Modified Horizon

by Ran Vant

  “Maren,” she answered knowing that, for now at least, Katherine had to be dead, just like little Clara before her.

  “Just Maren?” he asked.

  “Uh, Bern,” faking a little more grogginess than she actually felt. “My name is Maren Bern,” she lied. “Who are you?”

  “We, my friend, are the Natural Human Alliance, and I’m Jack. Welcome back to civilization.”

  20.

  Bumpy Ride

  She was riding in the back of the transport. The conversation with the young man, Jack, was quite enjoyable. He was explaining everything that had happened since she'd been gone, when suddenly, a wooden spear burst through his chest. Blood flowed out of his chest and Jack collapsed.

  Then the man driving the transport turned around. She saw his full beard and he looked like he had never bathed in his life. Maren froze in horror as she realized the driver was an atic. He leaned towards her and exhaled his rancid breath onto her neck.

  Suddenly, a black gargoyle ripped off the roof of the transport, his dark wings spread wide. He pointed his fist at the atic's head and it exploded in red mist. Next, he turned his fist towards Maren.

  Maren let out a scream and started awake. Sweat beaded on her forehead.

  Jack yawned and sat up. He put his arm around Maren, “Oh, no. Another nightmare?”

  “Yes,” she said. She felt at her neck. Her green pendant was still there. She rubbed it between her fingers, an old habit. It grounded her, it was real. “I... I dreamed I was back in the R.T., when you found me.” She paused to catch her breath, “And the atics...” She couldn't begin to explain the horror she had felt seconds ago in her vivid nightmare.

  “It's okay. Everything is okay. That was years ago,” Jack consoled her as he brushed her red locks away from her forehead. “You're safe here, with me.”

  Maren looked around her familiar, comfortable room. Everything was there, just like normal, in its place or out of its place, as the case might be, as the result of daily living. The pleasant pictures hung on the wall. Comfortable clothes were strewn about the room. The soft white sheets wrapped around her. And Jack was next to her in bed.

  It had just been a nightmare. A horrible nightmare, but not reality. She inhaled and exhaled deeply, trying to slow her racing heart. “I hadn't had a nightmare in a while. I thought it was getting better.”

  “With the mission tempo increasing, everyone is under stress,” Jack offered. “Heck, you know I've barely been able to sleep. You can't expect to be immune to it. When the body is under stress, the mind feels it too and recalls when it felt similar, the traumatic events of the past.”

  Maren snuggled closer to Jack. No, she wasn't immune to it. So many people had been lost. So much depended on the few who were left. Though she was only a small part of it, she felt it. Maybe Jack had told her more than he should have, but if she could lose him at any time, she at least wanted to know why. And when Jack told her he could help stop the Event, that they were working to prevent the gens from destroying natural humans, she had to believe him. She had to trust that stopping it was worth his life. Indeed, she had to believe that stopping it was worth her own life. Yet now and then, she asked to be reassured anyway.

  “Do you think it can work?”

  Jack stroked her hair. “Maren, the Natural Human Alliance has been working on this one for a long time. The Event will be stopped. Humanity will not be wiped from the face of the earth. Our plan will work. It has to.”

  21.

  Robos

  Michael and Gabriella flew through the city night, racing among the skyscrapers. The light reflected off the silver armor of Gabriella while the shadows were seemingly absorbed by the black armor of Michael. Seeking their quarry in the streets below, the pair swooped and dove through the canyons of glass and steel.

  The pair was familiar with the city, and they knew most of its great urban canyons by heart. The city seemed more natural to them than the great expanses of the Wild Lands. Almost all of their missions were flown in the great cityscapes of the truds. Their quarry cowered beneath the supposed protection of the masses. By doing so, they not only attempted to hide their heat signatures and prevent the direct firing of energy weapons from the floating castle, but also sought to dissuade “attack” by surrounding themselves with “innocents.” “The fools,” Michael thought. “Primitives, not much advanced beyond animals,” he thought back to the teachings of Rex Skyguard, as Michael Lightbringer swooped down on the racing vehicle.

  As they closed in on the vehicle carrying the hostiles, Michael noticed something wasn’t quite right. The people riding on the vehicle did not seem to be moving naturally. He increased the magnification and shifted the spectrum of his visor. He was right.

  “Gabriella, they have robos. Looks like Icers. Call for the machines.”

  “Already done,” she replied.

  The few robotic fighters riding the racing vehicle were not a major threat in and of themselves. At a certain level of analysis, the robots were certainly more deadly than human fighters, since the robots had dramatically better targeting computers and the ability to continue fighting even when half of the robo’s body had been blown away. They could also mask their heat better than a human. At a higher level of analysis, it was the creative humans that caused the real problems. But the combination of the two, robot and human: that was the nub of the problem. A creative human could deploy robots in unexpected ways and maximize their effectiveness.

  Another aspect that made a robo dangerous in the hands of the right user was the fact that where there were a few robots, there were often many. Truds rarely let an Inorganic Combat Robot out in the open until a sizable army had been developed for fear that the manufacturing facility would be located, a strategy justified by historical experience. An Inorganic Combat Robot’s heat signature, unlike a human’s, could be easily changed to blend in with the environment. Thus, unlike a human army that could be easily detected from the fortress above, an inorganic army had been known to seemingly materialize out of nothingness. Ambush was to be expected.

  But these were trud tactics of the past. It had been over five years since a hidden Inorganic Combat Robot manufacturing center had been destroyed. Michael and Gabriella betrayed no sense of worry. The gen’s machines were superior in every possible way to an ICR, even a whole army of them. And the machines were on their way. Not that Michael and Gabriella couldn’t handle the small group of Icers before them.

  Michael folded his wings back and accelerated as he came into range of the robos as Gabriella swooped higher. They obviously didn’t have a canopy gun, or he would have been hit in the solid dome of fire immediately after he had been seen. Instead, they attempted to lose him in the maze of city canyons, firing rail guns and energy blasts along the way.

  He was in range with his own weapons now. He’d been hit twice so far (further evidence of an Icer's superior targeting -- no trud could shoot like that), but only with nearly spent energy blasts. A rail gun round had come dangerously close, but a defensive magnetic pulse from his armor had knocked the round off course, clearing his head by a good two inches. Or so the computer told him.

  He let loose a controlled ray from his right fist, fusing an inorganic’s rail gun to its own arm as a useless pile of slag. The robot rolled off the fleeing vehicle along with two others, as the rest sped ahead.

  Lightbringer spread his wings wider and barrel-rolled as the two Icer robos on the ground fired a hail of energy blasts. The one with the slag arm stood his ground, ready to crush the approaching Guardian. But Michael continued his spin, and as the slag-armed inorganic leaped to crush him, Michael’s wing sprang forward and cut him clean in two. In the same motion, his left fist zeroed on the pair with the energy guns. At this close range, both were reduced to slag in an instant. The top half of the slag-armed one crawled across the pavement after the deadly raptor, but Michael was already flying higher and accelerating once more after the vehicle.

  Just then it hap
pened, and the truds' robos sprung their trap. Michael’s scanners came alive with movement from every conceivable hiding place in the steel alley’s walls. He saw Gabriella high above for an instant before she was consumed by a hail of energy pulses.

  He retracted his wings and dove for the deck. The computer had swiftly calculated the projected pattern of fire from the known locations and had determined he might have a chance on the street below. A blast slammed into the back of his leg, violently sending him into a backward spin. As he spun, he saw the deck approaching rapidly. His wings were nearly ripped off as he extended them once more, grabbing the air in a desperate effort to slow his descent. Lightbringer came to a violent halt as he hit the ground. He wrapped his wings around himself for added protection.

  Concrete exploded around him as he rolled in an effort to dodge the incoming blasts. A blast pierced his right wing and the stomach area of his armor. Another blast hit his leg before he managed to roll under an overhanging building. He did not waste any time. He dragged himself to the corner and began to pick off the robots as they attempted to descend upon him.

  Then there was a roar as an army of machines came upon them all. The gen machines vaporized entire buildings like a locust swarm devours a field. Gabriella had been taken out. The rest of the team was gone too. Michael wondered if they had done the right thing. This time he wasn’t sure.

  Then the world went black, and the simulator’s lights came back on. The door silently slid open and Rex Skyguard entered the room. “Lightbringer, you’ll have to review that simulation later. Right now, you have to prep for a real mission. Assemble your team for briefing in three.”

  22.

  Reaching Towards the Sky

  The middle-aged engineer gazed up at the massive structure being built module by module. At fifty stories, it barely peaked above the surrounding monuments of metal and glass. “Reaching for the sky,” he thought. “Will it ever get there?” Felix smirked. “Where does the sky begin?”

  The structure would be rooted to the ground, like everything built by natural humans had to be, a law enforced from the heavens above. Half a lifetime ago, when he was only learning to build toward the sky, he had seen a machine designed to soar untethered among the clouds. A sled of sleek lines and beauty, like the young woman who crafted it. Then, long ago, he had seen the same machine melted and destroyed, and he had seen her die for it, for even the dream was forbidden.

  He ran his hand across the top of his now bald head. He contemplated the exposed metal structure. Who will live their lives there? What will they be like? Will they be like him? Will they be like her? What kind of world will they live in? Will it be like this one? What will they gaze out upon from the fiftieth floor? Will taller towers eventually hide the structure before him in shadows, or will it be the tallest structure on the block for eternity, never to be surpassed? How many will reach higher? And one day, when the building comes down, what will cause it?

  The bald engineer turned away from the structure. “Will it stand?” he asked silently, though no longer thinking about the steel structure growing behind him. He had studied his whole life to learn how things were put together, what made things stand up, what made things fall down.

  Today he built, tomorrow he destroyed.

  23.

  The Dragonfly

  There was rarely a hurry before a mission. This was one of those exceptions. Lightbringer had assembled the four Guardians of the West that composed his team: himself, Gabriella Stormcaller, Dante Starmaker, and Martha Suncatcher. Rex Skyguard commenced the briefing immediately.

  In many ways, Skyguard’s briefings were redundant. Mission data was automatically downloaded to their winged armor, and in some cases, directly to their brains. But the briefings had an additional effect in that they focused the team on the primary goals and more importantly, reinforced the sense of purpose in each Guardian. For good reasons, they each still had a brain inside their skulls, not a mechanical computer.

  Rex Skyguard, along with the great computer-brain (for in many ways, they were one), was the chief authority on Fortress Magritte. He had even seen a real Ancient once. Rex Skyguard was talking: “There is movement in the Forest Quarter of the city. The preliminary scan indicates illegal chemical transport: biofluid and hydroil. As you know, both are used for EMP-proof organic components in the manufacture of advanced robos, and of more concern, robechs. Fortress Magritte has analyzed the situation, and determined that the transfer operation is guarded by a half-dozen unmodified humans, armed with no more than rail guns. Once the dragonfly drone has tracked the shipment to the termination point, you will proceed to capture it for analysis if possible, destroy it if necessary, and search for evidence of a forbidden technology manufacturing facility.”

  Michael stared firmly at the tactical display as Rex continued the short briefing. Fortress Magritte’s computer-brain had probably already detected evidence of the fortech factory days before. That was why he was getting more simulations involving robo tactics. Now they just needed to follow the trail. It would be easy.

  As Rex Skyguard finished the short briefing, Michael’s chair leaned back slightly to meet two arms with black pads that swung up on either side of his head. He closed his eyes and felt the warm pulse as the pads hummed quietly in his ears, gently recording his memories and patterns of thought. After a short while, he opened his eyes to the blue light signaling the scan was complete and rose to go to the suiting chamber.

  Michael Lightbringer stepped into the recess in the wall. With a chink and a hiss, his armor latched around him. Then the liquid metal flowed over, covering his arms and the flexible parts of the power suit with armor the color of night.

  Four Guardians stepped out from their crevices: black, silver, red, and gold knights ready to defend their lords. It was a hazy day as the four leapt from their gray fortress in the heavens. Even with their designer eyes, they could barely see the cityscape below directly. A shift in their visors’ spectrum and the earth below became clearer. Magnified and computer enhanced, their eyes saw even the pavement markings on the concrete streets.

  The dragonfly drone had tracked the biofluid and hydroil to the far eastern part of the Forest Quarter. The dragonfly had seen the humans take their cargo through a trapdoor hidden by a sculpture. There, camouflaged on a reed in an English garden, the drone waited, quietly pulsing its location to the mother-brain above. The computer then sent the information back to the smooth metallic bodies plummeting toward the city.

  One by one, the metal-feathered wings caught the air and gently set the warriors in the midst of the nature garden. Trees, bushes, plants, and flowers appeared to spring naturally from the earth and every crevice, though in some way it was an illusion, as the garden was in fact heavily manicured. It was a tranquil setting. Even with his amplified hearing, Michael could only hear the gentle rustling of leaves in the breeze and the buzzing of insects. All else was quiet. The ground was soft and covered in a lush carpet of green. He began to walk towards the pulsing dragonfly drone, leaving deep and dark footprints in the fragile green grass behind him.

  It was an odd location for a lab. But then, that was generally the point when conducting illegal activity.

  Michael stopped before the trap door. Something else was odd. He wasn’t getting the usual biosign readings that he should be getting at this close range. Dante’s huge shape appeared beside him, “No readings, huh?”

  “Is the plan modified?” Suncatcher asked with concern. Hesitation at the onset of an operation was nearly unheard of. But so were close range scans that differed materially from Magritte's scans.

  Michael Lightbringer aimed both fists at the composite trapdoor and let loose with a wide invisible beam. In a split second, the tunnel below was revealed. “No, no change of plan, not yet,” Michael coolly responded, jumping through the opening. Guardians existed for their applied creativity and initiative, and now they would be tested once again.

  It was a dark, damp, narrow tunne
l. Water dripped from the ceiling to small puddles below. It didn’t fit what the computer-brain had downloaded prior to the mission. Lightbringer expected large labs and rooms; maybe even a robo assembly line. But there were none. There was only a tunnel ahead. There was but one way forward. He stepped further into the darkness, giving each of his teammates a chance to jump down into the underground warren. He amplified the spectrum in the darkness, only to see that the tunnel turned ninety degrees at a distance of a few meters.

  Dante had jumped down immediately behind him. As the massive Dante Starmaker strode forward, he had to bow his head to avoid hitting it on the rough concrete ceiling. Stormcaller and Suncatcher followed closely behind.

  Lightbringer rounded the first corner, only to see another short hallway terminating in another ninety degree turn. Then he noticed his communications link with Fortress Magritte was down. He called to the back of the line, “Suncatcher, go back to the entrance and report back. They are jamming our communications down here, and the configuration of the tunnel is going to cause problems circumventing the jamming. And send back a few drones so we can establish a relay link and scout ahead. It’s nothing like the computer predicated down here. We’re going to press the initiative and go forward, see if we can’t catch the shipment.”

  “On my way to report,” she responded.

  Michael, Dante, and Gabriella filed down the tight corridor. Rounding the next corner, a large, low-ceilinged stone room appeared before them. Stranger still, it was empty. “There is another hallway there,” Lightbringer said, pointing across the damp emptiness of the vault. A chemical trace suggested the targets had gone in that direction.