“I’m not dead and the metal scraping sound is getting quieter,” Owen sent a transmission to Dante. “I guess it worked.”
“Like a charm,” Dante replied. “We are already salvaging the other tripods that attacked the encampment and the three that attacked group A. We’ll join you as soon as we can.”
“Dante, I have a message for Elisabeth,” Owen sent back.
“She is right here. What do you want me to tell her?”
“Tell her group C will take care of this. She and the rest can watch idiots like us do something really stupid.”
Brent rubbed his temples. His head was throbbing. He couldn’t remember ever having a headache before. If they were all this bad, Brent knew he never wanted to have another. A sudden burst of heat distracted him from his throbbing headache. He looked up in time to see the shockwave run into him. The force of the wave sent him flying like a rag doll. He was knocked up and through some sort of hole in a nearby structure. Brent crawled through the debris back to the opening he had just entered through. He was in what looked like some kind of city. Peering through the hole in the crumbling wall, he could see shattered towers and smaller buildings arranged in neat rows. The sky overhead churned unnaturally.
Instead of clouds, the sky was filled with countless square metal rectangles. Blips of light would shine from them randomly. Another blast of heat washed over Brent as the third building to his right exploded. He realized those boxes overhead were battleships, and those blips of light were the launching of warheads. They were bombarding the world, and he was sitting right in the center of a prime target. He bolted through the opening and ran down the streets as fast as his legs could carry him. The instructor had said he would be on defense, but Brent hadn’t expected this. They were supposed to be testing his ability to command others. If that was the case, where were his troopers? Where were the other recruits? Why was he completely alone?
A warhead impacted the base of the skyscraper on the corner he was approaching. The metal screamed as the tower faltered before falling listlessly to the ground. The tower was coming down squarely on top of him. He thought to run from the falling mass, but it was too massive; he would never be able to get far enough away. He watched as fragments broke free from the falling structure and fell like missiles to the ground below. All around him the metal chunks sliced into the surface. Brent didn’t budge. If this was the end, he wanted to see it all. The mass was only feet away. If he had jumped he would have struck his head against the falling metal. He refused to blink as the crashing tower was about to slice into him.
A giant metal blade thrust just inches above his head at the last instant. The blade glinted in the sunlight, a red hue covering it. A shiver ran down his spine as Brent felt three metal coils wrap around his midsection. With a single movement, he was pulled out from the falling mass. Brent looked up at his savior. He did not find the face of a trooper or an instructor. A single green glowing sphere looked down at him. The figure pulled its blade out from the wreckage of the skyscraper. With a loud grinding of metal, the wreckage collapsed. The small space Brent had occupied a moment prior was gone in a spark of grinding metal.
The coils unwound from his midsection and retreated into the central hub of his savior. It was some sort of tripod. It’s central mass was a sphere of a black metal he had never encountered before with three long limbs extending outward. He couldn’t make out any joints or connectors. The limbs simply seemed to extend out of the central sphere. It stood at exactly his height, but the limbs joined the central sphere near the top. Brent wondered how tall it could get if it could lower its limbs all the way to the base. The front two limbs were massive curved blades of the black metal that glinted in the light. The third limb was much thicker and ended in some sort of three pronged claw that dug into the metal surface of the world with ease. It dawned on Brent that the thing must have used its two front blades to shield him while its third limb had dug into the metal surface of the world. To be able to support the entire tripod and the weight of a fallen building, the hind limb must have been incredibly strong. In the center of the sphere, in between the two front blades, was a churning glowing orb of green hued light. It almost seemed to be floating within the black sphere.
“Thank you. I thought I was done for,” Brent thanked the tripod.
In an eloquent motion the tripod bowed, lowering its central sphere toward the ground while it gracefully swept in its front two blades to from what looked like an “X”. With a sudden jerk the tripod lunged at Brent. Its third limb grabbed Brent forcefully as the tripod curled up into a ball. The two blades shielded Brent as a surge of heat washed over the pair. The force sent the curled up tripod rolling down the wreckage-strewn streets. Shifting its weight, the tripod avoided crumbling buildings and additional impacts. When its momentum ceased, the tripod unwound and released its passenger. Brent’s side was bleeding badly. Shrapnel had managed to penetrate the rolling tripod and had sliced his right side. He pressed his hands against the wound, his face contorted in pain. He struggled to accept it was only a simulation against the agony.
Again the coils extended from its center sphere and picked up Brent. With tremendous speed the tripod sped off toward the horizon. The bombardment was focused on the city, and the tripod didn’t have to avoid incoming fire once it had left the city’s edge. From high orbit the battleships had not noticed the single tripod escape the rubble. Brent was amazed at the incredible speed of the tripod. He couldn’t tell which hurt more, his side or his head. Remembering the words of the instructor, Brent tried to convince himself it wasn’t real, that when the exam was over he wouldn’t have a scratch on him. However, the reassurance that he wasn’t in any real danger did not stop his nerve endings from screaming with pain.
Every now and then the tripod would thrust a blade deep in the surface of the world to alter its course. It was fascinating to watch. If his side wasn’t pulsing with pain, Brent might have even enjoyed the ride. In the distance Brent could make out a single tower. Its strong black surface reflected the lights from the warheads and the plummeting battleships encased in flame. It resembled a massive Egyptian obelisk. He knew he had never seen one in person before, but somehow he found the sight deeply familiar. Somewhere deep inside him a sense of nervousness started to grow. He realized the structure had to be the Citadel he was supposed to defend.
As they got closer it reached higher and higher. When they neared its base he could no longer see its top. It seemed to extend on forever, an impossibly long spear standing firm against the battleships raining death upon it and the world it overlooked. Etched in the shiny black surface were hundreds of grooves. Green trails of light would flash along the paths, resembling electricity flowing through a massive circuit board. Brent watched as a warhead impacted directly against the obelisk. The green lights massed in the grooves at the impact point and channeled the heat and energy away from the Citadel. When the light flash faded, the black surface didn’t have a single scratch or imperfection.
Brent was suddenly aware that he was being watched. As he looked around, he found countless tripods speeding along in neat formation. Despite whatever direction they were headed in, their glowing orbs were focused squarely on him. The tripod that was carrying him ducked into a massive opening at the base of the Citadel. Hundreds of tripods were pouring out of the opening, and Brent’s tripod nimbly ducked and leaped between them. The path they were on sloped down at a steep angle. He wondered if the Citadel extended as far underground as it did into the sky. Finally, his tripod ducked into a side passage and left the stream of tripods behind. The passage quickly emptied into a large room. Images of the battle outside circled the walls. Brent couldn’t see any monitors or video equipment. It was as if the images were living things floating through the air. Every now and then a trail of that familiar green light would carve a path through the free-floating images, outlining their edges.
“What’s this?” an artificial voice called out. “There are no directiv
es for prisoners to be taken.”
Brent watched as the glowing orb of the tripod drifted upward and started shifting through random colors with varying intensities. Apparently, the tripod communicated through light patterns. The tripod gently rested him down on the ground. The sudden movement sent a surge of pain through his right side. Brent cringed and curled into a fetal position. As the pain receded, he noticed a soft clacking sound getting louder. A small black cone was approaching him. It moved on two treads that made a clacking sound as the plates cycled over the floor.
It stopped half a foot in front of Brent’s curled body and a bright green light enveloped the cone. The green lights swam around it in random patterns. He was so mesmerized by the swirling green lights that he almost forgot about the incredible pain in his side. Brent realized with a start that the lights were drifting toward him and covering his side. The cone seemed to draw the lights from the floor below and channel them onto his wound. As the lights reached his wound, they extinguished. After a few moments, the cone ceased channeling and returned to wherever it had come from. The last few lights made contact and their glow extinguished. As Brent sat up, he realized he wasn’t feeling any more pain. Feeling the wound with his hand, he found only smooth skin. Lifting his shirt, he couldn’t find a scar or even a scratch.
“This Slasher informs me that it failed to protect you,” an artificial voice filled the hall. “Do you want to destroy it yourself?”
Looking up, Brent found the voice belonged to a massive mechanical squid-like creature in the center of the room. Countless metal appendages reached out and tapped on the floating displays. As the limbs moved along the images the tripods displayed mirrored the movements. Brent was obviously in the command center of the defense force.
“Destroyed?” he asked as he stood. “Why would I want that?”
“It failed you,” the voice rang out.
Brent looked at the tripod. It stood tall; not even a hint of fear was visible.
“No, I don’t want to destroy it,” he called out to the metal squid.
“Then I shall have it scrapped immediately.” The voice was emotionless.
“No you won’t. I don’t want it destroyed by anyone. It saved my life and I won’t allow it to be punished for that.”
“But . . .”
“No buts! I am in charge of defense for this exam. What I say is law.”
“Exam?”
“Never mind that. The matter is settled. Now, what is the situation?”
“Your will. Bombardment commenced seventy-one point five hours ago. The organics rained their warheads on the Citadels. However, the Nanalite armor repelled the assault. Our defenses were prepared, no damage was sustained.”
“Citadels? Plural?”
“Of course. All six Citadels suffered no damage whatsoever. After seven point three hours of pointless bombardment, the organics shifted to secondary targets. They managed to wipe out most of our surface infrastructure. However, even the mightiest of their weapons have failed to penetrate the surface deep enough to prove a threat. Our subterranean facilities have only suffered a four percent decrease in efficiency due to the bombardment. Four point seven hours later they started to send down ground forces. Our defense screen has been weakened but has still managed to shoot down fifty-nine percent of the landing craft.”
“What are their targets?”
“All organic activity has been focused on the Citadels. Their ranged weapons have proven ineffective against our armor, so they have been focusing on ground assaults. Production was converted to Slasher Shards after the first ground attacks. In the interim fifty-five hours the organics have launched seven hundred eighty-four massed assaults on the Citadels in varying number and tactics. So far, all assaults have been repelled. Minimal damage recorded.”
“How many units have we lost?”
“Eighty-one thousand six hundred twenty-one Slashers, fourteen thousand three hundred thirteen Seekers, six thousand two hundred forty-one Streamers, One thousand eight hundred fifty-nine Strikers, and five hundred seventy-four other various archetypes have been lost since the initial bombardment.”
“How many troopers have we killed?”
“Troopers?” the artificial voice asked slowly.
“Organics.”
“Seven hundred eighty-three thousand, nine hundred sixty-two organics no longer function.”
Brent stumbled as the number sunk in.
“Probability of defeat?” Brent shook his head and focused.
“Negligible. Less than a point zero, zero, zero, zero, zero, zero . . .”
“I get the picture. How much longer can this siege last?”
“Based our intelligence on the organics, taking into account their rate of bombardment and ground deployment, it has been estimated the organics had the capacity for seventy two hours of siege. In point five hours from now, the organics will be completely out of resources.”
“Three days. They brought enough to duke it out for three solid days.”
“What are your orders?”
“Have the forces of the Commonwealth started retreating?”
“The Commonwealth?”
“The organics! Have the organic ground forces tried to leave the planet?”
“Negative. The ground forces continue to fight on. No signs of retreat or evacuation have been detected.”
“That doesn’t make any sense.”
“Your orders?”
“Fortify. In half an hour the troopers will be without support. If they are going to make a move, it’s going to be soon.”
“Your will. Recalling forces to the Citadels.”
“I want to check out the troopers, I mean organics, myself.”
“Your will. I will assign a Seeker to your personal disposal. Do be careful. An organic fights its fiercest when cornered.”
Brent didn’t have to wait long. Almost as soon as the squid finished speaking, a long, flat beetle-looking creature emerged from a pathway. It had ten long thin limbs that quickly sped it along. It had a low profile and was the same gray color as the rest of the world. It was no doubt some kind of recon unit. Brent approached it but could not figure out what to do. Its back was smooth so he couldn’t ride it without slipping off. There was no way he could keep up with it. Scratching his head, he stared at the low, flat metal bug before him. He placed a hand on the back of the Shard looking for any kind of groove he could use for a handle. As he made contact, an image flashed in front of him. Startled, he pulled his hand back. As soon as he did, the image vanished. Carefully touching the Shard again, Brent braced.
When he made contact again, the image came back. It was a topographical map of the local area. He could make out the base of the Citadel and thousands of Slashers patrolling nearby. On the edge of the map, a Slasher disappeared. Brent wondered what had happened. As he wondered, the map automatically focused on his point of interest and zoomed in. A side display replayed the last few minutes. The Slasher was on its patrol route when it suddenly changed course and sped off toward a pair of large impact craters. As it neared the southern one, it increased its speed but then suddenly stopped transmitting. Brent was sure the recruits had destroyed it. He wanted to get to the craters as soon as possible. Without warning, the Slasher that had saved his life picked him up again with its coils and sped through a doorway. He watched as the Seeker easily kept pace. As the tripod that cradled him was about to join the flood of Slashers, Brent pounded on the central hub above him. The tripod stopped and easily shifted the glowing orb inside the black sphere toward its cargo.
“We can’t go out that way!” Brent called up to the tripod. “The troopers, I mean, the organics I want to observe are watching the Citadel. It’s their goal after all. If we leave that way they might spot me. I can’t let that happen. Do you understand?”
Suddenly the tripod lurched in a new direction. With incredible speed and dexterity it flew through the Citadel. The various rooms and chambers were all dark with things movi
ng about the shadows. With the speed of the tripod and the darkness of the rooms he couldn’t make out any details beyond an occasional glowing orb focused on him. Eventually Brent and the two Shards emerged from the opposite side of the Citadel. The tripod made a wide arc around the Citadel, giving as much space as possible to the two craters. The tripod came to a rest inside a smaller crater to the northeast of their target. Brent patted the central sphere of the tripod and smiled. The tripod almost seemed to purr. It sounded like an odd, rhythmic static. The tripod took a low profile, scanning the horizon while Brent climbed to the edge of the crater.
They were a fair distance off, but he could still make out an encampment, a single large tent in the center surrounded by organics watching the horizon. Brent was shocked. Had he just thought of his friends as “organics?” Shaking his head, he blamed the stupid squid that couldn’t figure out that’s what he meant when he called them troopers or Commonwealth forces. He could only make out crude shapes at this range and wanted desperately to be able to get a closer look. As if answering him, he felt the Seeker rubbing against his leg.
Hesitantly placing his hand on the Seeker’s back, he found he could see through its eyes – assuming it had eyes. The Seeker focused on the encampment and zoomed in close. As Brent moved his eyes from side to side, so did the Seeker; apparently it gave him complete control over what it saw. When he wanted a closer look, the view zoomed in on the tent automatically. It was easy to spot the recruits among the troopers. Not only were their uniforms different, but the fear was easily readable on each recruit’s face. Scanning from one recruit to another, Brent realized he didn’t recognize a single one of them. Not one in the entire encampment was from group C. Something else struck him as odd. The troopers were intently watching the horizon, presumably on the lookout for any attacking Shards, but that was all they were doing. The recruits weren’t discussing battle plans or rehearsing attack maneuvers, they were all just – waiting.
The Ninth Page 18
