Onliest

by J Daniel Batt

  Syn stood and nodded back at the three. Their metal cases displayed no emotion, but their slow turns radiated concern.

  Ripley leaned back to her and sighed, “I promise, I’m not going to bite. At least not for now. Maybe later. I think you’d even like it a bit. Just get up here.”

  Syn refused to move. Her fists gripped her spear tighter. She pulled the weapon close to her body, locking her legs, and stood defiant.

  With no pause and only the warning of a flash of light as the blade’s metal reflected the dim sun, Ripley flung her knife at Syn. One moment, Syn stood there indignant, and the next, right between her own legs, its hilt pointed up, the knife lodged with a sharp twang sound deep into the ground.

  Ripley continued, “I coulda killed you anytime I wanted. I. Don’t. Want. To. So, please?” Again, she motioned with a simple wave of her right hand.

  Syn reluctantly took a few steps forward until she stood even with the girl. Ripley clicked her tongue against the top of her mouth and then gave a tiny bow and a small curtsy, bending at her knees before standing back up, her face still aimed at the ground “Now, you do the same.”

  “Is someone really watching?”

  Ripley sighed again. “You’re a bit infuriating. Not sure how you survived this long. One of the others shoulda killed you by now. Just do it. Please. We’ll get to Zondon faster if you do.”

  Syn looked around, and then with a shrug of her shoulders, leaned forward and then bent her knee to give a simple bow.

  Ripley laughed, “See? Now what that too hard?”

  Syn growled.

  “Trust me. She saw. Adding up the points now. Might make you one of her favorites. Well, except for me. I’m still the favorite. For now.” With that, Ripley clicked her tongue again and from behind the massive form of the dead tree mover, a large harvest bot—a massive, cube-shaped bot running on large tank treads—appeared and rolled close. Ripley grabbed ahold of the bar rail on the side of the harvest bot and swung herself to sit atop the blocky creature. She motioned to Syn. “Come on. Ride in style. It’ll be nice. Remind you—the toasters can follow, but ain’t no one else coming into town with you. If they’re planning on it, you need to talk them outta it now.”

  Syn turned back to the three. “You don’t have to go with me any further. I’ll be safe. You got me this far. Go on back.”

  Arquella shook back and forth and Bear gave a gruff, “Nope.”

  Syn raised her hands out, palms up.

  Ripley snorted. “Fine. Waste o’ time, but they sure welcome to follow. As I always say, toasters are nutters. Completely through and through.”

  “You know them?”

  “Know of them,” Ripley said, “I know all about that crackpot collection that call themselves the Ecology.”

  Syn was slower pulling herself up and climbing to the top of the bot, but she managed after a moment.

  Ripley smiled. “I know I'm all nice and kind, and you’re thinking to yourself that the citizens of Zondon can’t be that bad. Trust me. I’m the one who hasn’t killed anyone in the last month. The rest of the people you meet are complete animals. So, be on your guard. With everyone. Eyes forward. Heck, that works for riding alongside me. We have a bit of distance to cover, but by then, you shoulda had enough time to think about how you gonna present yourself.”

  “Present myself?” Syn asked.

  “Well, you’re going to have drop all this. Ain’t no one lasts at Zondon that long with that attitude. Not unless they plan to be killed. There’s only four of us left, and I have a feeling she’s growing pretty irritated with at least one of us. I suspect it’ll be down to three pretty soon. So, all said, you need to pay attention to what you say and what you don’t say. More importantly, how you do both.”

  Ripley looked at Syn, who stared wide-eyed at the horizon, taking in the Disc from her new vantage point. The settlements rose behind them, darkened from the fire, obscured by the blowing dust, and each seemingly empty. She knew that the Ecology occupied them, and behind the swooping rises, life flourished in colors that seemed impossible in this depleted landscape.

  Ripley sighed. “Wow, you really don’t get it, do you?”

  Syn returned her gaze and lifted an eyebrow.

  “Okay, well, let’s just worry about that when we see the others for the first time. Until then, let’s just go ahead and mosey on our way.” She kicked the back of the bot with her heel. “Giddy-up!”

  The bot came to life, roared up its loud engine, and sputtered as they moved forward, the three bots following behind the growling harvester.

  27

  The Surprise Beyond the Gates

  “It’s no use going back to yesterday,

  because I was a different person then.”

  —Lewis Carroll, Alice in Wonderland

  The arid desert spread its edges to the iron and rust-dappled walls of Zondon Almighty. No path, no garden, no lawn transitioned. It was just desert and then wall, both equally inhospitable.

  As they neared, the painted faces on the walls came into focus. Ghastly images pulled from horror films she had made Blip watch in years past: a maniacal clown, masks with red, torturous eyes, scarred faces, pale skin with deep white, blood-colored fangs. All were immense faces expressing pain and fear—the antithesis to the great faces of the Yoruban gods that looked down upon them from high up on the Jacob Lifts. The Orisha masks looked upward and onward; their slab colossal visages declaring hope and constant watch. The painted faces outside Zondon glared down with malice and shouted, Stay away!

  When they arrived outside the main gates, Syn felt a wave a familiarity wash over her. She somehow knew this place and yet couldn’t figure out how.

  A crumbled stone wall stood outside. Large metal plates had been fastened with bolts to the tall swinging gates. The hinges of the gates were mounted to two great steel pillars. Across the front the word Zondon appeared—a strange assortment of letters. The Z and O were metal cutouts and the N, D, O, and N that followed had been painted on.

  “And the tour ends, toasters!” Ripley said, waggling her knife at Huck, Arquella, and Bear. “Go on now. Get outta here. Shoo.”

  “We don’t leave until the Expected releases us,” Arquella announced.

  Ripley furrowed her brow and pointed the knife edge at Syn. “That you?”

  Syn did not respond.

  Ripley shrugged. “Well, then. Tell your machines to leave.”

  Syn started to speak and then hesitated. She didn’t want to be alone. She had only known the three for a short time, but they were faithful companions.

  “Listen. I ain’t tellin’ you for my own good or yours. It’s for theirs.” She glanced back to the gates. “If they walk in that door, they’re dead. She hates all toasters. Kills them on sight. She doesn’t want anything related to the machines walking around. And she just doesn’t discard them so you could fix ‘em later. She chops them up and does some strange stuff with the bits.” She pointed the knife back at the three. “They leave now, or they aren’t safe. Hell, they may have already stayed too long.”

  Syn leapt from the back of the harvest bot and wrapped her arms first around Arquella and then Bear. “You two go straight on back to the Barlgharel. Tell him I made it.” She looked up at Huck as he floated above unmoving—oddly stationary. “You keep an eye out for them.”

  Bear spoke up, “You promised to come back to us. Right?”

  Syn patted his side and nodded. “Yes.” But inside, she was less certain than ever. She had no idea what lay beyond the gates. “Please, go on now. I want you to be safe.”

  “I ain’t movin’ an inch more ‘til I see the backs of them toasters disappear,” Ripley grunted.

  “Go, please. I need to know you’re safe,” Syn said, hugging them once more.

  “Okay,” Arquella said, “We’ll see you.” She and Bear turned around and began to move away. They paused twice and glanced back, and Syn waved.

  Huck hesitated twice, and instead of flying
along with, he them zipped straight into the air, far above them, until he disappeared in the dark rolling clouds above. She waved at him as well, hoping he would catch up with the other two now disappearing from view. She turned back to Ripley. “Let’s go.”

  Zondon Almighty seemed to be a mocking term now that Syn had passed through its gates. The massive gate had swung open and then closed, manned by a single burly. From the dunes below, moving on the grumbling harvest bot, the massive outer walls seemed to shout Stay out. Syn could only imagine what had lay past. Pulled from films of the past, her mind conjured a bustling metropolis, the last remnants of those that survived.

  That dream was juxtaposed against the imposing walls marked by disturbing imagery—painted faces wrenched from various horror films—those walls conveyed a threat of something far more wretched inside.

  Neither imagination was true. There was no thriving metropolis packed shoulder-to-shoulder with crowds. Nor were there phantasmic monsters held in chains. Zondon was nearly empty. There were no inhabitants, save for the random burly here or there. No running children. No armed soldiers.

  The walls were only a threat. There was hardly anything that would enforce this menace. The Ecology’s fears would drain away if they knew what lay beyond the walls of Zondon.

  Ripley had turned off the harvest bot they rode on just inside the gates and then marched with Syn through the narrow, open-aired corridors. A large open area, almost like a courtyard filled with junk, greeted them just on the other side of the gates.

  As Syn passed under the concrete arch, the metal framed gates closed. Her stomach tightened and beads of sweat formed on her forehead. She lifted the crimson goggles from off her eyes and let them rest on top of her head.

  Syn tried to relax, but she could feel the unease of anxiety building deep inside. Each step was closer to unknown threats and unknown choices. Blip, where are you? As she walked, she reached out to knead her fingers into Eku’s thick fur, but winced when she realized Eku was not beside her. Eku was nowhere near. She pursed her lips close together to hold back the whimper trying to escape her throat.

  Beyond the open courtyard, they marched through a narrow path just wide enough to be a road, although her Ogun would have trouble navigating it without tearing out the stone walls. Each side of that road was barricaded with metal and wood boards layered atop each other.

  How had they built this place? Had the burlys thrown this city up? She had seen a few toys scattered about and pushed into corners—a small doll, a miniature harvest bot painted red, a stuffed tiger coming apart at the seams. There had been more life here. Perhaps this was a city that the colonists had put together. But why move here away from the settlements? What would be the purpose of banding together in the center? The walls suggested something more frightening on the outside at one point. A hub of safety converted into a symbol of power.

  They passed through a paved road littered with debris and covered in a layer of sand, moving toward the center of Zondon. The path led to the two-spired central building that had to be the throne room of the Crimson Queen. The corridors remained veiled in shadow. Syn paused at the disconcerting darkness. The lights along the path were not responding to her—the world around her ignored her presence and the lack of response shook her..

  Inside the crumbling building, in the shadows of Zondon Almighty, sat the throne. It had once been a plastic folding chair. Perhaps white, although the dirt was caked so thickly that its original color was lost to history. Felled timbers were arranged as a base, providing a rough dais lifting it up a meter. Two step stools served as the staircase to ascend the throne, although they were covered with rough, shag-carpeted rugs probably stolen from the settlements. The back leg of the throne had been swapped for a few sticks strapped to the chair with black twine and tape. Several boards were fastened to create a high back on the seat. It was a throne only in location. There was nothing of glory, nothing of splendor, about the conglomeration.

  The throne mirrored the rest of the room. The central table was a collection of picnic benches and a few wooden dining room tables dragged from living rooms in the settlements. Stained cups and food-spotted plates littered the surface. Dark clouds rolled overhead, revealed by the holes in the spired roofs—only a few beams arched without decay in the vast ceiling above. Perhaps it didn’t rain in this Disc. Maybe the clouds just stayed dark and never emptied themselves. Perhaps they existed to cast a gloom across every surface.

  The large hall echoed the structures outside. They were unfilled except for half-forgotten pieces hobbled together to mimic what they were intended to be.

  The twin-spired roofs were the hub from which Zondon Almighty spread out. Yet, the Crimson Queen that Syn had anticipated to be present in the hub was absent. The room was nearly empty except for a few burlys that stood in the corners. One sat in the dirt, picking through its toes. It sampled a few delights it discovered there, smacking its meaty lips with pleasure. Syn pulled her spear close and shivered at the sight of them. She despised the creatures. What were they? They were the size of men—Syn had never met any living but she had cleared away their skeletons on her Disc as she explored. But these were different than the photos of men she had viewed—their skin and flesh darkened as if burnt in fire and falling off—lifeless without glow. Their eyes glossed over. Their fingers fumbled at everything they touched, struggling through multiple attempts to pick up small objects such as a knife. Up close she could see that large metal pieces jutted out of their flesh as if they had been stabbed by the leftover remains of dead bots. Thick scar tissue stitched hastily at the edges of the protruding metal.

  Ripley walked over to a chair and plopped down, sitting in a relaxed posture with her legs resting and crossed on the table. She slapped the seat next to her. “Come, take a load off.”

  “What are we doing here?” Syn cringed at the sound of her voice as it echoed against the tin walls. A breeze blew through and puffed up dust that obscured most of the room.

  “Waiting.” Ripley pulled an apple from a pocket and then flashed a much larger knife, slicing through the fruit. A trickle of juice rolled down the knife’s blade and then onto her dark hand.

  Syn felt her mouth water at the sight. She was hungrier than she had realized and her anticipation had made her hurry through her last meal. Her stomach rumbled, and she tried to muffle the sound by placing her hands on her belly.

  “Hungry? Here. Have a slice.” Ripley held up a thin slice stabbed on the end of her blade.

  Syn eyed the slice and wondered where the girl had found the apple. She shifted her shoulders, feeling the weight in her backpack. It did not feel any lighter. In fact, it felt heavier than it had when they started. Syn realized she was still staring at the apple, then quickly averted her eyes to stare at her feet and then back to the entrance.

  Ripley sighed. “You just aren’t going to believe it, are you? I’m not your enemy. You and I have so much in common. I’m beginning to think we could be great friends.” Ripley held the speared slice out to Syn.

  Syn took the apple and held it gingerly in her fingers. She sniffed it and felt her mouth fill with saliva. She took a nibble, chewed and then popped the whole thing in. It tasted the same as the ones the Barlgharel had given her. She narrowed her eyes at Ripley.

  Ripley laughed and slapped the table, “See! I’m not going to kill you. I’m not the one you need to be scared of. I promise you. I’m not going to hurt you.”

  Syn started to ask who she should be afraid of, but before she could speak, a booming shout ripped through the silent room. “Who is this tiny piece of meat?”

  Syn jumped to her feet and turned in the direction of the voice. Something large and fast sped through the dark miasma. It slammed into her jaw and sent Syn tumbling backward to smash against the table. The poorly constructed board creaked, and two legs buckled underneath it. Her weight brought the full corner down to the ground. Everything was bright spots, and her head thrummed in pain. There was something
wet dripping on her face. Blood. She knew it was her blood as it moved across her cheek. Syn pushed off the ground to bring herself back up.

  The dark shadow planted its legs on both sides of her and loomed above. Again, the harsh voice barked, “I don’t recognize her. Where’d you drag her from?”

  Syn started up again, scooting back to put some distance between herself and the new person. The figure kicked Syn’s chest and planted her foot hard onto her shoulder, pressing Syn into the ground.

  “Get off of me!” Syn shouted struggling to wrench the foot off but failing to budge it.

  “She’s a pretty one, ain’t she?” the shadow said.

  Syn pushed at the boot and grunted, “Get off.”

  At the same time, the voice behind the boot grumbled, “Stupid girl.”

  Ripley finally spoke, “She’s mine. Leave her alone.”

  “You don’t get to claim her.”

  Ripley moved to confront Syn’s assailant. In profile, Syn could not tell the difference between the two. They were the same height. Both the same shape in the pale light, their faces obscured in shadows. Now that she considered it, Syn realized their voices were quite similar as well.

  “Get off!” Syn punched at the shadow’s ankle. Then she turned toward Ripley, “Help me!”

  From the other side of the room, a soft voice spoke, “Did you bring me a present?” At the sound of the new person, both the shadow and Ripley visibly stiffened.

  The shadow, still glaring down at Syn, muttered, “Blast. She’s awake.”

  The shadow slowly lifted her foot from Syn’s chest. Syn didn’t miss the opportunity. She spun and came to her feet, reaching for her spear. Panicked, Syn looked around for it, backing closer to Ripley and away from the shadow. The spear was nowhere near her—she was certain she had dropped it when the shadow hit her.

  She stood nervously next to Ripley. She still did not trust Ripley, but she was less an uncertainty than the other one.