Survival Machines

by Ste Sharp

  He paused to let the idea sink in.

  ‘So each dome is full of species from the same part of the galaxy?’ Samas asked.

  ‘It’s highly likely,’ Delta-Six replied.

  John turned to peer through the crowd at the vast landscape where the distant domes emitted a faint light.

  ‘Going by what we’ve seen of the process at work here,’ Delta-Six continued, ‘there’s a high level of organisation, so sectioning up the galaxy to create harvest zones would make sense.’

  ‘Harvest zones?’ Euryleia asked with a look of horror. ‘You think we have been reared and brought here like some prize pig?’

  More questions came and voices rose as Delta-Six tried to calm them all. John looked at Althorn and realised this must have been how he felt when he read the first obelisk. Delta-Six was trying to give some answers, but each one opened up more questions.

  ‘We could get a better fix on our date if we used pulsars, but our Earth date is irrelevant.’

  John expected Althorn or Samas to step forward and quieten the group but it was Lavalle who made the move, still wearing his night-black armour.

  ‘Quieten down,’ his deep voice cut through the voices. ‘We have a great deal to understand,’ he looked up at the huge shape of the dome which blocked out a quarter of the sky, ‘and how we got here is just the start, but – just as when we were inside the dome – we need to fix our priorities and I say we need rest, shelter, water and food.’

  ‘Typical quartermaster,’ Crossley joked and was met with a schoolteacher glare from Lavalle.

  ‘We intend to form a plan of action,’ Nine-five replied.

  ‘Meaning the leaders will discuss our next steps?’ Lavalle asked.

  John could see the knight was still smarting from being ousted from the hierarchy after the Black Sword revelation. Lavalle’s last kill might have been an execution, not a battle-kill, but that didn’t mean he was a bad leader.

  ‘I will discuss potential next steps with Jakan-tar,’ Nine-five said, ‘and Samas.’

  ‘And Delta-Six too, no doubt?’ Crossley said. ‘Who – no offence, big man – turned up at our battle in the last minute to book his passage through the gates, while Lavalle here,’ he gestured, ‘led his tocka to defend the ford and spearheaded the cavalry attacks.’

  Lavalle looked as surprised as John by Crossley’s defence.

  ‘And me,’ a gruff voice shouted from the back.

  Gal-qadan rode his tall tocka through the crowd. ‘I deserve my place on this army council,’ he said.

  ‘If the council grows any bigger, we may as well have an open forum,’ Delta-Six said. ‘We need Peronicus-Rax and the brothers to guide us as well.’

  ‘So be it,’ Nine-five said. ‘The humans constitute the largest portion of the army but can have no more than four representatives. Now, we have other matters to discuss, including…’

  Crossley turned to John and whispered in his ear, ‘It’s all a bit suspicious if you ask me.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘The Lutamek needed our help to get out of the dome, and now they let us have more people on the council? They didn’t put up much of a fight, did they?’

  ‘But that’s what you argued for,’ John said.

  Crossley shrugged. ‘But what else is going on here, eh?’ He nodded to the carts full of large metal spheres. ‘I mean, what are they? Bombs? What if the Lutamek have their own agenda?’

  John didn’t know how to reply. There might have been plenty to distrust in the dome – the creatures, the shape-shifters and the Brakari – but surely the alliance with the Lutamek and Sorean had become stronger after their victory? John stared out across the huge vista and realised how small they really were.

  ‘We need each other,’ John said, but Crossley wasn’t listening.

  Nine-five was projecting a new hologram, this time of a deep-red ball of flame.

  ‘We didn’t have long to take readings,’ Delta-Six said, ‘but some of Ten-ten’s images back up our theory that this world is orbiting a strange type of sun.’

  ‘How strange?’ Lavalle asked.

  ‘It’s a rare star,’ Delta-Six said. ‘And not one noted for harbouring habitable planets.’

  ‘A red-dwarf star,’ Nine-five added.

  ‘Is that why we had so little light in the dome?’ Crossley asked.

  ‘No,’ Nine-five replied, ‘the shell inhibited certain light waves.’

  ‘And the clouds?’ Lavalle asked.

  Delta-Six replied. ‘My guess is the clouds were camouflaging the structure of the dome.’

  ‘But why was the sky green?’ Jakan-tar asked.

  ‘That’s easy,’ Crossley said with a laugh. ‘With all that moisture in there it has to be algae on the glass of the dome, right?’

  ‘Yes,’ Nine-five said, ‘even a constructed environment of such complexity had weaknesses. As for the star – we will observe it tomorrow and report our findings.’

  ‘And then what?’ John asked.

  ‘Then,’ Nine-five replied, ‘we will prepare for a journey to the location most likely to hold the answers to our questions.’

  ‘Where?’ John asked, along with many others.

  Nine-five’s huge arm swung up and pointed towards the cluster of domes.

  John peered between the warriors and saw the glowing needle of the tower.

  Chapter 2

  When morning came, the red sun warmed the worn sole of John’s right boot. The rays crept up his dusty trousers, across the coat he had wrapped around his body and up to his eyes, which tightened before blinking and opening.

  He sat up and rubbed the sleep out of his eyes.

  ‘Ow… dammit!’

  It wasn’t the first time he had poked himself in the eye with the muzzle of his gun-arm. He rested it on his lap and rubbed his face with his good hand. It was going to take more time to get used to the changes, he thought as he uncovered his metal arm to warm it up in the sun. It always moved better when warmer.

  John scanned his companions and wondered how they were getting on with their new skills, or if any new ones had appeared? Back in the dome there hadn’t been any new ‘mutations’, as Nine-five had called them, by the time they fought the Brakari. But that didn’t mean the existing changes had stopped. John could have sworn his gun was still changing, becoming more rounded, more arm-like.

  A silhouette moved across his view as a Lutamek patrol walked by; guards of varying sizes and species had been on watch throughout the night, wary of what might be on the prowl in this new world outside the dome. John’s eyes drifted to the almost-endless view beyond the camp, where the distant domes glittered like dew-covered eggs. The sharp, white tower was clear too in the daylight, poking up behind a cluster of domes. What was it? he wondered. It was the total opposite of the broad domes and somehow reminded him of the first obelisk on the hill in the dome.

  John listened to the snuffles of the tocka and growls of the Sorean as the soldiers slowly roused from their sleep. He watched the stars fade as the orange–blue sky slowly painted out the black night. Several moving stars caught his attention, some in clusters. Were these the satellites Delta-Six had mentioned or could they really be spaceships from other worlds?

  ‘Good morning, John Greene,’ a voice spoke softly.

  Althorn pulled his hood back.

  ‘Morning, Althorn,’ John replied and made a conscious effort not to stare at the Celt’s eyepatch.

  ‘A great view, isn’t it?’

  John raised his eyebrows as he replied. ‘A lot to take in, if I’m honest. Have you explored far?’

  Althorn shook his head and sat next to John. ‘Not yet. I need to build my strength up and, like you,’ he gestured at John’s robotic leg, ‘I need to adjust to my changes.’

  A sound by the storage containers behind him made John turn, but he saw nothing move.

  ‘I think the weather here will be drier than in the dome,’ Althorn said.

  ‘Well, no mud soun
ds good to me!’ John replied, and gave Althorn a smile, remembering the earthen walls of the trenches, the rat holes and the body parts floating in puddles. ‘What are we going to do for water though? And food?’ His stomach growled at the thought.

  ‘This land is barren,’ Althorn said. ‘There may be roots we can dig up and desert animals to catch, but little else.’ He shook his head slowly. ‘Not enough to feed an army.’

  John searched for landmarks in the space between their vantage point and the nearest domes, but could see none. He heard the strange bubbling sound again, but ignored it. ‘What I don’t understand,’ he said eventually, ‘is where everyone else is?’

  ‘Who?’

  ‘The victorious soldiers. Like the ones who beat the Brakari first time round. Did they just walk off into the desert, or did whoever brought us here take them away? There aren’t any clues… no obelisks or signs. Not even any rubbish.’

  ‘Tell me about it.’ Crossley joined the conversation as he sat up and brushed the dust from his hair. ‘That’s exactly the sort of question we should be asking Peronicus-Rax and those… armadillos. They’ve been out here before, right?’

  ‘But they went back into the dome,’ Althorn said.

  ‘Yeah, about that – anyone ask them why?’ Crossley asked.

  John shrugged and looked over to where the gurgling sound had started up again.

  ‘I’ll have a talk with Samas,’ Crossley said, ‘and make sure he asks the right questions.’

  John stood up and walked through the stirring soldiers to the pile of crates, following the bubbling sound, with Althorn and Crossley beside him. Althorn pointed to the right, so John lowered his gun and stepped to the left. He could hear a deep noise that sounded like a voice mixed with the popping sound. Then he saw the broad barrel with two feet sticking out, each with wiry roots on their soles.

  ‘Mata!’ John rushed forward.

  ‘Is he stuck?’ Althorn asked.

  John shook his head and remembered the awesome, Brakari-shell-crushing war machine Mata had become during the battle. That mass of bark, vines and spines should have no trouble with this barrel.

  John listened carefully and whispered, ‘I think he’s asleep.’

  ‘Sounds like snoring to me!’ Crossley said. ‘But are you man enough to wake him up?’

  ‘Err… no, I won’t give it a go.’ John remembered Mata’s face when he’d accidentally woke him up on their first morning in the dome.

  Althorn peered into the barrel. ‘There’s only a finger of water left.’

  ‘Which we don’t want to waste,’ Crossley said.

  ‘I know who we need!’ John said and rushed off.

  Two minutes later, he returned with Two-eight-four, the Lutamek he had saved from the Brakari and who had given John metal from his body for his false leg.

  ‘We just need to pick him out,’ John said, pointing at Mata’s feet.

  ‘Maybe set a force field,’ Crossley suggested. ‘He’s grumpy when he wakes up.’

  Two-eight-four gave a nod but remained silent, as was his way, as he reached down to pluck Mata out of the barrel. His giant metal hand wrapped around the Maori’s thick ankles and John stepped back as the warrior was raised out, water dripping off him. Despite the armoured bark and needle-sharp spines which covered his arms and back, Mata looked more human again. His face had returned to normal, John noticed as Mata snuffled twice and stretched, pushing an array of vines out of his branch-like elbows and twig fingertips. Then he opened his weary eyes.

  ‘John,’ he said and frowned, ‘you can fly now?’

  John smiled and turned his head round. ‘No, my friend, you’re upside down!’

  ‘Oh.’ A flash of embarrassment crossed Mata’s face.

  He sent out two thick vines from his wrists to the ground and Two-eight-four released his ankles, letting Mata deftly cartwheel to the ground, back onto his feet.

  ‘Ah!’ He stretched again and faced the rising sun. ‘That feels better,’ he said with a grin.

  John watched Mata take in his surroundings: the distant domes; the desert; their dome.

  ‘Tane-Mahuta!’ he said and gave it a long, hard stare. Eventually, he turned to John with a broad smile. ‘So we won then?’

  ‘Yep!’ John replied.

  ‘Couldn’t have done it without you, friend,’ Crossley said but stayed a few feet away.

  ‘You fought well,’ Althorn added.

  Mata gave a nonchalant twist of the head and started picking through the boxes next to his barrel. ‘I had fun, but things got a little out of hand towards the end… I needed to go defensive.’

  ‘But you survived,’ John said, picturing Mata when they had found him: a broad, charred stump of thick bark.

  ‘Thanks to this new…’ Mata gestured at the bark across his chest and shrugged. ‘Li called it an adaptation, am I right?’

  ‘A mutation,’ Two-eight-four said.

  ‘But a mutation would be random,’ Crossley said, folding his arms and facing the robot. ‘What happened to us was useful – well, kinda useful – every time. That’s not random.’

  Mata was busy searching through the boxes, so Crossley turned to John.

  ‘Your gun was useful, right? And your speed, Althorn?’

  ‘Yes, but the root cause wasn’t speed, was it?’ Althorn looked at Two-eight-four. ‘At least that was what Ten-ten told us.’

  ‘I was not present when our species met,’ Two-eight-four replied.

  ‘No,’ John said, picturing Two-eight-four when he had first seen him as a Brakari slave, ‘nor was I.’

  ‘Well,’ Crossley said, ‘your friend, Ten-ten? He… Ten-ten is a he, right?’

  Two-eight-four bleeped and whirred for a second then said, ‘We Lutamek have no gender.’

  ‘Oh, that sucks,’ Crossley replied. ‘Anyway, Ten-ten told us about our adaptations. I had two… my sinuses got bigger and my vocal cords lengthened. So I can create sonic waves high enough to go through solid matter and, wait for it… feel the responding waves in my sinus cavity.’ He looked from soldier to soldier, waiting for a reaction. ‘How can that be chance? Two mutations leading to one ability!’

  ‘They are still mutations,’ Two-eight-four replied.

  ‘And you’re an expert on these changes, I’m guessing, right?’ Crossley’s cheeks had reddened.

  ‘No,’ Two-eight-four replied in its monotone voice, ‘but I have access to the shared Lutamek info-base and know that the RNA, DNA and mitochondrial DNA within your cells have mutated on hundreds of occasions, two of which were coercive manipulations: once during your lifetime; and once during the time of an ancient ancestor.’

  Crossley shook his head. ‘What does that even mean?’ He looked to John for answers but he just raised his eyebrows. It was all way over his head.

  ‘You talk of new skills?’ Another soldier, intrigued by the conversation, had walked over to join in. John remembered seeing him fight with Kastor but wasn’t sure they’d talked. ‘Yet I have no new skill,’ he said.

  ‘You are Osayimwese?’ Two-eight-four asked.

  The tall, dark warrior nodded.

  ‘I have no record of you possessing any mutated genes, but I can check again if you wish?’ Two-eight-four asked.

  ‘No.’ Osayimwese raised a hand. ‘Thank you. I am happy without.’ He glanced at John’s gun-arm and gave him a sympathetic look.

  ‘Your change might not be physical though,’ John said. ‘Just look at Mihran and what he could do.’

  Osayimwese nodded but was clearly distracted by Mata, who had found what he was looking for and was now noisily tucking into a box of dried deer meat.

  ‘Hey, don’t eat all the rations!’ Crossley shouted and took a step forward.

  Mata stopped eating and glared at him with wide eyes.

  Crossley stepped back. ‘Okay, but, why’re you eating meat anyway? You’re a plant, right?’

  Mata shook his head and carried on chewing.

  Althorn wal
ked over and took a strip of meat for himself.

  ‘But what if we had lots of changes?’ John asked, horrified at the thought.

  ‘It is possible,’ Two-eight-four said, ‘that one genetic mutation can manifest itself in a host of different ways.’

  Althorn rubbed his beard and said, ‘Or one change can be used in different ways? My fast metabolism,’ he gave the jerky in his hand a look, ‘means I can move at incredible speed… but also means I can digest poisons quicker.’

  ‘Good point,’ Crossley said. ‘Hey, Two-eight-four, have you guys had any mutations? I mean, you’re mostly metal but what about your fleshy bits?’

  ‘Yes, we have witnessed numerous new traits,’ Two-eight-four replied and started to walk away, ‘but evolution doesn’t truly manifest itself until the offspring carry the changes to the next generation.’

  ‘Right,’ Crossley said and looked at the others, ‘like that’s gonna happen round here any time soon!’

  *

  Samas flexed the fingers on his shield hand as he marched with the army, noting the earthy colour where the clay cast had absorbed into his skin. Snaps and crunches as each knuckle clicked into place told of the power he now held in his fist.

  He relaxed his hand, sighed and took in the men and women he now commanded as they walked in the morning sun, keeping the immense dome on their left. In a central column, Lutamek soldiers pulled the carts carrying the injured and their meagre rations, flanked by the bulk of the Sorean army bounding along on the dome side and the human soldiers stomping on the other. A low cloud of dust ebbed away behind them, flowing away from the dome.

  These were good soldiers, Samas thought, who deserved a strong leader. His eyes moved from face to face, wishing Li was still here to share her knowledge and help him understand the new world he found himself in. He caught a glimpse of Nine-five walking amongst the Lutamek, and for a second he missed Mihran’s presence too.

  Samas thought back to his previous army, the men who’d followed him at Issus and the children who had played at the rear of the army. What had happened to them? he wondered. Had Alexander’s army taken them prisoner? Had they been killed or assimilated into the new empire Li had told him about?