by Mark Lingane
“Not like a plant. You raise them from babies—baby animals—and when they’re old enough, you kill and cook them. When it was market time back in my hometown, we swam in pig blood.”
Charlie looked horrified.
“Not literally,” Sebastian said. “It just felt like that.”
“It feels like that here sometimes also. We are a warring nation.”
“Have you tried to resolve it? Is it worth it, all this war?”
Charlie shook his head. “The cost has been too great for all of us.”
Sebastian paused. “I had a whole race of people hating me, the cyborgs I told you about, just because they were afraid. But in the end, we sorted it out.” He left out the bit where he nearly killed all the cyborgs accidentally.
“I’m a seasoned warrior and I’ve seen many atrocities. Don’t make the mistake of thinking I have a soft heart after what we’ve all lost.”
“But people who’ve seen war close up are the best ones to speak out about it,” Sebastian said. “If I met you on the battlefield and we stood face to face, we wouldn’t be any different to us now, right here. We are who we are.”
“We’re continually attacked by the Forty-ninth Division. This is a truth. Our commanders reflect this truth to us, showing us that we can trust our chain of command. We follow them and confront an untrustworthy enemy that has no respect for the truth and manipulates information to confuse and destabilize us. We are who we are, but they’re not who they say they are.”
Sebastian gave up on the long yellow thing and put down his spork. “What I learned from our wars was that we were there because we were told to be there. We were sold the idea. But who’s to say that what they told us was the truth? And who says that what you’ve all been told is the truth?”
“Are you trying to tell me that our commander lies to us?”
“Don’t you sometimes lie to your men to get them to do things? Even simple lies like telling them home’s just around the corner?”
Charlie leaned forward, his face dark and his voice hollow. “Never. This is a military community. We rely on communications down the chain of command to be clear and precise. We’re a fighting people and need transparency at all levels. We don’t have a healthy relationship with words, and we’re suspicious of people who do. Diplomacy is nothing but lies and backstabbing through the use of deceitful words. We rely on direct honesty between each other.”
“How do parents talk to their children?”
Charlie gave him a dark look. “My suggestion to you, as a tesla, is never to mention children around me. Otherwise you’ll find yourself on the end of a long spear.”
8
“THIS IS MITCHELL, sorry, Matthew. Thank you for that correction, Thomas, you should work on your whispering skills. I’m sure everyone at the back of the room heard you,” Charlie said to Center Thomas Maddison.
Thomas bowed and stepped aside, revealing a malnourished teen, manacled in heavy irons and wearing nothing but a filthy loincloth. His skin was covered in soot and grime. He cowered before the soldiers and flinched at every move they made.
Sebastian was shocked at the way Matthew was being treated. “He’s a tesla. He shouldn’t be in irons. In fact, it doesn’t even make sense.” He blinked and the manacles clicked open. “You should venerate him.”
Charlie gave him a dark look. “He’s unpredictable, and he’s been less than helpful. There are things you don’t know. Trust me when I say that he should be in chains, even if it’s only a symbolic incarceration. Put the manacles back on him.”
Sebastian let his mind unwind. He could sense weak powers in Matthew, but they weren’t as weak as he was pretending. Sebastian felt sorry for him. Obviously, Matthew had had no one to guide or teach him, and he was stuck in a half-world, somewhere between freak and light relief. And Sebastian knew firsthand how quickly a crowd could switch fully to unwanted freak when trust was missing.
Matthew fidgeted anxiously as Thomas reconnected the manacles, then he visibly relaxed. Thomas began to lead him away, but Charlie indicated for him to stay.
“I’ll take him back to his apartment after the food,” he said.
Thomas nodded and moved a few feet away, standing at attention.
“How did you find him?” Sebastian asked.
“He was sent over on one of your cursed voidships.”
“Sent? Or did he escape? Because teslas were persecuted in our homeland.” Sebastian failed to mention that it was basically because of him.
“He was definitely sent,” Charlie sent. “I had to sign the paperwork when the vermin arrived.”
“Hey, I’d like to remind you that Matthew and I are the same.”
Charlie went silent, staring at his asparagus and leeks. He scratched his neck as several emotions flowed over his face. “I understand that it’s not your fault, Sebastian, but the scars run deep around here. We live in a turbulent time. You represent something bad that once happened here, yet you helped us greatly today. Your actions have bought you some hospitality, but we … I can’t forget what your kind has done in the past.”
Charlie paused and shifted on his seat, signaling a sense of eagerness. “I’ve seen pictures.” He lowered his voice and looked around the room. “I have very old pictures of a man in a red suit who could fly through the air on glowing feet. His chest is lit up, and he can fire balls of power out of his hands. Can you do that?”
“Which part?”
“Any of it. You’ve done impossible things. Surely you can do more.” His voice was brittle and desperate. “The flying through the air?”
“Sorry. I don’t like flying. It usually ends in disaster.”
“It must be possible. Why would people say this and document these events in such detail if it wasn’t the truth?”
Sebastian shrugged. He didn’t have an easy answer for a man so desperately in need of something he could hold onto.
“It must be possible. It is possible. I can see it in your eyes.”
“I’m sorry,” Sebastian said, “but it’s not. I know of some highly developed civilizations with amazing technology, but not one of them had people who could fly like that. And even if it was possible for people to fire weapons from their hands, maybe it would be better to keep them locked away.”
“You don’t see the importance of the situation. I’m not as young or as strong as I once was, and we’re an army that relies on strength and force. Around here, you can only lead by example. People need to have some degree of fear for their leader. Only then will they follow him into battle.”
“What about respect? There’s more to being a leader than pure strength. There’s all the strategy stuff you get from surviving.”
Charlie shook his head. “Today, you were pivotal in our resounding victory over the enemy Forty-ninth Division,” he said, patting him on the shoulder. “Please remain our guests, both of you, until you’re ready to leave.”
“Thank you for your hospitality, but we’re not planning on staying long.”
“Good.”
The rest of the meal was uncomfortable for Sebastian. Not only was he receiving ambivalent emotions from Charlie, but he also sensed that Memphis was feeling vulnerable. She huddled into him, moving her chair closer. His own emotions were tumbling. His stomach became uneasy and tingled with her being so close. Or it could have been the salad.
Her scent drifted over to him, adding a further level of distraction. He glanced at her and caught her looking at him. She hurriedly looked away, smiling.
Everyone quickly dispersed after they were done eating. Sebastian and Memphis were escorted back to their apartments under the threat of a storming sky. Memphis toyed with a slim piece of metal she carried in the toolkit hidden in her pocket. They delivered Sebastian to his room first, and she watched carefully as they locked him in. She smiled at how simple the lock was.
As the door to her apartment closed, she slid the thin metal piece in between the latch and door. The door shut, but remain
ed unlocked. Now was when their hosts would be most at ease, when they were safely locked away, so now was the time to act.
Charlie kicked open the door, picked up Matthew by the chains, and threw him into the small stone cell. The walls and floor had been worn smooth over the decades, and several patches of dried blood stained the floor. A tiny window opened onto the night sky, but showed nothing else.
Charlie, towering over his prisoner, pointed a finger at the boy. Matthew scampered away on his hands and feet into the corner. “We have a name for you now, boy. Tesla.”
“I already have a name,” Matthew whimpered.
“You don’t deserve a name after all you’ve done,” Charlie roared. He turned to the wall and looked at the several objects clipped to it. He took down the whip and slowly uncoiled it.
“Please, sir, no more whip.”
“Fine, tesla.”
Charlie’s eyes scanned the other pieces of equipment. Most were harmless, old training tools, all wooden. Charlie looked at his leg and smiled. He unscrewed one of the support bars from the leg of his exosuit and hefted it in his hand. Diesel dripped out and ran into the cracks of the flagstones. The remaining support hissed loudly as it compensated for the sudden lack of pressure.
Charlie snarled at the young boy. He brought down the iron bar with the full power of his exosuit. The boy whimpered and held up his hands, tears flowing down his face. He howled out for Charlie to stop, begging for mercy, as the blows rained down on him.
When he was out of breath, Charlie stepped back and examined the bar. It was bent at right angles. Matthew huddled in the corner, unharmed.
“So, you do know.” In one quick motion, Charlie picked Matthew up by his throat and slammed him against the wall, his limbs dangling free. “Now, talk.”
9
MEMPHIS WATCHED THE traffic moving around the exit. An incessant drizzle had set in. The main gate had been locked at sunset and Chargers were milling around in wet-weather uniforms. Outside the gates, she knew, drones would be scanning the streets on their eternal search for living targets. The drones’ main strength was their relentlessness. They communicated with each other and worked together to track down their targets. And they never stopped until the sun rose and they went into recharge mode.
Memphis remained concealed behind a group of trashcans. Bugs crawled across the discarded food in front of her. She pulled a face of disgust. She took out one of her small black boxes, pressed a button, and shoved the ticking device into one of the trashcans. She ran toward the gate, then slowed to a walk and pulled her hood up over her head.
Inside the trashcan, the ticking increased in tempo and then came the explosion. The trashcans went skyward and garbage rained down.
The soldiers ran past her and started to scour the area. She slipped into the unattended service alcove and quickly examined the electronic lock. She pulled out a magnet and a small cloth. She dropped the cloth into a puddle and wiped it over the face of the lock, while running the magnet down one side of it. It clicked open.
That was the easy part. Getting back in alive would present the challenge.
The small gate shut behind her with a soft click. She peered across the large open expanse before the buildings started. She checked her explosives. Only three left. The drones would be waiting silently. She had too few explosives to waste one on a maybe.
She ran across the empty space to the ruins of the closest buildings. She listened, but heard nothing. She looked down the dark streets, now even darker because of the cloud cover. But at least it would make the menacing red lights of the drones easier to spot.
She made her way back along the streets, stumbling over the rubble in the dark. It had been a lot easier in the tank. She had to take a wide berth around all the buildings that could be drone bases. The bases had been hidden in postal buildings, but the ongoing war, and time, had removed all markings. Any building with a wide front door and relatively easy access was a potential danger.
Scavengers were also a threat. The unruly mobs of outcasts were either too dumb, different, or diseased to fit in with the rest of the population. It was a discrimination that she’d been able to work in her favor in many life- or freedom-threatening situations.
As she approached her destination, she spotted the blinking red light of a searching drone. It swung around and focused on her. Then the buzzing started, low and incessant, intended to vibrate through people’s bones and shake fear into them. She picked up her pace. She only had two or three streets to go, but if the drones triangulated her, they would kill her. Even if she got to the destination, if there were too many drones nearby she wouldn’t be allowed in. Then the drones would definitely kill her.
There was a sudden burst of bullets behind her, and the telltale beep of a sonar echo. She ran forward. Two more sonar beeps echoed to one side, and she ducked down an alleyway. A fence cut across the alley, leaving no path through. She scouted around and found another trashcan. She upended it and a drone fell out, along with thousands of insects. She slammed the can down over the drone, leaped on top of it, and jumped up onto the fence. She clambered up and over, and sprinted down the alleyway.
At the end she stopped and gasped for air. Her side ached and spots swirled in front of her eyes. She heard the buzzing sound again. The drones had triangulated her and sent out the signal.
She took out another explosive, reluctantly, as she only had two left, and weighed it in her hand. She hated to use such a precious resource, but the situation was life or death.
She watched as the merciless drones approached, their squat black bodies and devil-like red eyes glowing in the dark. She upended a trashcan, placed the explosive inside, and threw the can into the line of drones. The explosive detonated as she sprinted away. The reverberation in the can sent the drones spinning.
She ran up a flight of stairs into an empty building, crossed through the lower floor, and jumped out the broken window on the other side back onto the empty street. She hustled her way through the deserted streets until she heard a familiar sound. She smiled and ran in the direction of the noise, tracking it to a small basement. She knocked on a solid metal door. A small latch opened and a pair of bloodshot eyes stared out.
“You got to be a fool to be out this time of night,” said the gruff voice from beyond the door.
“Let me in,” she replied. The buzzing became louder, and she looked over her shoulder. “Now.”
The gruff voice grumbled its annoyance, but she heard several locks click back and the door opened. The warmth, and the smell of alcohol, rolled out and over her. She inhaled and stepped inside. The door slammed shut.
The heavyset man sitting beside the door stared at the monitor. As the drones approached, he targeted the cannon and unleashed a stream of intense fire. When he’d finished, the drones were melted and destroyed.
“Thanks for leading them to us,” he said. He didn’t bother to look at Memphis, but stared intently at the monitor. He sucked back a beer and waved her away.
She ventured deeper into the fortified bar among the grumbling and boasting men who let laziness and greed direct their lives. A clockwork gramophone spun in the background, playing a black vinyl disc. An elderly voice crooned over a slide guitar, keeping Delta Blues alive. The background hum wrapped around her like a cozy and familiar blanket.
She knocked on the bar and the barman turned around. The enormity of his ugliness was worthy of poetry; his obese body was splotched with stains and scars.
“Do you have an interstate telecom?” Memphis asked.
“Depends if you’re gonna buy the appropriate number of drinks.” He gave her a broken smile.
She rolled her eyes and slipped several credits over the bar top. “Where is it?” she asked.
“You gonna talk nice to me?”
She grabbed him by his shirt, pulled him close, and punched him in the face. “Nice enough for you?”
He staggered back and checked his face. Blood was running from his nose
and a tooth was in his palm. “I should get you thrown out to the scavengers,” he snarled.
“As far as I remember, drinking houses were still outlawed. I suggest you discover that a bit of respect can get you a long way, especially in the presence of a lady.”
“I don’t see no lady.”
She glared at him. “Strange, I do.”
He indicated an alcove at the rear of the room. She grabbed a shot glass and hurried over to the secluded area. She pressed the onscreen button and a question mark appeared. She leaned forward and said, “Church, ten, one-nine-one. Memphis calling.”
A spinning circle replaced the question mark. She knocked back the shot and coughed. There was a click, she cleared her throat, and the image of a hunched figure appeared on the screen. He wore a leather cap and had a patch over one eye.
“You have a nerve calling here,” he said.
“Forget the grief and attitude. Is he in?”
“He won’t talk to you.”
“He will once he hears what I’ve got to say.”
“What could you possibly say that would be of any interest after what you did?”
“I have a tesla.”
There was a considerable pause. The man disappeared and the telescreen switched to a hold image. The screen flickered and a helmet appeared on the screen.
“I have your location. Tell me why I shouldn’t kill you now.” The voice was deep and distorted. Behind the figure was a city so vast it took up the entire horizon. From its position in the center of the city, the Omega, the twisting tornado of destruction, was pulling in the debris of the decaying civilization.
“Hello, Master. Something peculiar happened on my way to the jail. Out of the sky fell a boy from another land, a boy who is a full, one-hundred-percent real tesla. He can do it all without the fear. He has control.”
“We have a tesla.”
“Not like this one. He can crumple steel in the blink of an eye. And he can, um, fly through the sky on glowing feet. And he fires bolts of energy out of his hands.”
