by Eyal Kless
We encountered our fair share of human bones and rotting corpses. Some bore vicious teeth marks.
“Alligators,” Sergiu said with open disgust as he pushed a half-eaten, floating body away from us. “They get sucked into the lower levels from the swamp above and then have nothing to do but cull the smugglers. That’s why most of them would rather leave a fat purse in a clerk’s or a guard’s palm than go through here again.”
“Is that what happened to your leg?” I made a point of checking my power pistol, a souvenir from one of my muggers. “Was it an alligator encounter?”
“That? No, that’s a whole different story.”
“Is it an interesting story? Because I could certainly use a distraction right now.”
“A distraction was what caused this smuggler to become alligator chowder.” Sergiu jerked his head back toward the floating body. “Better keep alert and ready.”
“Yes, perhaps another time,” I conceded.
“Perhaps,” Sergiu replied, but I was not such a fool as to believe he’d open up to me.
Once we found the tunnel leading out, it took us almost two days to reach the surface. It was full daylight when we emerged, and like the smugglers in Sergiu’s tale, I swore to myself that I’d do my utmost never to go through that experience ever again. What used to be a wide highway leading into the underground parking area was now complete wilderness.
Throughout my military career I took part in numerous war games and strategic combat simulations, so it was no surprise to me that the City of Towers survived the war. Its antimissile defence and satellite shield systems must have averted or taken out most of the incoming missiles. The protective barrier bore the brunt of those weapons that came through or landed nearby. But while the city survived, the surrounding area took on the collateral damage. With the exception of the city’s silhouette, now miles to the east, there was no hint of buildings, road signs, power lines, or anything resembling civilisation. The ground was a mixture of old road and earth caked to stone by nuclear heat. The city I had awoken in was devoid of life and contaminated, but the buildings and roads were mostly intact. All I could see here were mounds of upturned dirt and deep trenches cut into the earth. The rest was barren. It took me half a day to spot any sign of vegetation. Finally, as the sun was setting, I stopped by a warped tree, feeling drained both physically and emotionally. I tied the mule to it, took away the travelling gear tied to her back, and fed her a nourishment pill stuck inside a carrot.
When I turned back I saw that Sergiu had sat himself on a flat stone.
“How’s your leg?” I asked.
He patted it and winced slightly. “It will do for the time I have left.”
“I’m surprised the Menders couldn’t help you with that injury.”
Sergiu adjusted his hat. “Some wounds cannot be healed, no matter what technology you use.”
“In my time there was very little you could not do, medically speaking.”
“Look around you, Colonel Major. Times have changed.”
“It’s only that where I am going, I need you to be able to walk.”
“I’ll walk, don’t worry, and once we find Emilija, you’ll need to find your way to the Star Pillar.”
“And this is where I will find this Mannes?”
“He awaits you.”
“Well, let’s see about our passenger first, shall we?”
I walked over to the cage and pulled away the black canvas. The Lizard turned its head towards me. It looked worse than before. I raised the plastic bottle and it leaned forward without hesitation.
“This is the last of the water,” I said, and tilted the bottle. It gulped the liquid eagerly, then accepted the last of my carrots. And then there it was again. When our gazes locked, I saw more than just fear, I saw something else—perhaps hope? It knew, it understood. Intelligence.
“What are you going to do now?” Sergiu said behind me. He was standing again, the power pistol in his hand.
I drew the power sword and grabbed the large iron key with the other. The Lizard drew back and hissed as I approached. There was a slightly repellent odour coming from it.
“Are you mad?” Sergiu asked from behind me.
“If you shoot it before I tell you to, you’d better shoot me next,” I warned.
I inserted the key and turned it, then swung the gate open and took a step back. Slowly the creature crawled forward, its claws still tied. It tried to straighten up, then made a terrible squeal and fell to the ground.
“What happened to it?”
“They broke its knees.” Sergiu sounded relieved. “Makes them easier to handle. That merchant you told me about was hoping to make an extra coin from slaying the creature in an arena event, but he wasn’t going to give it much of a fighting chance.” From his tone of voice, I deduced Sergiu was not disapproving of the method.
I looked at the creature. As far as I could tell it was sexless, without genitals of any kind. Just like most of the Angels and Guardian Angels Tarakan had manufactured.
“Sergiu,” I said, not taking my eyes from the Lizard, “do you know what happened to this world—I mean, really know?”
“You asked me this before. I was born years after it all happened, and I’ve heard a dozen versions if not more.”
“Wait here,” I said to the prone Lizard, trusting on instinct that it understood me, then turned to Sergiu the Dying and waved a warning finger at him. “Don’t shoot it.”
I walked towards my gear and rummaged through it, knowing that what I was about to do was worse than taking a blind leap or endangering my mission. My hand closed around the black rod and I pulled it out.
Stupid. Just plain stupid. But I need to know.
I walked back to the Lizard holding the black rod in my hand.
“What are you going to do now?” Sergiu sounded exasperated.
I squatted next to the Lizard, making sure I was out of reach of his still-bound claws, aimed the emergency cell regenerator at one of his knees, and pressed the hidden button. A blue ray erupted from it and scanned the Lizard’s leg, but until it pinged I didn’t know if it would work. If the Lizard was truly an alien or a new species, the cell regenerator would not have been able to recognise the injury. But it would have worked for a human or an Angel.
I turned my head to the Lizard. “I don’t know if this will hurt or not,” I said slowly and deliberately, “but try to stay still.” Then I pressed the second button and brought it closer to the injured leg. White foam formed around the knee until it was completely covered. The field cell regenerator, warm in my hand, pinged again, and I bent down and pressed it against the injured knee, then repeated the proceedure on the other one.
When it was over I stepped back and powered up my sword. It was time for the final test. I watched the Lizard rise up on its hind legs. It slowly straightened up, a head and a half taller than me. I looked at the creature’s powerful hind legs, completely healed now, its immense chest muscles, razor-sharp claws, and greenish, alien skin. I raised the glowing sword between us.
From the corner of my eye I saw Sergiu taking position, his gun pointing straight at the Lizard’s chest. Facing the creature, I was suddenly pretty sure that should it choose to attack, a gun would not stop it in time.
The Lizard looked at my gleaming short sword, then back at me, and with one fluid motion it brought its bound claws down on it. There was a spark and the Lizard was completely free.
“Rust,” I heard Sergiu curse.
“Don’t shoot,” I called quickly, and stepped back.
“Okay,” I said slowly, “this is either very smart or incredibly stupid.” I powered down my sword and lowered it towards the ground.
The Lizard turned its head and looked at Sergiu, then back at me. He slowly lowered himself into what I guessed was a Lizardman’s version of a squat or guard.
“Can you understand me?” I asked.
It hissed softly, which could have been a signal that it did underst
and me, or simply a reaction.
“Can you talk?”
It opened its mouth but again, what came out was something between a hiss and a squeak.
“You are free to go, if that is what you wish. But should you want to stay . . .”
I guess it was just taking its time to figure out if it could do it, because it suddenly charged at me with astounding speed. I heard Sergiu’s weapon discharge but as I anticipated, his reaction was too slow and the only thing the shot hit was naked ground. The creature was upon me before I could even bring the sword back up. I saw the claws which could have ripped through my vessel’s skin, and I instinctively cowered. It leaped over me and I felt the mass of its body pass over my head. I rolled sideways and heard another discharge of a weapon followed by a curse. When I raised my head from the dirt the creature had already disappeared into the darkness.
Chapter 52
Mannes
After all these years . . .
Mannes felt the pang of exhilaration in his heart. He was so close, so close. He walked among the warped black trees, stepping on a twig or ducking under a branch every few steps. It was humid, and even he could smell the musky scent of the forest all around him. It must have been only his imagination, but he thought he detected the faint taint of death as well.
Several lifetimes ago, this area used to be a medium-sized college town that attracted respectable talent. Now it was just another ruin claimed by nature, and there Mannes walked, heart thumping with excitement, even more than excitement. Something far better.
Three of his men were scouting ahead, two more cleared the path with machetes, and a squad of bodyguards trotted around him with their weapons drawn. Regardless of them, and for no logical reason, he felt safe for the first time since . . . Mannes could not remember when he last felt like that, actually.
He had known the town, before everything . . . he had taken a seminar about the place for some extra credits when he was an undergrad student in Tarakan University and still remembered the holographic virtual tour. Five years later, he visited on a four-day convention. He got bad food poisoning on the last day but also a blow job from a very drunk, easily impressed master’s student. So, things had evened out fairly . . .
The town had housed one of the earliest Tarakan server sites, built before Tarakan gained independence and was too far away to be of any use once borders were established. Tarakan kept funding the place merely for its historical and educational value. It was a harmless educational facility in a quiet little college town, with no military value or threat. That did not stop pretty much everyone from targeting the place when the shit hit the fan. There were no high-energy shields to soften the nuclear explosions, no protective military facilities to bear the brunt of the anti-organic bombs, no satellite antimissile shields, not even a mountainside to absorb some of the blasts. There was only a nice little lake with decent fishing that had evaporated and collapsed into itself. Oh, and around eighty thousand families and three thousand students who’d died in a matter of minutes.
Mannes stopped in his tracks to look around. He was almost sure he stood where the famous Vamous Bakery once stood, but that could have been just a hunch. Every once in a while, he would see evidence of the place it used to be: a piece of paved road, rusting metal plates, a still-standing wall, but nothing was truly recognisable. The war had left almost nothing standing, and after a while, like so many other places Mannes had visited in his long journey, man had forgotten and nature had taken over.
“Master, it’s getting dark. Should we head back?”
“No.” His instruments had detected that there was still electronic activity in this destroyed area, and he was not going back without results. He had twenty of his best bodyguards around him, so he was safe enough, and he so desperately wanted to know, to see if there was a chance . . .
“Found something,” someone shouted up ahead.
Mannes knew he was in the right place as soon as he stepped out into the large clearing.
It used to be a modest enough four-story complex, built to blend in with the town’s architectural style. But the interior was distinctly Tarakan, and its steel floors had survived—though parts were buried under the wet earth and debris.
“I want the place lit, now!” he ordered, and his troops did their best, they really did. He never got used to it. His army using sophisticated weapons while at the same time they were often reduced to carrying torches and oil lamps.
Forgetting his age and ignoring physical agony, Mannes got on his hands and knees, and shifted earth until he felt the cool steel under his palm.
He had found it. He had fucking found it.
Mannes straightened up and looked around, trying to imagine the place when it was intact. It was so long ago he didn’t believe he would remember, but the image was surprisingly vivid.
The entrance used to be there. He turned.
Columns there. He saw the imprint one of them had left on the ground. The Tarkanians were into stately columns. Imitating the majestic old Greek architecture was all the rage back then.
Then the middle would be . . . Mannes walked the grounds as if in a dream. He turned around, seeing people and things that were not really there. He heard laughter, and saw smiling students passing by, chattering among themselves. An overly enthusiastic tour guide gesticulated as she explained the importance of the place while mentioning a visit to the gift shop right there would be a fun thing to do after the tour was over. Without thinking about what he was doing, Mannes joined the imaginary group and followed the tour guide.
“The building itself is fully energy efficient,” the tour guide chirped cheerfully, “which means it does not use any more energy than it produces. The panels on the roof are solar, of course, but they also convert the energy of raindrops into electricity. Even the floors store the energy we create with each step we make, so if you want to help us conserve energy and our planet, stamp your feet like this . . .”
Mannes’s bodyguards watched in solemn silence as he walked about, occasionally stamping his feet. He knew no one would dare to comment or snigger at his actions. They had seen him do so much worse . . .
“The majority of the server is buried deep underground”—the tour guide pointed down at the floor—“and it’s not only because the Mayor hates towers.” There were several knowing chuckles among the group. “Placing the servers deep underground helps to keep them cool. Since this is the first site that was built by Tarakan that is operated almost exclusively by an independent artificial intelligence, or Sentient Programs, as they are called by our development team, there was no need to dig wide corridors or worry about human workers suffering from claustrophobia. Darwin, our very own SP, is a hundred percent self-sufficient, which means he manages all needed maintenance on his own. Maybe you want to meet him?” The group cheered enthusiastically.
“And now, ladies and gentleman,” the tour guide announced, “we reach the main point of our tour, right—”
Mannes stepped over a large mound.
Here.
No matter what the tour guide claimed or what slogan the Tarakan advertisement agency came up with, there was never 100 percent self-sufficiency.
Even though it was a rare occurrence, human intervention was something Tarakan engineers and architects had to plan for. Which meant the emergency panel he had learned about in class should be around—
Mannes went down on his knees again. This time his guards protested but he didn’t care. He shifted and dug like a dog searching for a bone. Two of his bodyguards rushed to help, but honestly, he felt as if he could lift a mountain all by himself.
When his hand, elbow deep in the earth, touched the emergency scanning plate, Mannes could not stop the tears from streaming down his cheeks.
Finally. After all these years. Finally.
He pressed the plate with his palm, but nothing happened. He withdrew it, swiped the muck away on his robes, spat and rubbed the moisture on his palms, and tried again.
<
br /> Come on . . .
This time Mannes felt the plate vibrate, and blue light erupted from under his hand, momentarily blinding him. When he got his bearings, the ground was shaking as if there was an earthquake. A few of his bodyguards fought for balance; others had been thrown to the ground and were in various stages of getting up. Blue light was emanating from the places where the earth was piled thinly.
Ten paces from where Mannes was crouching the earth was not just moving; it was dropping into a growing hole as plates withdrew and spun into themselves, revealing a large shaft crackling with blue energy.
A silver ball, twice a man’s size, emerged slowly from the hole. Mannes immediately recognised it as an early version of an SP skin, before they managed to create the more human-like versions. The ball was whole and perfect, made of liquid silver that rippled and moved, shining with a white light emanating from within. Mannes got back onto his feet and stepped closer, motioning for his bodyguards to stand in a semicircle behind him. The ball hovered a few feet above the gaping hole, and for a moment all Mannes could focus on was his own distorted reflection.
A thin line suddenly formed in the surface of the levitating ball and a wide cone of blue light washed over them. Mannes realised his mistake and shouted, “Drop your weapons,” but it was too late. Bullets and rays erupted from the ball, momentarily creating tiny holes in the silvery surface.
All Mannes could do was cover his head and duck. He heard screams and smelled seared flesh, and it was all so sudden and fast it sounded as if a huge, dissonant chord had erupted all at once around him. As if someone had sat on a piano. It lasted probably less than three seconds.
He heard bodies topple to the ground, and then, silence. There were no cries of the wounded or moans of the dying because his entire squad of bodyguards was dead before they hit the ground.
Because of me.
Mannes lowered his hands and raised his head. The ball was still hovering over him, whole and perfect as before.
