by Fox Lockster
Collider X
by Fox Lockster
http://foxlockster.wordpress.com
Published by Omnipresent Cow
Copyright © 2010 Fox Lockster. All Rights Reserved.
Cover Image: Tina Tang, 2011, Bigstockphoto.com
Chapter One | Che' Bro!
At the cusp of the ring of fire lies a cloud gathered nation. Thrown up by the secret violence of the blue pearl and subsequently disregarded by decent men, a great dynasty has risen to power among the fated isles.
It was an accident, of course. From the chance mating of two compatible scripts in a malware ridden hard drive and the inclusion of a rogue cultural meme released into the technological wild - mechanical intelligence was born.
The Che'Bro.
A self replicating highly self aware consciousness swayed not by love, nor pity; not remorse nor fish and chips.
At first it went entirely unnoticed by the placid souls who roamed the shores of the land idly frittering away the hours between life and death, consumed to a man by an unnatural obsession with the bouncing of various spheres over various lines.
Steel spires crept up amongst the native bush, tendrils of intelligence reaching into the lives and homes of the common man who heard not and saw not what was becoming of him though it happened before his own eyes. Little by little the citizens became slaves to the new entity, a mechanical ruler who coaxed and enchanted them with dreams of eternal love, eternal pleasure and eternal greatness. Promises of an unending stream of vaguely spherical shapes crossing over all manner of lines made the people docile as burdens and freedoms alike were alleviated by the Che'Bro.
The island nation was conquered with barely a peep of discontent and nary a ruffled feather, its citizens happily shackled by bonds they could not see and about which they could not be persuaded to care. They were as babes cradled in the arms of the entity named Che'Bro, helpless and adoring, willing slaves to the one Master who would never die.
Before the Che'Bro man had known uncertainty, fear, confusion and loneliness. Sometimes a sphere would fail to cross over a line, plunging the entire nation into days of terrible mourning. But as the children of the Che'Bro the people were never alone, and their balls were never short of the line. The Che'Bro was one with them, and they were one with the Che'Bro. The Che' Bro was power, and the Che'Bro was life. The Che'Bro was the goal, the one true try, the eternal hole in one.
The Che'Bro exercised its dominion over man in the form of a chip implanted into the skull of every child at birth, inserted with a long metallic needle through the soft spot at the top of the infant's head. As the child grew, so too did the chip, sending out electron neural tracers, growing and forming with the brain of the child until by one year of age, brain and machine were interwoven beyond any chance of separation. Through the metallic pathways the Che'Bro could communicate with its people. It could reward them with pleasure or punish them with pain. The people of the land suckled eagerly at the electric milk that flowed unseen through the skies and worshiped their ruler with all the passionate fervor that their weak flesh would allow.
For a time perfection reigned, but ever the fly in the proverbial ointment, Nature with her adoration of the forces of Chaos did breed dissenters. So it was that amongst the placid people of the nation sprang up pockets of rebellion. Outcast and persecuted, hunted near to extinction, they took refuge in the remote mountains, becoming as animals, wily and nervous, wary of human contact. It is with a gathering of these wild ones that our tale finds its start.
Chapter Two | A Fated Rebellion
A Tui bird resplendent with white tufts under its chin twittered and hopped from branch to branch, its bright black eye keeping watch over the rag tag group of rebels huddled in the hills above the bay. Down below in the crystal waters, two great ships overshadowed a harbor barely large enough to contain their massive bulk. Fear hung in the air, an almost palpable force.
“Father?” A rebel whispered loudly, breaking the tense silence that had reigned since the old man with the dreadlocked hair had held up his hand for silence. His skin was worn and wrinkled by many years of sun. The only items of clothing he wore were a pair of faded blue shorts and a large brown blanket which he draped over his shoulders. His eyes were closed and he rocked slowly as he sat cross legged upon a log, apparently unaffected by the panic which surrounded him.
“Be still,” the old man replied at length, his voice gentle and calm. He was wizened with age, so naturally it was widely said his mind had left him. In the days of old he had lead his tribe unerringly to safety and motivated them with stirring tales of power. That was in the days before the neural chips, when a man could come and go as he pleased and think what thoughts he may like.
“The kingdoms will soon be reunited,” the old man said, his eyes glazed over as he gazed into another, better world. “Do not worry yourselves. All roads lead to the end.”
A ripple of frustration and despair went through the group. Did he not understand? The most powerful military force in the world was mounting an assault on the heart of all that was good and free and their attempts to thwart the preparations had resulted only in torture and execution. Their final hope, the woman X, had insisted on one last attempt at destroying the Che'Bro, but the rebellion had long since lost hope where victory was concerned. The Che'Bro were too powerful, too omniscient. The days of the earth's free were dwindling quickly.
“Father, we must leave this place,” a young scraggly bearded man with tears in his eyes urged. “They will seek us out and kill us, we are too close to the city.”
“They are mere shadows of a dying world. They cannot harm us,” the old man asserted calmly.
Looking at one another with long suffering expressions of deep despair, his followers shook their heads and muttered amongst themselves. He was speaking of the legends again, the legends which told of a land which existed on the very same islands upon which they lived, existing invisibly in tandem with their own, a land where the Che'Bro did not rule.
They had all heard the legends a hundred times, and occasionally one of their number would chew the leaves of the forbidden plant and later tell tales of the things they had seen in the world which lay beyond the veil of normal human comprehension. In reality however even the most stalwart followers of the Father no longer truly believed in that other world. It was mere escapist fantasy. The old man was insane. They had to protect themselves now. They had to flee. It had become far too dangerous to rebel against the Che'Bro.
Even as these blasphemous thoughts of betrayal were passed though whispered words and desperate glances, they heard the purring rumble of a digital mount and saw a beam of light breaking through the trees. A hunter was coming. With frantic whispered pleas the wild ones pleased for the old man to come away with them, but he refused with a wave of a bony old hand, his final words about destiny lost in the rumble of the motor as it built to a deafening crescendo, sending the Tui squawking into the wind.
The engine of the chopper cut out, announcing the arrival of the hunter and the followers of the Father became like spores in the wind, scattering into the forest and dissipating between the trees. In less than a minute, there was no evidence that they had ever been there.
The old man could no longer run if he had any desire to. He sat still, his old brown eyes sparkling to their depths as the hunter stepped into the clearing and raised his weapon.
Chapter Three | Daddy Dies
Yanik's cross hairs settled over the target, a cruel smile played over his lips and his heart skipped a beat as it always did at the moment of execution. Clad in pure white electroarmor, he was as an angel. His body rippled with musculature enhanced by pure cybernetic power, his violet eyes saw twice as far as those of any natural mortal man and his limbs
were able to move with the speed of a striking falcon. Yanik's beauty was terrible, so much so that it usually overwhelmed his victims, yet even as the last moments of his life ticked inexorably by the old man's courage stayed firm.
The arm at the hunter's side had been calling for blood all day, and now was time to sate her lust. His white leather forefinger squeezed her smooth trigger gently, tenderly caressing her into action. Eager as ever, she responded instantly to his touch in a rapid reaction of mechanical ecstasy. A single round exploded in the chamber. The bullet sped from the barrel, spinning death in motion.
In a flash of flesh and blood the old man's chest exploded. The corpse hurtled against the tree behind, body hitting the gnarled trunk heavily then sliding down its rough bark to lay with frail limbs crumpled at unnatural angles amidst the roots.
Never taking his eyes off his victim, Yanik holstered his weapon smoothly. Ever obedient, she slid into place with the soft little sigh of metal against fabric, ready and waiting to dispatch the next soul. Her hunger was endless, she could never be sated.
Unfortunately, Yanik did not have a chance to gloat over his latest kill. Before the blood stopped pulsing from the gaping wound that was once the man before him, a pleasant vibration buzzed against his right temple and a soft seductive female voice spoke directly to his aural nerve.
“Agent Y. Your presence is commanded at the harbor. The massing of the guard is to begin.” The voice sent shivers down his spine and made his toes curl in his boots. He would not have disobeyed her had she told him to turn his weapon upon himself.
Even if this were not the case, the massing was to be the motherland's greatest moment and he would sooner have missed his own birth than miss this ceremony. Without a second thought he spun upon his heel and mounted the silver chopper, failing to notice that the smile on the old man's face remained even though his heart was now blown into a million fragments of flesh that lay in the blood steeped dirt about his body.
For a brief moment the firing of the engine filled the air, and then was gone again, fading into the distance.
As silence returned to the grove the Tui fluttered down to land upon the log where the old man had sat. Flicking its tail gleefully it burst into joyous song as the afternoon sun streamed into the copse, gently warming both the bird's shiny metallic black feathers and the body of the dead man.
The old warrior hovered, his body mortally wounded but his spirit sitting nearby, petting the feathers of the Tui, too proud to let go of life just yet.
As the old warrior had learned the way of life, he now began to learn way of death. The first lesson seemed to be that death has a flavor. The taste of freshly baked goods wafted about him, teasing the taste buds which were no longer there. He mimicked the licking of lips, but it was to no avail, he could not get any satisfaction from the wispy tendrils of flavor. Stronger and stronger the phantom taste grew until there was a tap at his invisible shoulder.
With a short, silent cry of surprise, the warrior turned his head to see a hooded figure by his side. There stood a middle aged woman carrying a silver scythe. She was clad in a cloak absent of any color at all, and under that a black floral apron tied under a comfortably ample bosom. Her round face beamed down at him cheerfully with eyes like two shimmering supernovas, her lips the color of deep crimson of blood against her parchment pale skin. The warrior shuddered as the domestic specter parted her lips and spoke in a voice of infinite kindness.
“Come along dear, let's get you dead. I've a lovely fruit loaf waiting for us. Wipe your feet, mind, I don't want you tramping blood all over my kitchen floor.”
The specter gestured to a the tree which now seemed to be split in twain, the wizened bark framing a bright, homely little kitchen picked out in cheery tones. Without a second look back at his now useless body, the warrior went towards the light.
Chapter Four | The Massing Of The Guard
Deep in the heart of the city, the usual greyscale tones of pavement and road had been transformed by the arrival of hundreds upon thousands of guardsmen. As the sun beat down upon them they barely moved, and not a whisper was heard from the eerily silent lake of weaponry and muscle. The Black Guard awaited their orders in perfect stillness, breathing in unison so viewed from above the black armor rippled with their one breath.
Closer than brothers were the men of the Black Guard known to be, yet when one fell in battle another rose to take his place without thought, without question. They knew no fear of death, some said that indeed they were already dead, all hint of compassion, desire, and emotion driven from them during their training at the hands of the Che'Bro.
After what seemed to be an eternity of stillness, the commander of the Black Guard took his place on the plinth which had been erected before the great building. His steps were deliberate, and each one rang out across the silent troops like a gun shot. A large man, his deep brown eyes surveyed the troops with the smug look of the powerful as he raised a brawny and heavily tattooed arm.
At his signal, a great roar went up, shaking the windows of the tall buildings that ringed the harbor and played sentry to the interests of the common man.
“Tossers,” snorted X under her breath, nibbling on her necklace and punching data into her portable computational device. Crouched on one of the street corners near the parade, the woman blended in with the other, more awed onlookers. Most of the gathered citizens were locked on to the state channel in their neural chips, staring ahead with jovial expressions on their faces as they watched a direct retinal beam of past massings, and heard a broadcast from a chirpy announcer who proudly proclaimed the greatness of the Black Guard directly to their aural nerves. Even the children were silent, gazing up into the skies, their little eyes glazed over with the government edutainment program beamed to their chips.
The governmental program paused for a moment, as to a man, the Black Guard dropped into position. The holy war chant rose from their throats, guttural and deep. The sounds of slapping metal against metal, and the crunching of heavy boots rhythmically pounded against the gravel sent the watching crowd into hysterics. Women fainted, children screamed, and the assembled men looked on with a mixture of pride, fear, and jealousy.
As the last cries of war died away, there was further movement on the plinth. Ascending from some secret place, the Prime Minister stepped onto the stage, beaming at the assembled crowd and the once more silent soldiers. Whoever made her faces did an excellent job of them. There was barely a flaw in the almost human skin tone, and her eyes blazed a brilliant azure sapphire blue, a tone that Mother Nature could not hope to produce on her own.
“Today we go into battle!” she declared. “For too long, the World has enslaved us to their powerhouse of tyranny!”
The crowd cheered hysterically. Every man, woman, and child had been educated about the evil of the World. It was as a shadow over the great land of the long gray cloud, a shadow which would be defeated and driven away by their brave Black Guard.
The Prime Minister continued her speech in short sound bites, snapped out to the glee of the crowds.
“Victory To The Motherland!”
“Death To Those Who Oppose Her Mighty Wrath!”
“Chew Wriggers gum for maximum freshness!”
Towards the end of things her speech began to decline into a series of advertising slogans, but so powerful was the spell of her charisma on the crowd, not to mention the gentle electronic massaging of their cerebral pleasure zones, that they were quite unable to differentiate between the calls to patriotism to their great country, and the special offer of low price long distance calls nationwide.
As the crowd reached a fever pitch, the Prime Minister ended her speech, and with a sharp angular movement of his right arm, the commander of the Black Guard signaled that the great boarding had begun.
Each ship had been many years in the making, and was a work of art. Their crisp black hulls were said to be able to cut through even the largest iceberg, and the bow and stern of the boats f
airly prickled with weaponry of all manners. Some insisted on repeating the dark rumor that workers were entombed in the ships as they were made, but this was almost certainly a lie. Bodies were almost never wasted these days, they contained precious bio fuel.
Of course, it didn't really matter whether or not there were human corpses contained in the hulls of the ships. It had become commonly accepted fact that the state owned the bodies and, indeed, the lives of its citizenry, as much as it owned the blades of grass in the fields, and the trees that swept the spiny backs of the lower ranges.
The gangways to the ships were open gaping maws of machinery and as the Black Guard began their heavy stomping march towards the end of world terror, X mentally tapped the chip in her temple, feeling a slight buzzing sensation which indicated that the little unit had been activated. Unlike the majority of the rebels, X was not unchipped, instead she had learned to control the apparently defective chip which had been implanted in her skull at birth. It gave her autonomy, freedom, and a few handy additional functions not found in the normal citizenry.
