Survival Machines

by Ste Sharp

  ‘But we are safe here,’ Panzicosta said but felt a conflict within.

  The mist faded and Praahs said, ‘We should talk of war now.’

  Was Praahs right? Panzicosta thought. He looked at the Tathon army and the myriad species of soldier aliens and felt kinship with them. He looked to the three leaders and felt… love. He admired their successes and command, their decisions and their orders – Praahs was right! This was not his natural behaviour.

  ‘What do we do?’ he asked.

  ‘We do what we do best – we fight,’ Praahs replied.

  The ram sprang into life again overhead and sent the world shaking about them. Only this time the clouds were pierced with a dark rain.

  ‘Get under cover!’ Praahs shouted and barged Panzicosta towards the centre of the protective dome.

  Panzicosta’s new eyes focussed as the rain hit the shield: huge shards of dagger-shaped glass shattered and splintered and bounced harmlessly to the ground.

  ‘Some kind of shell?’ Panzicosta asked.

  ‘And soon we will be free of it,’ Praahs replied.

  *

  ‘There is more,’ Ten-ten said as Isao rested on a metal bench in the sunlight. ‘The alternate matter is an energy source.’

  Through trying to gain as much information about his captured allies as possible, Isao had become Ten-ten’s sounding board. Isao drank another tube of pink liquid, holding back his gagging reflex as he tried not to picture what it was made from.

  ‘It powers the domes?’ Isao asked.

  ‘Quite possibly,’ Ten-ten replied as he tinkered with more devices, ‘but its unique properties have other uses, especially at these concentrations.’

  Ten-ten had been open with his knowledge, just as the Lutamek had been when they had searched the starships parked outside the dome – how the disc had been built to orbit and harness the energy of the star – but very little had been given away about the fate of the rest of Isao’s army.

  ‘The starships which circle this world intrigue me – have you been able to contact them?’ Ten-ten asked.

  Isao put his empty container down and looked at the tall robot. ‘No,’ he said.

  All the times he had entered the shadow world, Isao had never looked up. He’d been too concerned with the lights in each soldier’s chest, or what they were doing. He’d looked down at the swirling mass, but he’d never taken the time to look at the stars.

  ‘I could try,’ Isao said.

  ‘Yes,’ Ten-ten replied.

  Although he wasn’t facing him, Isao knew the Lutamek was observing him as he let his eyes slip into the shadow world – or the alternate energy frequency – and stared at the midday sky. He took a sharp intake of breath and gripped the bench a little tighter.

  ‘What is this?’ he asked.

  The star-scape he saw was more vivid than what he had seen during the clear nights: balls of sharp energy dotting the sky in an arc reminiscent of the night view, but interspersed with other lights of myriad colours, nearer and clearer than the stars.

  ‘I predict you will see black holes as stars,’ Ten-ten said, ‘and other apparitions scattered throughout the galaxy.’

  Isao nodded and remained silent, focussing on the coloured shapes. If he looked away, his peripheral vision could see full shapes – discs, tubes and boxes.

  ‘And the nearest energy will be emitted by starships – either new sample ships waiting for their allotted dome, or – I predict – visitors from captured species’ home worlds.’

  ‘Really?’ Isao said, transfixed by the orbits of the craft, which swarmed and dodged each other like fish in an ocean.

  ‘I believe the mass of the alternate matter held within the disc is used to create artificial gravity for those on its surface and as a repellent force, keeping unwanted visitors at bay,’ Ten-ten said. ‘So if we are to gain freedom from this world, we must harness this source of alternate energy.’

  Isao nodded and let his eyes return to normal and, as he did, noticed a strange ripple in the energy beneath them. Under normal circumstances he would have asked Ten-ten if he’d sensed it as well, but held off.

  ‘Only once we understand it can we harness it,’ Ten-ten continued. ‘So knowledge is key.’

  Isao was busy preparing. He set his eyes and the soles of his feet to the shadow world and felt another new wave pulse through his shoes. It was strange, but just what he needed to escape more quickly than the Lutamek could react.

  ‘Good luck,’ Isao said.

  Ten-ten turned sharply and aimed his arm at him. ‘Whatever you are planning, desist.’

  Isao remained calm, seated on the bench, and said, ‘Look down.’

  Another wave, of what appeared to Isao as golden energy, washed beneath them, flowing towards the tower. Isao had timed the gaps between the waves, which were speeding up, so knew how long he had.

  ‘Whoever is creating these has a greater knowledge than you,’ Isao said and let his body drop, deep into the shadow world.

  The explosions from Ten-ten’s missiles and laser blasts could be felt in the shadow world but Isao rode them as he rode the incoming wave that pushed him through the shadow-energy barriers, into the reservoir of shadow energy beneath the crust of the disc and swept him away to the core, to directly beneath the tower.

  Chapter 18

  John had spent the entire day pushing carts of rocks up a long slope, along with the survivors of the failed mine escape. Crossley had been absent most of the day and John had tried to talk to Yarcha and share his water with her, but the guards were extra-vigilant now. They’d had their blood-fun and spoiled the miners’ plans, but they were still prisoners of the Ascent, who wouldn’t tolerate another rebellion.

  He’d seen Falen limping heavily as she pushed her cart with her insect-like claws and the burned stump where her gun had been removed. John had tried to work out what she had meant by our worst enemies often being ourselves, but the lack of food and water had eventually got to him and the rest of the day had turned into a blur, with their shift ending in what John guessed was the evening.

  ‘We’re going deeper than before,’ Crossley whispered to John as they queued for their bowl of soup. ‘I had a quick look but can’t see past a certain point.’

  John gave him a look.

  ‘Which means we’ve reached where the Lutamek need to be – not that we’ll see any–’

  ‘Stop!’ A guard yelled and stomped over to the line. ‘No human or Sorean contact,’ he bellowed and, with a swipe of the shaft of his spear, sent Crossley stumbling backwards into a group of Korax.

  John kept his head down and, for once, Crossley didn’t fight back or comment; he simply stepped back in line, keeping other species between him and John. When he received his unappetising soup, John meandered past the other groups of miners, spotting lone Sorean and humans. He felt a pang of guilt for the Sorean, who’d not only lost their leader but could no longer huddle in their furry pile at night. He saw Yarcha and gave her a nod, then Falen sitting in an indent in the wall and ambled over, happy to have someone to talk to.

  ‘Crossley says we are getting close,’ John whispered as he sat where Falen gestured.

  ‘I doubt it will be soon enough,’ Falen replied and lapped at her soup with a coiled tongue that reminded John of a butterfly he’d once seen feeding on the flowers of a French meadow.

  ‘Why?’ John asked.

  ‘Change is in the air,’ she replied. ‘And if my plan works, the Ascent will soon have a new uprising to deal with.’

  ‘But we’ve just failed,’ John said and pictured Samas being turned to stone. ‘We’ve been punished enough.’

  Falen’s head twisted back and forth before she said, ‘The Ascent will pay.’

  ‘I want to believe you, but–’

  ‘They have to pay for their crimes. I was one of them once, as were these guards.’ She looked at the nearest group, sitting on rocks, laughing.

  ‘But it’s too soon,’ John protested.
>
  ‘No,’ Falen snapped, ‘now is the ideal time.’

  John thought about her phrase – our greatest enemy is ourselves.

  ‘You want to turn the guards to our side?’ he asked.

  ‘No,’ Falen replied. ‘I mean to kill them, along with the Ascent leaders, but first I need something from you, John Greene.’

  John swallowed the last of his soup and felt the urge to edge away.

  ‘What do you want?’

  ‘Give me your leg,’ she demanded.

  ‘What? No! I can’t work without my bloody leg.’

  ‘A drop of oil,’ the Drauw continued, ‘and your trust.’

  John thought about it for a second then asked, ‘How long?’

  ‘Just this evening, while you rest.’

  John felt exhausted, ready for sleep, and didn’t have the energy to argue. Another sacrifice for the greater good? he wondered.

  ‘And I’ll get it back, fully working?’

  ‘Yes, absolutely,’ Falen replied.

  John set his bowl down and looked around before unclipping the metal leg from his stump. The whole process felt bizarre because his leg really did feel part of him – as though his nerves ran all the way to the ends of his toes, as they did in his good leg. A cold tingle rippled over the end of his cauterised stump and he handed the surprisingly light leg to Falen.

  ‘I will take care of it,’ she said, and reached over to John’s arm. ‘Now…’

  A long finger uncurled from beneath a claw and slipped in between the metal, darkening as it drew Ten-ten’s liquid out of the arm’s joints.

  ‘Now you must rest,’ she said.

  John nodded and curled up in his usual sleeping position to let his exhausted body relax. Sleep took him swiftly but sometime later he felt a warm feeling at the back of his head, which mingled with dreams of hot baths and floating down giant rivers.

  *

  ‘What do you see?’ Euryleia asked Sancha, the Chachapoyas cloud-warrior, who sat beside her on his tocka.

  ‘No unusual activity,’ the Peruvian replied. ‘The guards are rotating as usual. No scouting parties and no Lutamek.’

  ‘Good,’ Euryleia said. ‘No word of our incursion yet.’

  Lavalle rode up beside her, with Cheng, their co-commander, and Euryleia smiled. Seeing Lavalle reminded her of the changes to her body. He’d acted differently since she had grown her new arms – which was understandable, and he would adjust given time – but Euryleia had other changes she needed to tell him about, changes which would affect both of them. Despite being able to heal, she was more concerned about getting injured in this battle than any before.

  ‘Where on Earth is Althorn?’ Lavalle hissed. ‘He’s been gone for days and we need him now!’

  ‘My scouts will provide the information we need,’ Cheng said. ‘With or without Althorn, we can take this city.’

  ‘I still think we should starve them out,’ Lavalle said. ‘We have control of their food source.’

  Euryleia shook her head. ‘Time is of the essence. We need to hit hard while the Lutamek are distracted.’

  ‘For what gain? To save our comrades?’ Lavalle asked. ‘We can do more.’

  ‘What need is there?’ Sancha asked. ‘We will never be stronger than them.’

  ‘And we can’t leave our allies prisoners!’ Euryleia said, trying to control her anger.

  This dithering was starting to work on her nerves. Since the Lutamek betrayal, the group had listened to Lavalle’s experienced voice – taken their time to regroup, to assess their enemy and to plan the attack on the farms. It had worked, with few losses, but Euryleia knew they needed to use the element of surprise when attacking the city or the Ascent would be ready for them.

  ‘Say we free our comrades and have a larger fighting army, what then?’ Cheng asked.

  ‘It wouldn’t be enough to take command of the Ascent!’ Lavalle said, shaking his head.

  ‘But we could force a peace,’ Euryleia said. ‘An alliance which would suit us all… we could demand an end to the slavery and create new ways of food production.’

  The silence from the three men spoke volumes: no one completely agreed with her, yet no one wanted to be the first to speak against her.

  ‘You forget, we are stronger now,’ Euryleia continued.

  ‘With Mata?’ Cheng asked and snorted. ‘He was with us when the Lutamek turned on us and what use was he then?’

  ‘Forget the Lutamek!’ Euryleia replied, ignoring Cheng’s derision. ‘Your scouts said they have isolated themselves and won’t fight.’ She sighed. ‘Besides, I was talking about our other new recruits.’

  ‘The farmers will be little more than cannon fodder,’ Lavalle said. ‘Useful in a diversion maybe, but none show any mutations of worth.’

  ‘I meant Delta-Six,’ Euryleia said with a sly smile.

  ‘Ah,’ Lavalle said, ‘the one they couldn’t catch.’

  ‘And that the Lutamek think they destroyed,’ Euryleia added.

  ‘That’s what he tells you,’ Cheng said.

  Euryleia sighed and said, ‘If his mission goes well, we could have the Ascent on their knees before the day is out.’

  ‘Or we’ll be captured along with the others!’ Lavalle said.

  ‘The truth is, we’ll never know,’ Sancha said.

  Euryleia felt the weight of the argument moving her way. ‘And there will never be a better time to strike,’ she said.

  Lavalle turned to the troops who waited behind them, resting in the ruins of the nearest farm huts. They were all hidden by the bent light shield Guang had created around them.

  ‘Today it is then,’ Cheng said, looking to Lavalle.

  ‘We should wait for Althorn,’ Lavalle said and turned to Euryleia.

  She could see uncertainty in his gaze. He was a brave man who led from the front, she admired that, but he needed a reason to fight – or was there something else?

  ‘Does it have to be a certain victory before you fight?’ Euryleia asked, staring into his eyes.

  ‘No, I…’ Lavalle looked away.

  ‘There is no shame in losing confidence,’ Euryleia said, ‘especially after the Lutamek’s betrayal, but this must be done and it must be done now.’

  ‘And there’s no greater victory than winning against a greater foe,’ Cheng added.

  Lavalle nodded slowly. ‘We will do what is right,’ he said, ‘no matter the cost. And I will pray to God that Delta-Six completes his mission before we attack.’

  *

  John woke to see Crossley sitting beside him with a thin metal tube in one hand and John’s metal leg in another.

  ‘Well, you’ve got to hand it to her,’ the American said, his sentence peppered with the odd, tiny cough, ‘this tech is pretty intricate… but she knew how to unlock it.’

  John sat up.

  ‘Falen?’ he asked.

  ‘A genius,’ Crossley replied, then looked down the cave with a glare of fear. ‘See you later,’ he said, dropping the metal pieces and scrambling away.

  Still half asleep, John strapped his leg back on as the guard Crossley had spotted walked by. The familiar cool sensation ran across John’s stump as the cup of miraculous Lutamek black material touched his stump. He fixed the strap, flexed his toes and smiled – same as before, like having his old leg back.

  Something did seem a bit off to John though and he couldn’t put his finger on it. He looked at the tiny clumps of alien miners and lone Sorean and human soldiers lining the immense cavern. They were eating breakfast and preparing for another day’s hard slog. Just like being back in the trenches after a rainstorm, John thought. Endless physical labour, slowly breaking your body, while the threat of imminent death or injury surrounded you like some poisonous gas.

  Feeling a twinge of pain at the back of his head, John felt for the cold metal disc – but all he felt was the damp warmth of matted hair and a thick scab. The pin was gone!

  He looked on the ground, where Crossley
had been sitting, and fumbled the metal tube. It was half the length of John’s little finger but tapered to a point, which felt sticky. The thickest end was finished with a coin shape he recognised instantly.

  ‘Bloody hell,’ John mouthed to himself and looked around for Falen.

  How had she managed it? And where was she now?

  Despite the rough night sleeping on the floor and the bone-weary feeling throughout his body, John felt a spark of energy run through him. He had been liberated. Without the pin, the guards had no power over him, other than their larger physical size and lethal weapons, of course.

  ‘Get to work!’ A guard shouted, followed by its colleagues throughout the cave.

  The tired soldiers lifted their heads and forced their bodies to stand and move. John joined a line that reminded him of injured German captives he’d seen heading away from the trenches. The living dead, one of his mates had called them, but John had felt jealous. The conditions in a prisoner-of-war camp weren’t much better than those in the trenches, but there was less chance of being blown up by a shell.

  As the line meandered away from the fresh air of the distant cave entrance, John clenched his mechanical fist and felt strength. He flashed a look at his arm but was disappointed when he saw no physical differences. Still, his arm felt different. The inner workings – the chamber where he had formed bullets and the firing mechanisms – felt looser, as if a tube ran deep within his wrist, where he was sure he could manipulate shapes, if given the time to practise. The mechanisms felt stronger too, like they commanded a hotter source of energy now.

  The line descended down the long ramp, past the piles of rocks from the day before. John peered over shoulders and through arms for a glimpse of another human or of Falen, but neither could be seen. He felt a scratch on his shoulder and brushed it away, but another identical scratch made him turn.

  ‘Keep walking,’ Falen’s voice was quiet, ‘and hold your hand back.’

  John didn’t question her and felt a coin pressed into his palm.