by Raylan Kane
The leaders from every region walk back along the thin path to the other side of the lake. The water nips at our heels here in the shadow of the monolith. The high waterfall’s constant static off in the far distance to my left soothes the reptilian fight or flight part of my brain. Hundreds of recruits line the base of the giant rock – waiting for the horn to sound. We are surprised to see the leaders cram into two vehicles and leave the scene across the water, likely headed to the same place as the buses – for whatever reason.
Milne and Trident shimmy their way through the crowd and approach.
“We’re going to climb along with you,” Milne said.
“There’s something they’re not telling us,” Trident said.
“What do you mean?”
“The leaders, they didn’t leave yesterday, or the day before.”
“That’s supposed to mean something?”
“Did you notice the birds?” Trident said.
“Yes,” I said. “Maybe it’s a natural migration taking place.”
“From Thiel? I doubt it.”
“What are you suggesting then?” Milne said.
“I don’t know – something’s going on.”
CHAPTER SIXTY
Of course I looked down. People who say don’t look down are people who have not embarked on a climb of this magnitude – or maybe they’re people who’ve never climbed anything more than a step ladder. I looked up too – I can see I am half way into the climb and it appears I am nearly unrivaled in my height. The rock face has a bit of a bulge near its middle – looking down it’s like a bluff. Milne and Trident are behind that bluff. Getting over that might be the most challenging part of the climb. My fingers are bloody and my skin cracked. I have kicked my toes into this wall so many times they have gone numb and I still have so much above me left to navigate. All I can think about right now is water; it might have been smart to stuff a bottle into my pocket. Forget it – I need to keep focused.
I think about what the High Command’s special project might be. I think about Milne Clowe without clothing. I think about Rygart and what he may try to do next when I win this thing. I try to keep my mind occupied to push out this pain and forget how many feet I have left to climb.
I have cut the upper half of the rock face in half again. The mechanical sound returns; the source of the noise is behind me. A similar sound joins in the drone behind me and to my right. The two metallic grinding sounds together sound like a siren; the smell of smoke grows stronger. I have to sneeze, but I try to stifle it before I find my next hand-hold. I cannot hold it in, my left hand jars loose, my right arm is straight above me – I feel it slip on loose silt. The tips of my last three fingers on that hand pull hard on the small outcropping above; I keep stable long enough to re-place my left hand against a knuckle of granite jutting out just above my left shoulder – it’s not a great place to gain leverage. I have my right knee bent, I find a firm place for my foot to rest and I push hard upward. This is the flattest part of the wall. The summit is within view. I feel naked and vulnerable. The lake is a tiny pool below. The world is open behind me. I twist my neck and I can see everything – the ocean dominates the horizon.
I feel around with my right hand for any new ledge that will show itself. My mind buzzes with the ever-present notion that I might fall. I need to stop thinking about falling, but every other hand or foot placement I have this vision of someone falling backward from the great face – down and into oblivion.
I can see Milne down to my right. She is slow and deliberate. She takes her time. I don’t want her to catch me staring at her or she may lose focus looking up at me. I do not see Trident yet. I cannot think about anything or anyone else – I need to keep focused here. This time I push off with my left leg and quickly scramble to stick my hands into any crevasse that’ll have me. The wind tempts fate; it tries to get between me and the rock. When the wind kicks up I put more pressure on my tired knuckles and flex inward, flatter to the wall. At this height a small breeze could be enough to send anyone tumbling. Forget it – the wind isn’t here – it does not exist – push.
I think I’ve pulled a muscle in my right shoulder; it burns with every move now. Push. I try not to rush. I need to remain deliberate in my moves. The top grows achingly close. It appears as just a line – a thin black line against the clouds. I can feel the relief of making it, I can taste that feeling of safety – I just have to get there – I have to.
In my peripheral vision I see a climber struggle. She is to my right and down – further right and higher up than Milne. She is in a panic – she darts her left hand all over – she cannot find a hand-hold. She pushes on her left leg. Her left foot comes off the wall – she holds with everything she has, clinging to the wall with her right side. The pain she must feel trying to maneuver her body back to flatness. Her left side continues to swing out, she pivots on her right until her back is almost facing the wall – her right hand gives – she’s gone. Her scream disappears into the wind. Focus. Relax.
Every muscle burns; every other new movement upwards I must stop, breathe and alternate wiping my hand against my cheek trying to create enough friction to scrape the wetness of sweat from my finger pads. Blood streams down the tops of my fingers from the tips. My feet feel like stumps. I keep kicking them into rock, forcing the issue of outcroppings and foot-holds. I refuse to ignore any undulation as a potential hook – a way to propel myself forward. The top is no more than a body length away. I will not look down any more. I flex my left leg and place the ball of my foot on a half-inch outcropping. I push on it hard – I slide my right leg up and jab my foot into a v-shaped opening. My hands above me hold on small ridges that appear to be just inches from the summit. Push. Breathe. I put my weight on my right foot and push up again. I pull with my right hand – my hand slips free – a cold chill runs down my back. I fight my body’s urge to swing left and flex my quads in an attempt to flatten and push up instead of away. I swing my right arm forward toward the wall and my hand comes to rest beyond rock – on dirt – above the line! I push off my left leg and place a flat palm on the top and pull. My other hand rest on the flat top and pulls. I see grass ahead of me – my hips rest on the line, my feet dangle as I pull pull pull. I drop on my back and lie next to the summit heaving in great mounds of fresh air. I lay here watching scores of birds fly north above me. I gather enough energy to crawl back away from the summit and to sit on the softness of the grass and wait for the others.
CHAPTER SIXTY-ONE
Far off to my left I see one body lying on grass. I cannot make out who it is, but there are only the two of us up here. An agonizing amount of time passes, and still no one else crests the summit. I ache to see Milne and Trident up here, but I do not want to look down and spook them or cause them anymore stress than they already feel – I just hope they can hang on.
A skinny forearm slides over the line and a tiny hand plants itself flat on the dirt like a body rising from underground. Milne’s dirty, sweat-soaked, glorious face appears and she thrusts herself over the line and rolls to the edge of the grass. I crawl to her and hold her as she cries.
Trident appears moments later. He grunts with every movement. He is a sight for sore eyes. He crawls to the grass and lies on his back with his knees drawn up – he says nothing. One by one more recruits surface – more than I’d thought would ever make the climb. It’s hard to process what we’ve just done. The three of us scramble further back from the edge and lie in a heap on a patch of clovers waiting for organizers to arrive.
The summit of the Cliffs of Ro seem a strange place to sleep, but I wake to see Trident and Milne along with nearly every other recruit standing looking out toward the sea.
“What’s happening?” I said.
“That noise is back.”
“That’s what woke me then.”
Smoke rises in the distance near Furion City. A larger plume rises from the area of the stone barracks. There are few birds i
n the sky now – most of them seem to have gone.
“What do you think is happening?” Milne said.
“I don’t know.”
“Hey,” Rygart approaches. “What are you doing here?”
“Get out of here, Rygart, right now!” Milne said. She moves to stand in front of me.
“This is between me and him.”
“Milne, it’s okay. We’re fine. We’ll just talk,” I said. “Besides, I see you haven’t brought your army with you. What do you want?”
“I want to know how the curses you’re standing here.”
“And you feel I owe you an explanation?”
“Yeah, sure.”
“I don’t owe you-“
The ground rumbles and the mechanical grinding noise fills our heads. Everyone plugs their ears and stares toward Furion as a huge black shadow rises over the city. The shadow comes into better view as it descends over the city – it’s a large metallic dome sliding and curving over the top of the city and encasing it with a final crashing thud. A similar object, though smaller in size fully encases the stone building where we had been staying. With both domes firmly in place the mechanical noise stops; a welcome relief.
“Curses and rhyme,” Trident said. “Did you see that?”
“What is happening,” Rygart said.
“Bramen, I’m afraid.”
The silence is broken by sirens echoing across the region below us.
“Why are there sirens?” Trident said.
We stand in awe at the edge of this giant cliff, staring at these two metal domes in the distance, listening to the urgent wails of sirens when a sudden concussive pulse emanates from far on the horizon over the ocean – a white ring of sound sweeps from the water at break-neck speed and spreads across the sky over and behind us. The sound rumbles the ground and sends most recruits diving to grass.
We look at each other, stunned, at a loss for words. Hundreds of us, lined up along this line. We continue to stare out at the blue-green horizon, until the horizon turns into something else.
CHAPTER SIXTY-TWO
The collective cry of hundreds of hardened recruits drowns in the thunder of earth quaking beneath their feet. My whole body shakes and I watch as the calm ocean has risen into a wall swelling and lifting as it passes over Furion’s dome. The collective horde turns and runs from the edge of the cliffs and off to the vast fields behind us. My greatest fear hurtles toward the cliffs – my heart pumps so fast I can hear it in my ears above the calamitous racket before us – I am frozen with fear and gross fascination; the dome over the barracks disappears beneath the churning mass.
Piles of trees and broken ships poke out of the surface as the water’s height heaves upward toward the summit. Rygart digs his toes in the dirt and darts away, Trident turns to follow, and I grab him by his forearm and hold him tight – I don’t know why – perhaps out of instinct. Milne buries her face in my chest as the mass builds. The land before us has disappeared; only ocean lay in front of us. Cold gales push in with the water. The sea pushes further, the water rises against the rock face – 2000 feet and counting. My hand tightens until it turns white on Trident’s arm. We stand mesmerized as the ocean’s progress slows considerably and a thin film of white water breaks over the line and the surface of the risen sea dances above our ankles.
Then, as soon as the water touches our feet, it sinks back below the summit line. The sea lingers just below us, and then sinks some more. The earth shakes again and I remember the feeling of the water retreating beneath my feet that day at the beach with Milne, my toes coated in mud. The ocean below us draws back in an enormous riptide that leaves thousands of tons of mud on top of fields and forests; back and back, further and further the water retreats. The metal domes re-appear now striped on top with rippled mounds of wet sand.
The ocean sets back down, just as it was; my hand falls from Trident’s choked forearm. The three of us drop to the wet grass in a heap of tears and disbelief. No other recruit remains on the summit of these cliffs but us.
“What do we do?” Trident said as he cries.
I am beyond speech. Milne whimpers in my arms. A rumbling sound descends on us from some imperceptible place.
Two helicopters appear overhead like black metal gods. Each one gently touches down behind us. A man in a suit and two others step from the choppers and walk to us. As the man in the suit closes in I see it is Joggard, the man from Niona.
The three of us stand to face the man; each of us a messy conglomeration of dust and dirt.
“You’ve seen better days, I suppose,” Joggard said with a smile. We stand in silence. “The three of you are the only ones who stayed - congratulations,” he said.
“Stayed?” Milne said.
“For the wave.”
“You knew about it beforehand?”
“All part of our evaluation,” the man said, again flashing his charismatic smile. “You passed.”
“What about everyone else?” I said.
“Is there anyone else here?”
“What now?” Trident said.
“Now we have a conversation.” The man motions to the helicopters.
The two workers dressed in black body suit and white dome helmets run scanners over us; their faces hidden behind black visors.
“What is this?” Milne said.
“Medical techs,” Joggard said, “they’re checking you for injuries.”
“We’re fine,” I said.
Joggard waves off the two techs before they reach me; they walk back toward the helicopters. “Forgive the formalities,” Joggard said; he extends his arm as if ushering us to follow, “shall we?”
Milne and I put our arms around each other as we walk; Trident and Joggard are ahead of us. The two med techs board one chopper; Joggard has us board the other.
The helicopter is luxurious inside; huge soft seats, tables and cabinets and a viewing screen. The High Command insignia is stitched into the head rests above every seat. The three of us slide in facing Joggard across a table; the wall on my left closes. Joggard gives the signal to the pilot to go; as the engine revs, an alarm sounds and red lights encircle the inside trim around the doors. The wall beside me re-opens – the other chopper sits on the ground and the two med techs approach.
“What’s happening?” Milne said.
“Everybody out,” Joggard said.
The three of us slide out of the helicopter. The techs pull out their handheld devices and begin scanning Milne again. Milne looks nervous. The techs do not speak as they finish running their devices over Milne’s body. One of the techs shows Joggard the screen on their device as the other steps over and begins scanning Trident. They scan Trident’s body completely and the silent workers show the display to Joggard. The two techs step over to me.
The device hovers just above the skin – and the workers slowly move their devices over every inch of my body. The two finish scanning and one of the workers shows the display to Joggard. Joggard’s face changes.
“Something wrong?” I said.
“No, not necessarily,” Joggard said.
“Okay,” I said, “what is it? What's wrong?”
“Just one question for you,” he said. “What’s 17 times 9?”
CHAPTER SIXTY-THREE
I was sent to this place to die – to be dismembered. I was strapped to a post, thrown on a barge and shipped away from my old life and left for dead. I was held in a metal box – fed nothing but paste – and updated by an automated voice on how many hours I had left before I was to be taken to the dissection chamber.
That was 138 days ago.
The Haker is 100% automated. The only people here are scheduled for vivisection and death. The humans have determined that the things done in this place are too much for any person to take mentally and still carry on a “normal” life, so they’ve left it to the drones; which basically means they’ve left it to me - I don’t like taking orders from any
body, much less a machine. I do have to hand it to the drones though - they did have me contained in that box right up until it was time to go; once we got to the dissection room, well, it was a bad day to be a robot.
I took great pleasure in destroying the high tech hardware in the dissection room. I poured that paste all over the central computer and its servers. All of the containment boxes opened, and all of the prisoners walked out. Clones and normals alike walked out of the holding areas and found their own places to sleep; most chose the outdoor areas, bedding down on hillsides of rotting cardboard or fields of broken down rusted out relics. The Haker is an isolated island. It is the place Sydin sends all of its human and physical garbage - guilty as charged. There are no trees or flowers or birds; there is only junk, electricity and the stink of desperation and death.
Speaking of death – I’ve spared the lives of some drones I keep locked in a pen near the area we human Haker residents call “the stadium”. I am preparing to send a few of the machines to their deaths - it's become routine. It’s all part of our weekly entertainment. I sit in what used to be a torture chamber; a room where dreams went to die – I wrap cloth around my fists – I grab my aluminum staff affixed with blades. The crowd above me roars; their feet thunder against the roof above me. Thousands of hopeless souls revel in my battles with the helpless machines – it is therapeutic to watch your oppressor held to account for their actions. The bots do not feel remorse, just as they do not feel pain when I stick metal shivs into their circuitry; but it’s the symbolism that counts. It’s when I lop off the drones heads in one spinning sweeping motion that I get the biggest cheers - most of us have no idea how or even if we'll ever get off this island, so we revel in even the smallest of victories.
