets are swivelling towards us, one for humans, one for re-mech, both lethal.

  The soldiers are scattering, fleeing before it's awesome might. I want to run too, but that would go against everything I was programmed to do. I stand up beside my brethren, five re-mechs against one of the most powerful weapons ever created by man. We aren't trying to destroy it.

  We're merely acting as shields for the retreating soldiers. In the end, that is our true purpose. To be decoys, expendable mobile shields. I hate it. I hate everything about this. The tank is readying it's shot, it's target clear. Is this my end? To be destroyed by this thing? For what? So that a few humans could live to die another day? It's not fair.

  IT'S NOT FAIR!

  Killo must have seen it in my eyes. He must have known somehow. “It is not yet your time, little brother. Live today, and fight tomorrow!”

  Before I can react, Killo moves close and shoves me hard. I fly through the air, the force of his push carrying me away from my sacrificed brethren. I watch, as time slows down and my flight stops, the solid beam of plasma that emerges from the Basilisk. Where plasma meets metal, plasma wins. In an instant, four re-mechs are reduced to smoking piles of twisted metal and charred circuit-boards.

  In an instant, my world becomes a darker place. In that instant, I raise my Mjolnir, take aim, and let the rage take over...