Upon Stilted Cities - The Winds of Change

by Michael Kilman

  The Runner said, “Indeed, do not worry, we will find the culprits and make sure that they are dealt with in equally brutal ways so that nothing like that will ever happen again.” The man had a strange accent. 17 couldn’t place it.

  17 said, “Wait, you know who did this?”

  “It was most certainly the Children of Gaia who are responsible. We had an operative in their organization you see, and last we heard, they had planned an attack. We had tried to disrupt it, but we lost contact with our operative.”

  “Wait, operative? Children of Gaia?”

  The other Runner was silent for a moment. “Manhatsten does not know of them?”

  “I don’t think so. I mean, I’ve never heard of them.”

  “Curious. We were forced to deal with them decades ago when they attacked our city. It was my impression that all cities knew of the Children of Gaia by now.”

  17 said, “Don’t you want the salvage? Why would you stop the attack?”

  The other Runner audibly scoffed with disgust.

  “Are the lives of children of no value to you? Despite the fact that we would benefit greatly from the salvage, we did not want so many innocents to suffer. It is one thing to kill a warrior, quite another to kill an innocent. There is no honor in killing children. That way leads to damnation.”

  “Fair enough, but you didn’t answer my question. Who are the Children of Gaia?”

  “They are terrorists led by a madman.” The Runner moved slightly closer. “Unfortunately for you, the information is no longer of value. I am quite disappointed; you are not in combat gear. Killing you now would not bring me honor or recognition in the Rih.”

  “And just who the hell are you?”

  “I am ‘Akif of the Rih of Saud.”

  “Saud, huh?” At least 17 had the information he wanted now.

  17’s Recon suit wasn’t ideal for battle, especially not with a Rih. The bastards with Saud were a tough bunch.

  17’s suit wasn’t unarmed. He had a special blade installed on his Recon and Retrieval suit. It was a privilege granted to few, but since 17 had been in combat more times than he could count, Daniels had allowed him to customize a few things in his suit. Besides, he had told Daniels to his face several hundred years previously that there was no way in hell he was leaving the city completely unarmed.

  “What does Rih mean, anyway? I’ve always wondered?”

  “It means, that I am, like...” it was clear ‘Akif was struggling for the English word, his AI translator appeared to be unable to translate certain concepts for him. “I am of the wind.”

  “The wind? What in the hell are you talking about?”

  “Your Runners are the garbage, the waste of the city, the ones you wish to flush down toilets. Rih hold special status, and we begin training at a very young age. I, like so many of my brothers, have been waiting very long to meet the famous 17 in battle.”

  “Famous?”

  “Oh yes, we have watched you for centuries, hoping one day our cities would meet and we would kill you in glorious combat. Even our Queen desired the honor when she was Rih.”

  “Your Queen? What city has a Queen? I thought Senates ran every city?” asked 17.

  ‘Akif laughed. “I see that your head of security does not keep the Runners in your city informed. The Senate of Saud was corrupt, and so the woman who would become our Queen led the Rih to cleanse the corruption and restore the honor of our ancestors.”

  17 had only encountered Saud a few times, and it had been in the earlier days of migration. Saud traveled across the ocean for a pilgrimage or something, and so it was one of the more elusive cities. Travel over the ocean was no easy task.

  Saud had come out of the Middle East; it was the only city to come out of that region, the only one to survive the terrible wars that came when the oil ran out. Working in commodities, 17 had made a lot of money on oil scarcity. The price was through the roof at the end, and with his foresight, 17 and several of his colleagues had managed to buy up an entire tanker of oil and make a killing selling it to the Federal Government of the United States for their military. 17 had secured his spot as an Upper with that money in the very first days of migration; of course, it didn’t last long.

  “Why in the hell does anyone from Saud care what I do? Aren’t you usually off floating in the Atlantic or something?”

  “Stories tell of your many victories and your prowess as a warrior. But now that I see you, I see a small man; small-minded, small-hearted, and small figured. I expected so much more.” There was disdain in his voice.

  “You’re welcome to come over here and say that to my face.”

  The AI said, “Sir, I wouldn’t recommend combat at this time. Your current suit is not appropriate for combat, and I am detecting a great number of steel weapons and explosive-based chemicals on this individual. It is clear he would have the upper hand in a combat scenario.”

  17 switched off his external communication momentarily.

  “I don’t doubt he is armed to the teeth. But he thinks we’re unarmed, and I always have my trusty blade.”

  “Yes 17, but if he chooses long range combat, I’m sorry Sir, but we don’t stand a chance.”

  “Never count your chickens, AI, besides, how many times have you told me not to do something, and I do it anyway. Aren’t you computers supposed to learn or something?”

  “That’s true 17, you do have a record of not heeding my advice, and I must say if I had more human emotions, our arrangement would likely be dissatisfying.”

  “Hey, we’re still alive, aren’t we? I mean we are coming up on our 1300-year anniversary, you and I.”

  “And it fills me with great joy,” replied the AI.

  “Did you just make a joke?”

  “Yes, 17.”

  “Finally growing a sense of humor, are we?”

  “Do you dishonor me with silence, 17?” said the Runner from Saud.

  “AI, just watch closely and prep the shelter. Deploy it when I give the order.”

  “Acknowledged.”

  17 switched back to external communication.

  “My apologies, I was consulting with my AI on the most honorable way to kill you in your culture. I certainly don’t want to be insensitive.”

  ‘Akif laughed heartily, “A bold claim for a man who is unarmed.”

  “How old are you?”

  “Do you mean as a Rih or in all of my life?”

  “All of your life.”

  “I have 372 years.”

  “That’s a shame; then I take it you never saw any of the old Kung Fu movies before migration?”

  “Kung Fu? Movie? I am not familiar with these terms.”

  17 could hear the other Runner’s AI updating him on the meaning of the terms in the background of external communications.

  “Well you should be, or at least you will be in your dying breath. See, I spent a lot of time watching those movies and training martial arts before migration. And there was one thing I always noted about the hero in those films.”

  “And what was that?”

  “Everything around them was a weapon.”

  17 used the boosters in his legs to jump high in the air momentarily. This had the effect of throwing up a huge cloud of dust, sand, and rock and made it difficult to see anything, even for an AI. He dropped down and charged in for the attack, releasing the spring on his hidden arm blade. He was confident as he thrust forward toward ‘Akif, only to find that he had moved quickly and easily through the dust and sand.

  “Such tricks do not work on the Rih. We carry the sand, the dust, the earth.”

  ‘Akif unleashed two long blades from his suit, one in each arm; their gleam was barely visible through the haze. Both were longer than 17’s single blade. There was also the combat suit to think about. Recon suits were built for speed, were much lighter and had less armor. A Runner in a combat suit was also a half-meter taller than one in a Recon suit. The combat suit had greater reach, but it was a bit sl
ower.

  “They say you do not die, that you do not bleed. They say that your heart is made of iron and your lungs breathe fire,” said ‘Akif. “Let us find out what it is you truly are made of.”

  17 chuckled to himself; he felt like he was in some sort of bizarre Jackie Chan movie. All that was needed was the out of synch dubbed audio over their moving mouths. He really had spent years training in various martial arts, and in a few close combat instances it had helped him to survive, but mostly he always could improvise in combat and dangerous situations that allowed his victory.

  ‘Akif charged, swinging his left blade toward 17’s midsection. 17 dodged it just in time and brought his blade up just quick enough to block ‘Akif’s right blade. 17 used his momentum to circle the right blade down toward the ground and pushed ‘Akif slightly off balance. He swung his foot up and ignited his boosters, pushing hard on the larger, heavier EnViro suit. ‘Akif, who looked almost like he was going to fall, rolled with his movement and did a sideways flip, almost hurtling 17 to the ground. 17 pushed ‘Akif back and retreated several meters to catch his breath.

  “Damn they do train you, don’t they. I’ve never seen another Runner move like that.”

  “We are Rih, we move with what comes, take what we can, and always flow around the barriers. You shall be honored this day, 17, for I am first among the Rih and the greatest warrior of Saud will spill your blood.”

  “We’ll see, won’t we?”

  17 charged in again, knowing that ‘Akif might just be a better fighter. They came together again, grappled a few more times and then moved apart, it was all 17 could do to keep ‘Akif from slicing open his EnViro suit. 17 found that somehow every attack he issued was immediately converted to defense. He knew this was a losing battle. Without the combat suit, he didn’t stand a chance. He had to do something or else he really would end up dead.

  “AI, how in the hell am I supposed to get around that second blade?”

  “My apologies 17, but I had stated before it was unwise to stay and fight. I believe your response was,” and the AI switched to an imitation of his own voice, “How many times have you told me not to do something, and I do it anyway.”

  “Fair enough, but that doesn’t fucking help.” He said in between the sounds of clashing metal.

  ‘Akif charged, bringing down his right blade. 17 just barely blocked it. Then, ‘Akif swung his left blade around for the kill.

  “AI, now!”

  The emergency shelter deployed and briefly swallowed up ‘Akif as it ejected and surrounded him. It threw ‘Akif off balance and knocked him down flat on his back, but ‘Akif was too quick. He immediately rolled over and thrust himself upward just as 17 was closing the shelter back up.

  “There are many tales of your resourcefulness, 17. It is too bad you have only a single blade and a few useless tricks. But the time for play is over now. I must finish you and report back to Saud.”

  ‘Akif charged again, and this time, despite being able to block several of his blows, he penetrated 17’s defenses and the blade entered into 17’s right abdomen. The pain was sharp. 17 fell to one knee.

  “Sir, your suit has been compromised, and your vitals are–”

  “Fuck, tell me something I don’t know for once,” replied 17.

  “You see, 17, my blade has tasted your blood, and now I will end your life. Do not worry; I will give you an honorable burial in our gardens. I will spare you from being recycled in your own city. We in Saud do not believe in such barbaric practices. After all, how can God judge a man if he is undead?”

  “Sir, I have a proximity alert for you.”

  “Not now, AI, I am a bit busy.”

  17 coughed. The pain was immense, and he was having a hard time getting back up on his feet, but he did. He held up his left arm where the blade protruded from his suit. It was a damned good thing he was left-handed cause at the moment his right abdomen was bleeding badly, and he doubted he could have lifted his right arm.

  “But Sir, that sandstorm has swung back our direction and will be here in less than ten minutes.”

  17 smiled, he knew that storm was his only hope now. He was no match for ‘Akif, at least not without being fully armed, and even then...

  “Your AI telling you about the storm, ‘Akif?”

  ‘Akif was silent for a moment; he was apparently just being updated about the direction change of the storm as well.

  “We got less than 10 minutes to find shelter, and I don’t know about you, but I think I could stretch out our battle at least that long, even with my wound.”

  “You are already finished, 17; you can barely lift that blade. I will kill you quickly and then escape the storm.”

  “You sure? And what if you can’t finish me in ten minutes? What if that storm gets us both? I already reported back to my head of security, and they have already started to deploy the full Runnercore. In fact, I am here against orders. What about you? Have you reported back? Does your city know Manhatsten is here and prepped for war?”

  ‘Akif hesitated. It was in that hesitation that 17 knew he had not reported back. 17 thought it was very likely that his first order was to make sure he reported all vital information to the city’s defenses, just as 17’s standing orders were always as such. Suddenly, ‘Akif’s blades rolled back up into his suit.

  “Another time, perhaps, 17? Don’t let the storm get you. I would very much like to finish what I started. You are supposed to be unkillable. If that’s true, a little wound and storm shouldn’t finish you off.” With that, ‘Akif turned and ran in the opposite direction of the storm, seeking shelter. Even with ten minutes warning, it would be a hard run for him to shelter and the storm would disrupt any transmission he sent.

  17 had no idea what to do. His blood was soaking into the bottom of his boots. His wound was wide open. He fell back to the ground. There was no outrunning the storm or fancy parachute maneuvers this time. He had no tricks up his sleeve.

  His voice quivered from the pain. “Thoughts on just what the hell I should do, AI?”

  “I’m sorry 17, there is no cliff nearby and there is certainly no outrunning the storm. It will arrive in less than eight minutes. Though you could try and take shelter in some of the ruins, I am not sure you would make it there in time, especially with your wound. And there are the chemicals to worry about with your suit punctured.”

  “Well then, I guess it’s been nice knowing you.”

  “17? This is not typical behavior on your part, are you feeling quite well?”

  “No AI, read my vitals; I am not feeling well. I think the bastard got a kidney or something.”

  “Sir, that is not what I meant, this isn’t exactly the first time you have been seriously injured.”

  17 said nothing for a moment and turned to face the storm that was descending upon him like a wall of black. It was death. A personal visit. There was no mistaking that blackness.

  “AI, is there any way you could do me a favor?”

  “What is your wish, 17?”

  “Don’t let them recycle me? Shock my brain to mush if you have to, just please don’t let them recycle me.”

  “Unfortunately sir, even if I turned your brain to mush, they could still recycle you. I don’t have enough power to effectively render your brain useless, only to temporarily stop its functioning. It is part of the mechanism of recycling.”

  “Then find some other way, please. I don’t want to be one of those god damn zombies. Talk to Daniels, I mean almost 1300 years of service has to count for something, doesn’t it?”

  “You are also assuming that I will survive the storm, which is unlikely. Remember that my existence is in part, symbiotic to your own.”

  “If you do, just give it a shot, alright?”

  “As you wish 17, I will 'give it a shot' as you say, if I survive the storm.”

  It rumbled toward them, the maelstrom of death and destruction that had wiped clean so many landscapes. Its swirling abyss looked almost or
ganic, alive and breathing. For a brief moment, he thought he saw something at the edge of the storm, something gliding within its wake. He knew though he must be seeing things. 17 watched as the storm crept ever closer and finally he closed his eyes, feeling just the first brushes of the storm seeped into his punctured EnViro suit.

  Chapter 17

  The Order of the Eye

  Alexa used the sky bridges as the voice had suggested. She had only been walking for about twenty-five minutes when she saw the sign for 41st and 4th. Her footfalls were eager but also apprehensive, filled with anticipation similar to that of taking a new lover. She began her long climb down the stairs. She could have taken one of the lifts down, but part of her wanted to put this meeting off as long as possible. She needed space and time to think on all this, even if it was just a few extra minutes.

  Alexa was more than little terrified she might arrive at an empty and closed library, which would naturally suggest that she was completely losing her mind. She had always been able to skim other minds, but this was different. The voice, the poster, her boss, everything that had happened in only the last few hours had given her the sense she was on some roller coaster of human consciousness.

  As she descended the staircase, her eyes focused mainly downward toward her route. It occurred to her that descending the staircase was not much different than descending into the depths of her own mind. Maybe she was dreaming? Everything seemed to be tied together into some semi-focused dream narrative. At the same time, she was curious to see just how deep the rabbit hole went. Alexa was a slave to curiosity.

  Out of her peripheral vision, Alexa swore she saw more of those propaganda posters, but every time she looked in their direction, there was nothing. It was like catching a ghost out of the corner of your eye only to turn and look to find an old sheet or piece of clothing dangling in the wind. What chilled her to the core was that she had the overwhelming sensation of being watched. She felt like someone, or something, wanted to know where she was going, and she didn’t like it one bit. She even briefly considered trying to transmit her thoughts back to the voice, warning of danger, but since Alexa wasn’t sure that any of this was real, she thought the gesture empty.