Twisted Metal

by Tony Ballantyne

  The attack was going well. The rising storm gusted clouds of snow, obscuring parts of the scene before her, but then the wind would shift to reveal a line of black Storm Troopers marching forward, pushing hovels over with their heavy hands and feet. Another gust and she saw a line of grey infantryrobots firing patiently at the few pathetic robots that emerged from the rubble. And, throughout it all, the silver shapes of Scouts slipping back and forth, flashing and spinning and kicking.

  ‘There doesn’t seem to be much resistance,’ she offered.

  ‘There won’t be straight away,’ said Kavan. ‘They’ll still be reeling from the shock of the bombs. They will have fallen back and regrouped. They’ll launch their counter-attack when they are ready.’

  As if on cue, the wind blew a differently patterned sound towards them.

  ‘Not our rifles,’ observed Eleanor, thoughtfully.

  She stared across the expanse of the bowl to where a handful of Scouts lay unmoving in a bank of snow. It took her a moment, and then she spotted them. Black iron robots advancing steadily. Big bodies, heavy panelling. Mining robots. A squad of infantry saw them, fell back, hesitated, then raised their rifles and let off a volley before falling back again.

  ‘Fools,’ said Eleanor. ‘Their rifles won’t pierce that metal.’

  ‘They’re panicking,’ said Kavan. ‘Eleanor, get yourself down there.’

  ‘I’m gone.’

  She unslung her rifle and ran off down the hillside, heading straight for the infantry troop. It was only when she was gone that she realized that Kavan had done it again. He had sent her away from the command position.

  It was too late to worry about that now. The mining robots were already upon the infantry. Slow-moving, they sought to catch hold of the Artemisians and crush them. The grey soldiers dodged them easily, but discipline had broken down. There was no order to their movements, they were panicking, firing their rifles at random.

  A flash of silver nearby, and Eleanor saw three Scouts emerging from a nearby doorway. They were carrying something.

  ‘Drop it!’ called Eleanor. ‘Come with me!’

  The leader extended her eyes, spread her claws at having been spoken to in this fashion. Then she realized who had addressed her.

  ‘Look at these, Eleanor,’ she said, holding out a metal sphere, roughly the size of a skull. ‘I think they’re important.’

  Eleanor didn’t give the object a second glance.

  ‘Leave them for later. Come on,’

  The three Scouts dropped their loads and followed Eleanor down the hill.

  Ahead, one of the mining robots had succeeded in grabbing hold of an Artemisian. It lifted it in the air, one great hand taking hold of the head and crushing it. It dropped the crumpled body and immediately made a grab for another.

  The remaining infantry raised their rifles and let loose a hail of bullets that spanged ineffectually from its body.

  ‘Get back in line!’ yelled Eleanor. The milling troop turned to see who had shouted at them. There was a moment’s confusion, and then recognition.

  ‘We can’t hurt them,’ called an infantryrobot.

  ‘Not with your rifles,’ said Eleanor. ‘But that doesn’t mean you give up. Do it like this!’ And a wild recklessness overtook her as she plunged forward over broken rubble, dancing around in front of one of the huge mining robots. Slowly, it lunged to grab at her arm; she quickly dodged out of its way. But it was a trick: it reached out and grabbed her other arm easily. One of the Scouts raised its rifle. ‘Leave it,’ called Eleanor, as she was lifted up into the air. She twisted around in its grasp and saw how the dark metal of its body was scratched by the rocks through which it burrowed, saw the thick grease that oiled its joints, saw the thick glass lenses of its eyes. Now the other arm was reaching in for her head, hand extended, ready to crush her thin skull and the wire beneath it. She waited, waited for the right moment . . . And now she swung herself forward, detached her pinioned arm, leaving the big miner stupidly holding it. As she gripped the robot’s head between her thighs, she reached out with her remaining arm, popped the lid of its head open, took hold of her awl, dipped it into the big black skull and tangled and pulled loose the blue-green wire nestling within.

  The mining robot died, slumping forward, and Eleanor fell to the ground awkwardly, her balance gone. One of the Storm Troopers retrieved her arm from the fallen robot’s grip and slotted it back in place. She flexed it, found it was dented at the elbow, but it would do. She turned back to the remaining infantry.

  ‘That’s how it’s done,’ she called. ‘Come on!’

  Heartened, they attacked. She saw one mining robot fall, then another. Just as she began to feel the first wave of satisfaction at her work, there was a shout and then something tumbled down close to her feet.

  A rough sphere, slightly smaller than a head.

  It exploded in a tangle of blue wire.

  Kavan

  Through the swirling snow, in the last of the evening light, Kavan watched as Eleanor defeated the mining robot.

  ‘Good work,’ he noted approvingly. ‘If nothing else, she is a fighter.’

  Then he noticed that dark shapes had begun falling amongst the right flank of the attack. One of them fell at Eleanor’s feet: he saw the explosion, he saw her fall.

  ‘They’re coming from farther around the bowl,’ said Wolfgang, pointing.

  ‘What are they?’

  ‘I don’t know.’

  ‘Send Anders’ troop up there to deal with them.’

  Wolfgang relayed the order to a waiting Scout. Kavan turned back to observe the unfolding attack. Things were going well. Losses were still acceptable.

  He looked towards the skeletal tower that squatted at the centre of the valley: a ball of riveted copper plate, supported on iron legs. Was the Wizard waiting in there, directing his defence?

  ‘What about Eleanor?’ asked Wolfgang.

  ‘What about her?’ Kavan gazed out over the darkening battlefield. ‘Artemis is not about individuals. Either she lived or she died. The attack goes on.’

  A sudden blast of snow covered Kavan’s metal body, and he staggered. The wind was particularly strong here at the end of the corridor of rock, blasted through the mountain by their bombs.

  ‘We need to move,’ said Wolfgang. ‘The engineers need to clear this area if we are going to run a railway into here.’

  ‘Very well.’ Kavan was looking at the fractured rock walls around them. ‘We’ll move over to the left, I think. It should give us a good view over the battle when daylight returns.’

  Kavan and his aides began to pick their way along a path that led around the rim of the stone crater. They compacted the snow with their metal feet or scuffed it aside. Kavan looked with interest at the line of trees planted along the side of the path. Their branches had been carefully pruned away along one side, keeping the way clear. Someone had been taking proper care of these organic life forms.

  Across the expanse of the bowl, the skeletal tower seemed to be watching him.

  ‘Maybe we should regroup?’ suggested Wolfgang. ‘Hold off until the light is better?’

  ‘No. We don’t need to see to destroy. They are at a disadvantage.’

  And as he spoke, light flared up from the skeletal tower: a golden fountain of light that rose into the deepening night, illuminating all of the battle. And then a ribbon of fire spilled out along the ground, unrolling from the flimsy-looking structure of the tower. And then another, and another. It became a crisscrossing net of flame that spread throughout the land below them.

  ‘What is it?’ wondered Kavan.

  ‘Petrol,’ said Wolfgang. ‘They’ve filled trenches with petrol! They’re lighting up the night so that they can see the battle!’

  The orange light became like a solid wall sweeping across the North Kingdom, till it evinced an almost tangible presence: Kavan saw the way the falling snow danced and billowed upwards, repelled by the heat of the flames. Black smoke belche
d out and began to flow west.

  ‘West, not south!’ observed Wolfgang. ‘The heat’s affecting the wind,’

  Something else was burning. One by one, great hands of fire were igniting, fiery fists brandished at the sky. And then Kavan realized what he was seeing: the trees that lined the paths through the North Kingdom were igniting, bursting forth with blossoms of red fire, adding more smoke to the line snaking west.

  ‘They’re sacrificing part of their own city,’ said Kavan, in awed tones.

  He looked around for Eleanor, chided himself for doing so. She would return if she would return. But he wanted to share this moment with her. She would understand. They hadn’t done it in Stark, they hadn’t done it in Wien, they hadn’t done it in Turing City. But they were doing it here. The enemy were giving their all to the fight. These people really believed in something.

  He turned to a nearby Scout.

  ‘Tell the engineers to move quickly. We’re going to need more troops in here soon.’

  Olam

  Olam and the rest had moved virtually unchallenged through the maze of streets that ran amongst the hovels. A few of the pitifully thin robots had tried to form a line in order to defend their homes. Doe Capaldi and Parmissa and the rest had simply marched through it, their kicks and punches easily breaking their opponents’ badly constructed bodies. Olam had crashed into their homes, searching out the robots that sheltered there, shooting the adults, taking the children and swinging them by the legs, cracking open their heads against the sharp ground. Their bodies were left in piles to be collected later by the scavenger teams, the metal to be bundled up and sent back to Artemis City for recycling.

  The killing lust was welling up inside him again; it pulsed in time with the movements of his electromuscles. As the streets had lit up with fire and the trees had begun to burn; as the patterns of the flames danced on the silver skins of the Scouts that darted back and forth along the paths; as the sound of metal twisting metal rose up on the gusts of the wind; as the battle moved to its climax, Olam finally surrendered himself totally to Artemis.

  He was no longer a Wiener, he was an Artemisian. He was part of the ultimate power, the supreme race, the conquerors of Shull, the future rulers of the entire world of Penrose itself.

  Smoke belched from the trees, from the burning ditches, enfolding him, hiding him . . .

  Releasing him.

  Karel

  Karel stood alone in the valley, revving his engines, impatient to be off. Ahead of him the sky was slowly illuminated by a great orange glow, and he wondered what was happening over there. Thick black smoke was feeling its way down the tracks towards him, more and more of it pouring its way south, shouldering aside the falling snowflakes. It lapped over the tracks, lapped around his wheels, and then it slowly rose, engulfing him.

  What was going on?

  ‘Hello?’ he said, tentatively. No reply, not that he had been expecting any.

  He waited, seemingly suspended in the darkness. They had taken away his family, then his body . . . now they had taken away his sight. What next?

  He revved the engines, felt the train shudder. The enfolding smoke cleared a little. He saw shapes out there, infantryrobots maybe, running past him. Running away? He revved the engines again. This time he saw nothing.

  What was happening out there?

  Then there was a voice.

  ‘Drive! Quickly! Get out of here!’

  The voice thrilled with urgency. Karel revved the engines, released the brakes, started to roll. The smoke parted a little, and he saw more infantry running past.

  ‘Faster!’ urged the voice.

  ‘I can’t see where we’re going!’

  ‘It doesn’t matter. We need to get to the front!’

  He felt a coughing splutter somewhere inside him.

  ‘Faster!’ said the voice. It seemed to guess his thoughts. ‘Ignore that sound!’

  That splutter again. And then something else.

  ‘The wheels are slipping!’ protested Karel.

  More spluttering. The engines. What was the matter with them?

  ‘There’s something wrong with the engines!’

  ‘It’s the smoke, it’s blocking your intakes.’

  ‘Then I must stop!’

  ‘No, go faster. You can coast to the front! They need you there!’

  Again the engines spluttered. Karel increased his speed. Suspicion suddenly gripped him.

  ‘Who are you?’ he asked.

  ‘Banjo Macrodocious.’

  ‘Banjo Macro . . . ? But aren’t you the robot . . . ?’

  And at that the engines gave a final splutter and died.

  Karel swore. He had been tricked! Tricked into filling his own engines with the choking black smoke.

  He jammed on the brakes, squeezed them hard, but they felt wrong too. They were mushy, and the wheels seemed to slip through his fingers.

  ‘But whose side are you on, anyway?’ asked Banjo Macrodocious.

  Karel didn’t know. He just wanted to stop the train, and the brakes weren’t working. He was rushing through darkness, and then, suddenly, his vision cleared and he was running through a newly formed valley. There was a train in front of him, moving more slowly than he was.

  Clenching desperately at the mushy brakes, he rolled forward, frantically trying to avoid a collision . . .

  Olam

  Olam killed and killed and killed, and yet his frustration grew.

  It was getting harder to find new prey. The houses he came upon were nearly all empty. Those robots that he met were the very young, sheltering behind parents, or the very poor, or those with insufficient metal to make bodies capable of moving.

  Fires burned all around him, black smoke engulfed him, and suddenly he realized he was all alone. Where had the rest of his section got to?

  He saw a familiar shape through a break in the clouds and ran towards it.

  ‘Oh, it’s you, Parmissa,’

  Parmissa turned awkwardly to look at him. Her legs seemed stiff, her arms hung loose at her sides.

  ‘Is that you, Olam? Are you feeling okay? I can’t seem to move my arms or neck at all how I want to.’

  ‘I’m fine,’ said Olam dismissively. ‘Where is everyone?’

  ‘Spreading out through the houses. Janet said that she’d heard the enemy were retreating. Pulling back to that tower in the centre. They were going to try and cut them off. Are you sure you feel okay?’

  ‘I told you, I’m fine.’

  Although, now he thought about it, Olam did feel an odd stiffness in his own shoulders. He soon dismissed the thought. He didn’t care. He wanted to move on. He wanted to kill.

  ‘This is a strange place, isn’t it?’ said Parmissa, her arms dangling loose as she turned to look around the buildings that loomed on either side of the street. ‘Have you seen those funny plates they all have in their houses? Not enough metal to panel their own bodies, and yet they waste it on all those little signs. Circle on circle.’

  ‘Who cares?’ said Olam, impatient to be off. He turned in what he thought was the direction of the tower. ‘I’ll head this way. The others will need help. Are you coming?’

  ‘I think I need to sit down a moment,’ said Parmissa. ‘I feel tired.’

  She slumped down heavily to the ground, slush and mud squirting over her body.

  ‘You stay here if you want to. I’m going on.’

  But now he felt tired too. Like the lifeforce was draining from him.

  ‘What’s the matter with me, Parmissa?’ he asked, slumping down beside her.

  ‘Don’t know,’ said Parmissa. ‘Let’s just stay here. Don’t think I can move.’

  Nor could Olam. All the killing lust evaporated from him in an instant. Suddenly the ever-present black cloud was not something in which to hide, instead it was something that was watching him. He tried to raise himself back to his feet, but his hand slipped and he fell forward, face-down. Slushy mud began leaking into his body.

>   ‘Listen,’ said Parmissa. ‘I can hear footsteps,’

  Eleanor

  Eleanor was wrapped in blue-green wire. It had cut through the panelling of her legs, slicing right through the electromuscle beyond; it was tangled around her waist and her right arm. There was no pain, only a rising sense of disgust.

  She was caught in the twisted wire of a mind!

  The sky above her was dark, as if time had suddenly jumped forward to deepest night. Everything was in the wrong place, and the fighting had suddenly moved away from her. What was going on? It was as if she had fallen asleep.

  But she hadn’t slept since she was a child!

  Her body was half covered in snow. Nearby lay the body of the mining robot she had killed, the wire of its mind still trailing from its head. And there were other bodies there, too – Artemisian infantry, also wrapped in wire. She had been lucky, she realized, that this wire bomb had caught her around the legs. She gazed at what remained of another infantryrobot lying on the ground nearby. Blue-green wire had sliced into his skull, wrapping itself around the blue wire of the Artemisian‘s mind.

  Carefully, Eleanor began to pull at the wire that entangled her own body. It peeled back easily, the lifeforce long drained from it. She freed her right arm and looked down at her ruined legs. There was no saving them, she decided. She detached them and then dragged herself over to the nearest dead infantryrobot, where she set about stripping the working parts from its body and attaching them to her own. Soon she was back on her feet again.

  Where would Kavan be now, and why hadn’t he sent anyone to look for her?

  She laughed at the thought. Like Kavan would care! He was probably just grateful to be rid of his rival.

  The spot where she and Kavan had stood earlier had changed. The engineers had excavated deeper into the rock, cut a notch deep into the side of the bowl and had then run a railway line through it. The line now extended a few tens of feet into the Northern Kingdom and then petered out, first into bare sleepers and then ballast. There was no sign of the engineers who should have still been working on it.

  Eleanor turned slowly, taking in the scene. Below, the bowl was filled with the dying flames of fire trenches, the snow gradually beating its way back against the heat. The trees that had once lined the paths of the kingdom were crumbling into glowing ash. What had she missed? She got the impression that the Artemis advance was faltering.