The God Machine

by Thomas E. Sniegoski

  The visibility through the cockpit windshield was fair to poor, as the snowstorm swirled around the hovering Chinook, making it hard to figure out exactly what they were looking at. Hellboy leaned in closer, squinting to see through the swirling flakes.

  "The storm's picking up, sir," the pilot said, struggling with the stick to keep the chopper steady. "I'm not sure how much longer we can remain fixed."

  A strong gust of wind pummeled the craft and cleared the air in front of it. Hellboy caught a momentary glimpse of the small island below, catching sight of a mechanical giant. You've got to be kidding me, he thought. The thing was at least fifty feet tall, jagged metal wings making it seem larger, its body the color of rusted iron. A strange, whirlpool-like atmospheric disturbance swirled above it, pulsating with an unearthly light.

  "There ya go," Hellboy commented. "Bet you didn't think we'd be seeing one of those today."

  "No, sir, we didn't," the pilot grunted, fighting to keep the craft steady.

  The temperature dropped in the cockpit, signaling Steve's arrival.

  "Son of a bitch, they did it," the ghost muttered, as the storm howled outside the craft, and a sudden bolt of crackling energy launched itself from the body of the metal giant, cutting through the air on a collision course with the Chinook.

  The pilot swore loudly and banked the craft sharply to the left. The helicopter dropped below the strange lightning.

  But it was as if the white-hot energy had a kind of sentience, for it changed its course as well and slammed into the side of the craft. The helicopter rocked from side to side, the lights flickered and the twin engines momentarily moaned, threatening to stall. The pilots expertly fought the controls and moved the chopper from harm's way.

  Hellboy was about to ask if everybody was all right when he heard a gasp. Steve had drifted back into the hold, and Hellboy could see that the ghost was in distress.

  "What's wrong?" he asked, watching as Steve studied his hand.

  "Something's not right out there," the specter said. Then the ghost's fingers started to stretch toward the wall of the craft, as if something were trying to drag him through to the outside. "It feels like it did when I got sucked into the battery--only worse."

  "Get us away from here!" Hellboy hollered to the pilots.

  "No, wait!" the ghost yelled. "It's too late for that. It won't do a bit of good." His entire body was being pulled now, his shape elongated, distorted. "It's outside. There, on the island--something that giant is doing."

  "What can I do?" Hellboy asked.

  "Sorry, pal, nothing to hit here, I'm afraid," Steve replied in surprisingly good spirits. The ghost had become even less defined, as part of his spiritual makeup was already being pulled out of the chopper.

  "Tell Tommy I'm proud of him," Uncle Steve said, his voice becoming more distorted, harder to hear as he became less defined. "Tell him his uncle..."

  But before he could finish, the ghost was gone.

  "Sir, how shall we proceed?" the pilot called out from the cockpit behind him.

  "I doubt we'll be able to get close enough to drop me off," Hellboy answered. Looking around the inside of the craft, his eyes landed on a stack of yellow supply bins secured in the corner of the hold.

  "You guys wouldn't happen to have a manifest as to what you're carrying, would ya?" he asked, still eyeing the containers, an idea beginning to form inside his head.

  There was a rustle behind him, and he turned to accept a clipboard from the copilot with a few printed pages of what the Chinook was carrying for ordnance.

  "Thanks," he said, quickly scanning the list.

  He found what he was looking for on the second page.

  "Bingo."

  The god was laughing as he fed. Spirits of the departed swirled around his head in a maelstrom of death energy.

  Absolom could only stare, gazing up at the metal giant as his body continued to change, becoming more and more ornate. The surface of his copper-colored skin bubbled as if liquid, ancient sigils older than humanity rising to beautify the flesh of its new, powerful vessel.

  "Now this," he roared, admiring the ornamentation of his arms and hands, "this is a body befitting a god."

  This isn't how it was supposed to be--this isn't how a god is supposed to act. The wings upon the deity's back were enormous, and Qemu'el beat the impressive appendages at the air, whipping the storm into a new frenzy.

  Absolom covered his eyes against the wind and snow, making his way toward the god, calling his name, but the Archon failed to notice. Determined to capture his attention, he looked around to find a stone, snatched it from the ground and hurled it as hard as he was able. The rock bounced off Qemu'el's chest plate with a clatter and, at last distracted, the angel looked down to find the source.

  "What are you doing?" Absolom cried, emotions running wild. "I brought you here--we brought you here--to save the world."

  Qemu'el tilted his large metal head as if considering the question. "And saved it will be, just as soon as all life upon it is wiped away. I'm saving you pathetic beasts from yourselves--it would be only a matter of time before your species accomplished this inevitable goal yourselves. As a result of your assistance, for which you have my gratitude, it will be decimated all the quicker."

  "No," Absolom screamed, stamping his foot down upon the cold rock surface of the tiny island. "You were supposed to lift us--to bring us that much closer to perfection--to the Creator Himself."

  Already starting to lose interest in his despondent follower, Qemu'el laughed, a horrible mocking sound.

  "Consider yourself already blessed," the Archon growled, and returned his attention to the swirling energies he had called down to feed upon. "If it had been my decision, your entire species would have burned long before climbing down from the trees."

  The words were like vicious blows, stunning Absolom nearly senseless. He stumbled away from the creature, who now reached up to the heavens, drawing enough strength from the ambient spirit energies to destroy the world.

  I've been used--manipulated, he thought numbly, staggering across Egg Rock as if drunk. I'm going to be responsible for the end of the world.

  Absolom's mind raced, searching for some answer to the quandary he faced. His inventions squatted silently, their awful purpose fulfilled, the wood and metal surfaces covered with snow. Was there anything he could do, or should he just accept his fate and that of the world?

  At first he believed it to be only the wind, but then realized that someone was in fact calling his name. It was no more than a whispering croak, and he had to search for its source.

  Mary Hudnell still lay upon the cot, her sagging stomach now resembling a deflated balloon. She remained attached to the various machines, the metal needles sticking up from the loose flesh of her abdomen. He approached the poor woman, listening for the sound of the voice again; it was insane, she couldn't possibly have survived. She appeared almost peaceful, lying upon the cot, partially covered in a powdery blanket of snow.

  He reached out to touch the cold flesh of her face.

  "It appears that I've made an enormous error, dearest Mary," he said. "And my Electricizers, as well as everybody upon this planet, will have to pay for it."

  Mary's eyes came open, and he stumbled back with a gasp. "Impossible," he said, watching as she struggled to speak.

  "There is...a way to stop him...to stop...Qemu'el," she croaked. Her body began to tremble.

  Absolom was speechless. His terror rose as he stared at the woman--who had no right to be alive. Her stomach started to inflate, as if filling with life again.

  "Help...them," she yelled. The ends of the needles had started to spark, some of the wire connections now broken.

  "Help whom?" he asked in desperation. "Who am I helping? What should I do?"

  "They're coming," Mary wheezed. "Help them...to come..."

  "But I don't know what you mean," he stammered. "How should I help?"

  "Machines," she cried, her stomach n
early tripling in size--the pale skin of her belly glowing hotly from within, making it nearly transparent. "Make sure the machines...work!"

  Absolom ran to his inventions and inspected the connections. They all seemed to be functioning, but he worried over the power source. Most of the batteries had been nearly depleted.

  "Turn them on!" Mary yelled from her bed, the glow that emanated from her stomach nearly blinding.

  "There isn't enough power," he called to her. "The batteries are empty and..."

  "Turn them on!" Mary Hudnell demanded frantically as her skeletal frame started to thrash upon the cot--as it had done before when the creature had been born into the world.

  He did as he was told, certain it would be for naught.

  Absolom flipped the switch on the console and moved to the others, doing the same. The cables that had been used to transmit the energy essence of the god twitched like enormous snakes angrily writhing upon the ground.

  "They're coming!" Mary screamed, bucking and heaving, bony hands holding on to the sides of the cot in a death grip.

  She cried out one last time, one final pitiful wail, followed by a single blast of light as if the very sun had exploded.

  Blossoms of color erupted before Absolom's eyes. Frantically, he blinked away the beautiful flowers in time to bear witness to the strangest of sights. The writhing cables were leaking enormous amounts of mysterious energy, energy that appeared to be collecting--forming an enormous ball of unearthly fire. The sphere continued to grow with a sound like the hum of a thousand angry insects.

  Absolom glanced over to where Mary had been lying, only to find that she and the cot on which she had been lying had been completely incinerated, leaving only a small pile of ash on the smoldering ground.

  The buzzing sound from the ball of energy grew louder, and his gaze was drawn back to it with wonder.

  "What are you?"

  As if hearing his question, it started to roll toward him. Bursts of steam erupted from beneath its passage as the snow vaporized on contact with the unknown energy source. He barely had time to leap out of its way as it passed--the intensity of its heat strong enough to singe his exposed flesh and make the fabric of his coat smoke.

  The energy sphere continued to roll, moving toward the edge of the cliff, where it finally plummeted into the sea.

  Absolom ran to the ledge and peered out. The ocean below him bubbled and seethed, but the ball was nowhere to be seen, the mystery of its origins and purpose no closer to being revealed.

  Chapter 16

  H ellboy had never had much luck with gadgets, but at this point, he really didn't have any choice.

  He slipped his arms through the shoulder harness of the flight pack, hefting its weight upon his back. This model seemed lighter than the ones he had used in the past. Hopefully, it was also a little more durable.

  "Let me give you a hand with that," the copilot said, reaching out to help him secure the straps.

  Hellboy had remembered that the flight packs were now supposed to be part of the standard equipment that all BPRD agents brought into the field. He was grateful that these guys had read the latest memos.

  "Thanks. So, how do I look?" he asked, slowly spinning around.

  "Like something out of Buck Rogers," the copilot responded with a hint of a smile.

  Hellboy walked over to another storage container, flipping off the lid, and allowing it to clatter to the floor. "I'll probably be needing these too," he said, taking a bandolier of grenades from inside the yellow box and slipping it over his shoulder. "Wouldn't be caught dead in a jet pack without some explosives."

  "I hear you, sir," the copilot said.

  Turbulence again rocked the craft, and Hellboy grabbed hold of one of the supply cases to keep from tumbling over.

  "What's the story, Captain?" he yelled to the pilot.

  "Looks like we're about as close as we're going to get," he answered.

  Hellboy caught a glimpse from one of the side windows of the faint impression of Egg Rock, just about visible through the snowstorm, bolts of energy arcing up into the sky from its surface.

  "That's good enough," he said, walking toward the door.

  "Oh yeah." He snapped his fingers and went back to the trench coat he'd left thrown over a seat. "Can't go without this," he said, going through the pockets and carefully removing the Anyroda dagger, still wrapped in its protective cloth. He slipped it through one of the loops on his gun holster and tugged on it to make sure it was secure. "That oughta do it."

  He headed toward the door again, checking and double-checking his flight pack.

  "We'll hang around, just in case," the copilot said, flipping the metal latch and sliding the door open.

  "Naw." Hellboy raised his voice to be heard over the wind now rushing into the cabin. "You guys are probably getting low on fuel. Take off and head back to Boston. I'll deal with stuff here."

  Squinting against the wind and snow, he looked for the shadow of the island. "There it is," he said, taking the ignition control switch into the palm of his hand.

  "You take care of yourself, sir," the copilot said.

  "I'll see what I can do," Hellboy promised, and jumped out of the chopper into the wintry void.

  That was the part he hated the most. It was always the same. They'd give him a piece of the latest technology--something that, according to them, he wouldn't be able to live without--but it never quite worked the way it was supposed to. Usually the thing just exploded, and Hellboy ended up in flames.

  As he fell from the sky, a parade of images flashed through his mind--all the contraptions they had ever given him to try out in the field. Yeah, some had worked like they were supposed to, but a lot of them...well, it was just better not to think about those.

  Hellboy gripped the ignition switch tighter. The cold Atlantic was coming up pretty fast below him, and he figured that if the flight pack blew up, at least the fire would be put out quickly.

  "Here goes nothing," he muttered, tucking his tail up away from the exhaust ports just before pushing down the switch with his thumb, and preparing for the worst.

  Click.

  There was a sudden roar as the double turbine engines kicked in, and Hellboy found his descent gradually slowing to a stop above the churning sea.

  "Huh, how about that," he said, pleasantly surprised. "Things must be looking up."

  On the island the mechanical creature spread its huge wings, its arms outstretched. Arcane energy swirled above it.

  Then again...

  Spirit energies flowed about him and Qemu'el basked in the power that would define him upon the world of man. He mused about their fear as they saw him, the last sight seared upon their eyes before the end.

  "Glorious," he spoke aloud, his voice like the rumble of thunder. But his joy did not last for long as thoughts of his still-sleeping brethren intruded upon his pleasure.

  They had been created to work as one--a destructive trinity to wipe away the mistakes of the Creator. He missed his brothers, but he knew they would not approve of what he had done and was about to do.

  Qemu'el did not, however, have enough power to destroy humanity on his own. He could cause massive, widespread devastation and wanton death, but the angry Archon wanted more. Humanity deserved nothing less than to be annihilated, punishment for its petty greed, avarice, and cruelty to each other.

  Without his brothers, he required another method of destruction. The humans would be put to use. They would assist him in their own demise. For countless millennia he had watched them from his limbo--observing as they evolved and their technologies developed, but never losing their animal ways, their killer instincts. How fascinated he had been with their inventions, especially their products of war. Now he would use their tools of annihilation against them--reaching out with his power to touch off multiple explosions, covering the globe in nuclear fire. When that was finished, all he would need to do was finish the job.

  He had more than enough power of his o
wn to complete that task.

  Qemu'el closed his eyes, sated by the flow of strength into his new metal form, and saw in his mind's eye the Earth as it soon would be, barren, lifeless and cold--awaiting the touch of the Creator. And from the desolation an opportunity for perfection would emerge. His excitement wavered as he pondered his Creator's reaction.

  I'll make the Creator see, Qemu'el thought. I'll show the Lord of Lords that what I am doing is all for Him.

  Qemu'el was so caught up in his thoughts of the future and how happy the Creator would be once He understood, that he did not take notice of the engine's roar and the threat that it carried.

  Until it was too late.

  Surprisingly, the flight pack worked like a dream.

  Hellboy hovered in the air, thirty feet or so above the shore of the inhospitable-looking island. Held aloft by the jet pack's two, powerful engines, he wished for a pair of goggles as he watched the metal giant through the whipping snow.

  The mechanical creature simply stood there, arms and wings stretched out to either side as a swirling vortex of some kind of supernatural energy churned above his head. A closer look at the energy source revealed it to be what Hellboy had suspected. Shapes were being drawn down from the unearthly whirlpool and into the metal giant; human shapes, which explained what had happened to Steve.

  Spooks. Looks like the Colossus of Rhodes here is feeding on ghostly energies.

  Above the roar of the wind and the turmoil of the ocean, Hellboy could just about hear the pitiful wails of spirits in distress as they were drawn down from the sky, to be absorbed within the strange spiny protrusions that stuck out from the giant's body.

  Whatever he was doing, Hellboy decided that now was as good a time as any to put a stop to it.

  Carefully, he removed a grenade from the bandolier across his chest and began to drift toward the stationary being. He seemed distracted, as if daydreaming.

  Good for him, bad for big metal guys with fragile-looking wings.

  Hellboy flew in closer, getting an even better look at the guy. At first he thought he was seeing things, but then he realized that the giant's metal skin was actually changing, becoming less like metal and more like skin. It just went to show what a heaping helping of ghost-juice could do.