by E. E. Giorgi
Cover art © Elena E. Giorgi, all rights reserved.
AKAELA (Mayake Chronicles, Book 1)
Copyright © 2015 by E.E. Giorgi
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted by any means – electronic, mechanical, photographic (photocopying), recording, or otherwise – without prior permission in writing from the author.
This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, organizations and events portrayed in this novel are either the product of the author’s imagination or they have been used fictitiously. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
Printed in the United States of America
Electronic edition ISBN: 978-0-9960451-4-8
Print edition ISBN: 978-0-9960451-5-5
Also from E.E. Giorgi
CHIMERAS (A Track Presius mystery)
MOSAICS (A Track Presius mystery)
GENE CARDS (A Skyler Donohue mystery)
Set in the Apocalypse Weird world:
IMMUNITY
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Table of Contents
Prologue
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Acknowledgments
About the Author
Part I
Prologue
The most dangerous parts of a droid are its hands. That’s the first thing Athel and I learned. They’re also the most precious components, with state-of-the-art microchips and the fastest nanobots ever made.
Like human hands, they can flex, grab, and hold. Unlike human hands, they can be fired off their arms as explosive projectiles. The scavenger M3 we’ve been tracking down the gorge has three-millimeter caliber rifles embedded inside its knuckles. So long as its hands are busy collecting samples from the ground, we’re fine. But once those hands point at us, we stand little chance against its bullets.
Luckily Kael, our trained falcon, has no problem dodging fast-flying bullets from scavenger droids. As I climb higher along the wall of the gorge, I raise my head and watch the falcon circle the sky, his black feathers shimmering against the harsh sun.
So, here’s the plan, Dottie, Athel messages me through our wireless connection, his words forming on the right corner of my eye.
Don’t call me Dottie, I retort.
My brother ignores me. Once you reach the top, you signal Kael to attack the droid. The M3 will fire first. They usually deploy their rocket hands as a last resort.
We’ll make sure it doesn’t have a choice, I send back.
It won’t, once it exhausts the magazines. As soon as the M3 fires its missile hands, you jump. Make sure the droid follows you and not me.
I swallow. Right. Easy peasy. Sometimes I wonder why I even listen to my brother’s crazy ideas.
My left foot loses its grip and skids, sending pebbles tumbling down the wall of the gorge. At the bottom of the ravine, the M3 freezes. It elongates its neck with a subtle whir and slowly pivots its triangular head in a full circle.
Good thing it didn’t look up.
Athel waits with our two mares just outside the gorge. He sends me a new message, his anger flashing in capital letters on my retina. Don’t screw up!
I won’t. I bite my lip, find a new handhold in the rock, and climb farther up, careful not to make any noise this time.
The droid’s lenses extend out of their sockets, examine the length of the gorge, and then retract.
It smelled the horses, I message, the words forming on the right corner of my retina. Keep Maha and Taeh away!
Let me handle it, Athel shoots right back at me. The message flashes a few seconds longer then fades away.
A gust of wind travels down the gorge, making my skin tingle. Twenty feet below, the M3 seems unaware of our presence. Its treads scrape the ground and roll over the rugged terrain, adjusting to its uneven contour.
Athel’s words slide at the bottom of my eye. I can see you now. Twenty-five feet from the ground. Five more to the top.
He can measure how high I’ve climbed thanks to his built-in inclinometer. Five more feet and I’ll reach the top of the mesa. My bare fingers brush against gravel. A glaring sun peeks down from above, the sky a pale blue hazed by the smoke of the Gaijins’ fires. I stretch one arm up and grope for a new handhold until I reach the top of the ridge and climb over the edge. Up here, the M3 scavenger droid can no longer spot me. It will keep scraping the rocks searching for titanium-rich sediments and other metals, robbing our volcanic land of its richness.
Robbing us.
I scan the horizon. Kael hovers above me, his shadow drawing black circles over the solar panel fields. Beyond the fields, the forest brims with tension, naked trees tracing the snaking path of the Kawa River. I raise a hand and feel the ridge lift—the wind hitting the cliff side of the mesa—blowing up.
Time to set our trap.
Now! I message Athel. Kael catches my signal and dives into the gorge. The M3 droid spots it immediately, its thermal imaging sensors built to detect the slightest rise in temperature within a radius of five hundred yards. Its lenses zoom out of their sockets, trained on the falcon diving down between the high walls of the gorge.
The droid lifts its right hand and balls its metallic fist. Its decisional algorithm has deemed the threat worth shooting. I crouch over the edge and watch, grinding my teeth. The first rounds zip through the air. Just as fast, Kael dodges them, his cyborg reflexes fueled by nanoelectric impulses traveling down from his brain. He swoops over the droid and then lifts up again, the M3’s bullets trained on his movements yet failing to catch him. Three more clicks and the gunfire ends. Kael makes another dive, and this time he gets so close his talons claw at the droid’s head. The M3 protrudes both lenses, then rotates one hand and points it, its reflexes slow compared to Kael’s.
Come on. Fire the darn thing!
And then comes the blast. The droid’s right hand shoots out of its metallic arm and arcs through the air.
I’ve got it! Athel types on my retina. I hear the horses leap from their hiding spot, but there’s no time to watch them try to catch the missile hand before it explodes. I run to the edge of the mesa and dive off the cliff, wind whipping against my face.
That moment when time stops, suspended in the breeze. That brief moment when I could crash down and die and yet I know I won’t.
That moment when I’m as alive as any creature could ever be because I feel.
And yet I’m not human. And I’m not robot.
I’m both.
Chapter One
Akaela
Seconds after my jump, I stretch my fingers and send electric impulses down my arms. A flap between my shoulder blades snaps open and the carbon fiber frame snuggled within pops out and flips into position, freeing the reinforced polyester sail enclosed in it. It swells, stopping my downward plummet. And as soon as the ridge lift catches me, I’m airborne.
Now a small blob at the bottom of the gorge, the M3 sprouts claw legs from its sides, retrac
ts its treads, and darts out of the gorge after Athel and the horses, the hole gaping from its right arm still smoking. M3 scavenger droids are big and bulky, but once they sprout claw legs, they can crawl over walls of rock like gigantic spiders.
I swerve and swoop in front of the droid, trying to steer its attention away from my brother. Its lenses zoom out of their sockets and track me.
Athel quickly hops on his mare Maha and, together with my horse Taeh, they sprint after the M3 missile hand. The gadget contains pieces of electronics and microchips that, once harvested, are vital to us. Once launched, the challenge is to catch the robotic part before it either explodes or disintegrates against a rock or a tree.
It’s up to Kael and me now to provide enough of a diversion for the droid.
Kael noses down and dips in front of me, the droid’s bullets from its remaining hand zipping past him. We follow the ridge of the mesa, the droid in hot pursuit behind us. It clambers up along the wall of rocks and tries to grab us with its front claws. Once the uplift from the ridge fills my sail, I veer into the upwash and bank up, the thermal pushing me from below.
Now that Athel and the horses are out of sight and safe, I whistle to Kael to follow me up higher. The falcon rides the currents with me, leaving the droid flailing its claws at us from the edge of the mesa. I pick up speed and gain altitude, rising above the ridge and over the forest.
The M3’s bullets can no longer reach us. Athel and the horses are out of sight, already too far for the droid to catch up with them. I exhale a sigh of relief and enjoy the view opening up before me, the Kawa River a silvery snake rushing away from the waterfalls, and the Tower, our home, a small blob nestled within its bend.
The distraction is enough to make me vulnerable again. I hear the high pitched whistle and, by the time I react, the droid’s left hand is launched mid-air and coming straight at my sail. I lurch to dodge the projectile and end up riding off the thermal. I tip my arms and start spinning.
“Athel!” I scream, plunging down.
Deprived of both hands, the M3 scavenger droid charges down the cliff. Kael screeches and swoops down on it. I grab one end of my sail and flail my arms, slowing my descent.
Hey, Dottie, guess what? We got the hand! Athel messages me. And then he realizes what’s happening because his next message comes in bold letters: The river! The droid can’t follow us across the river!
As I desperately flap my sail trying to regain control of my glide, I spot Athel and the horses running by the riverbank. I tilt the sail, trying to prolong the glide and redirect my landing direction, but I keep losing altitude.
Twenty feet from the ground.
The M3 droid runs faster, its algorithm anticipating my trajectory as I fall.
Fifteen feet.
The droid catches up with me. It lifts its upper body and tugs my sail with its front claws.
From the riverbank, my horse Taeh sprints ahead and gallops toward me. She kicks dust against the droid and positions herself right below me. I close down the frame of my glider and drop onto my mare’s back, clasping the strands of her tan crest. I wrap my arms around Taeh’s powerful neck and pull myself up, squeezing my legs around her sides. The droid chases us to the riverbank and then screeches to a halt as Taeh gallops straight into the river, splashing water back at the M3 with her powerful hind legs.
M3 droids fear water. The bulky machine, now deprived of its two hands, has nothing left to do but watch us escape across the river.
As soon as we reach the other side of the bank, my brother waves the droid’s right hand in the air and grins. “We did it!” he yells.
“Let me see it,” I beg him, adrenaline still rushing through my body.
Athel shakes his head. “You think after all it took to acquire this thing, I’m going to hand it over and watch you drop it in the water?” He carefully wraps the M3 part in the cloth he’s brought along and then slides it inside his backpack.
Our horses wade out of the water, their hooves sinking in the wet sand. Miffed at Athel’s words, I dismount and drop on the sandy terrain of the riverbank. Kael has already gone home—I can see him perched on our kitchen window on the fortieth floor, probably whistling so Mom feeds him some bread.
“I hate you,” I tell my brother. He thinks he can boss me around just because he’s a year older than me. “I’m the one who risked the most. All you had to do was sprint and catch the darn thing while Kael and I were dodging bullets. How can you even think I’d drop it in the water?”
Athel pivots his right foot around Maha’s back and hops down from the saddle. “Because you’re clumsy, Dottie. You almost gave yourself away while climbing.”
The statement irritates me. “But I didn’t, did I?” I scratch Taeh’s nose, her whiskers soft against my hand. My beautiful mare saved me today. “And stop calling me Dottie, you know I hate it.”
Dottie, because my nose is peppered with freckles.
I snort. “You and the horses had fun playing catch with me, admit it. And if somebody was going to get hurt it was me, not you.”
Athel jumps in front of me. “That’s what you think,” he says, and shoves his face into mine, tongue lolling and one eyeball dangling out of its socket.
“Stupid!” I yell, pushing him away.
He pops the eyeball back in place and laughs. He loves making stupid pranks like that. When all our parts are in place, it’s easy to forget we’ve got chips, nanobots, and piezoelectric actuators hidden deep under our skin and in every cell of our body. The Gaijins call us Kuklas, their word for “mechanical doll.” Most of us have dark eyes, straight black hair, and no texture on our complexion. The only exception is my friend Jaycee and her sister Tanya, who have blue eyes and fair hair. They think they’re ugly, but I find their hair and eye color incredibly beautiful. I’d trade my freckles for their frizzy, blond hair in a blink.
The Tower looms ahead of us, its gray façade mottled and cracked by time. Smoke rises from the open windows carrying the familiar scents of oak and melting metals from the workshop. The North Wing went missing in 2189, before both Athel and I were born—the aftermath of one of the deadliest attacks from the Gaijins. It left a gaping hole up on the sixtieth story, now draped by crawling ivy and mold. When the dry storms roll by, Athel and I sneak up there in the middle of the night and watch the sky light up with lightning strikes.
The Tower is one of the few standing buildings left of what was once Astraca, the city our ancestors founded. Destroyed by the Gaijins more than one hundred years ago, we now live in what’s left of it. On our side of the river, the forest has grown back to reclaim its territory, the ruins of Astraca buried deep beneath the roots of the trees. On the other side, where the mesa looms, split in two by the gorge, the scavenger droids sift our land for metals and other resources, a constant reminder of our enemies’ domination.
Athel pulls Maha’s reins and starts running. “Come on,” he calls. “Uli’s closing the workshop in thirty minutes. Plus, Mom’s going to throw a fit if we get home too late.”
I press the inside of my wrist and yellow digits appear on the right corner of my retina. It’s 5:03 p.m. already. Athel’s right. Mom’s going to be livid.
“Woo-hoo,” Athel shouts as the horses gallop toward the stables. “We did it! We fooled the stupid M3 scavenger droid!”
Yes, we did it, I think, even though I know there wasn’t anything heroic about it.
I wasn’t paying attention and flew off the thermal too soon.
And I didn’t catch a glimpse of the other side of the mesa, where Dad and the other two men vanished two weeks ago.
* * *
Uli stares at the blackened jumble of wires, piezoelectric actuators, and metal flaps Athel has set on his workbench. He scratches one brow, sucks on his lower lip, and then picks up the droid hand, burnt copper wires dangling from its shooting end.
Uli’s own left hand is a myoelectric prosthesis, his black fingers not much different than the loose joints of the M
3 weapon. He prods it, bends it, and carefully examines it.
“Where did you guys find this?” he asks, a perplexed look hanging from his round face.
“In the forest,” Athel replies a little too hastily. If Uli learns we’ve been out in the gorge again, he’ll tell Mom and then we’ll be in trouble. “I checked,” my brother adds, before Uli can object. “At least half the actuators inside are undamaged and still viable.”
Uli sets the hand back on his workbench, opens a drawer, and fishes out a drill and a bunch of screwdrivers. He starts disassembling the hand before our eyes, lining up the microchips and tiny bolts and electrodes on the side of his workbench.
I wish I could read Uli’s mind. “You think it’ll work, right, Uli?” I prod. “There’s enough components to make a new hand for Mom?”
Mom lost her left arm and leg in the 2189 attack. She never complains, never asks for anything, but her prostheses are old and outdated. Her current left hand is basically a two-fingered gripper she manually activates via cable.
There was a time when we Mayakes thrived on technology, when no newborn baby had to wait for implants or prostheses. Things changed after 2189, when the Gaijins conquered our land. Many, like our mother, selflessly chose older appliances so the newer technology could be saved for children and newborn. Many years have passed and Athel and I decided she needed an upgrade. Dad’s been gone for two weeks already and we wanted something special this year to cheer her up on her birthday.
The Gaijins took our land, once rich in minerals and metals, and robbed it, leaving us with aging technology and outdated electronics. As Mayakes, we’re not supposed to steal or lie. Yet if we don’t do anything about our situation, we’ll all die. Our worn out prostheses and nanobots won’t keep us alive forever.
We’re cyborgs, the children of the Unfit, though nobody uses those names anymore. Because when the Plague came, it changed everything: the Unfit were no longer such. Their genetic make-up made them resistant to the Plague. That handful of mutations that made our ancestors genetically unfit saved us from the Plague, while the rest of the world collapsed. Hemorrhagic fevers and diarrhea killed those who had once been healthy. Only the Gaijins survived.
