by Jake Bible
“Yes, sir,” Jenny replied. “Goodnight, sir.”
“Goodnight.”
Fifty-One
The night fell from the east across the wasteland; a shroud of blackness that covered the damaged land and its people. For those that took the time to look up they would have seen a brightness, a shimmer, to the stars like they’d never seen before. The shield gone, the air was moving in ways it hadn’t for generations. Clouds began to form slowly in patches, gaining momentum, combining into fronts that were only known in stories.
The wasteland was breathing again.
And so were the inhabitants.
Survivors across the land took deep breaths of air that no longer tasted of only dust and decay. They sucked in the raw air, unchanged by shield filtration and ionization, and remarked to each other how it tasted different. Those that were isolated, cut off from the events that unfolded, couldn’t put their finger on it, couldn’t explain it, but they knew something had changed. The physiological fog of the wasteland lifted and many began having thoughts like they never had had before.
Hope.
The change wasn’t as dramatic for all. Many were too occupied with basic survival to stop and take stock of what their bodies were noticing. But their subconscious minds, the part of them that connected directly to the land, knew. And that knowledge worked its way into their beings.
As the night rolled across the land, everything was transformed. Nothing was left untouched. For better or worse, the wasteland would never be the same.
***
Dog’s tinted faceplate kept the last rays of the sunset from blinding him then switched to night mode, turning the wasteland before him into an illuminated vision of green and white and shadows. Various readings popped up, showing him the temperatures of different areas; whether there was movement or not; the general location of the other riders that surrounded him; and much more data that he really didn’t care about.
All Dog cared about was getting to the Stronghold and getting ready to kill some deaders. The Mayor had informed him of what was marching across the wasteland towards the Stronghold. And Jenny had let him know about Rachel and Themopolous.
The fact that thousands of armed, and apparently self-aware and cognitive, deaders were coming at them wasn’t what bothered him. That he could handle on any day of the week. Life in the wasteland was always one big fucking fight after the next.
But Rachel had been is his mentor when he’d first arrived at the mech base as the Rookie. Her gone hit him hard and he struggled to swallow the pain, to push it down deep into that place where he kept his rage. He knew it would fuel him as he fought, but he wasn’t a total idiot. He’d feel it later.
If he survived.
And he had no intention of doing anything but.
***
Jay slammed his spanwrench against the wall, his face red, his body tense with rage. “Are you all fucking stupid? Don’t answer that! Because the fucking answer is yes! Bunch of fucking Railer morons! What did I say? Huh? What did I fucking say? I said to get all of the mechs prepped, not just one for each pilot! If they need a backup I want it ready! I want it already loaded on a fucking train car and speeding towards battle! You! Yes, YOU! Why are you washing that mech? WHY?! Do you think that will increase performance? Are you trying to blind the enemy with a shiny exoskeleton? WHAT THE FUCK COULD BE GOING THROUGH YOUR MIND?! And you! Don’t think I didn’t see you take that fucking twenty minute nap! If I didn’t need every pair of hands I’d walk you out to that mass of deaders out there and feed you to them! I bet they’re real hungry right now! Where the fuck do you think you’re going? I don’t give a shit if you have to shit! Did I say it was potty break time? You’ll shit in your pants until we get this fucking work done!”
***
June lay in the semi-dark of the infirmary, tucked in a corner on one of the cots. She stared at the small shadows on the ceiling, her hand absently stroking her growing belly. She glanced at the cot next to her and the sleeping form of Stan. She wondered how he’d react to a new baby. He wasn’t hers biologically, but he hadn’t left her side since escaping the Boiler village and she knew he thought of her as more than just a surrogate mother.
She loved the boy and would do anything to keep him safe. But the day that loomed wasn’t about her, it wasn’t about Stan, it wasn’t about any single person in the Stronghold.
It was about everyone in the wasteland. And, if what she’d been told was right, it was about every one else in the world.
June had to put personal fears and insecurities aside. She had to step up and be who everyone needed. She would be the first line to keeping people alive once the chaos and violence started. In her youth, hell, just a few months ago, she would have shied away from the pressure. All she cared about then was stealing Matty from Rachel.
Rachel.
That hurt.
They had patched things up and June knew that Matty was Rachel’s and never would be hers. But now Rachel was gone… Did she dare let her mind drift that way? Did she even have a chance to think that Matty could see her as something other than a comrade in arms?
She didn’t kid herself. That part of her life was over. She had Stan to worry about and a baby on the way. A baby conceived by rape in a time of terror and violence in her life.
No, it wasn’t about her. Not anymore. And possibly never again.
***
As she absently stroked Beth’s sweaty forehead, Melissa glanced up and caught Mathew watching her.
“What?” she asked as she leaned back in one of the oversized seats in the BTT. Styles was in the cockpit, door wide open, singing some tune at the top of his lungs as he flew them back to the Stronghold. “Say it if you got something to say.”
“What’s she like?” Mathew asked. “Beth.”
“Why?”
“Because I want to know.”
“To see if she’s like your Rachel?” Melissa regretted the words as she saw the pain flash across Mathew’s face.
“Yeah,” Mathew replied. “I just…I just want to know.”
Melissa eyed him for a moment, unsure of what to tell him. He had a perception in his head that she doubted would match who Beth was. It had taken Melissa months, and more than a few near death experiences, to really get to know Beth. How could she explain that to a total stranger?
“She’s sweet,” Melissa started. “But she’ll rip your face off if she has to.” Mathew smiled. “What?”
“Nothing,” he said, shaking his head. “Keep going.”
“Well, she cares,” Melissa continued. “She cares a lot. Probably too much. She’s beyond loyal, even when I was being a total twat. She can fight like a motherfucker. That girl has gifts with BC like you’ve never seen. Uh, well I guess you haven’t seen any at all.”
“I watched you tweak that skiff. Like that?”
“Sorta,” Melissa said. “Except Beth can do it with her mind without touching it. It’s like she’s connected to BC on a psychic level.”
“Technopathy,” Mathew said and nodded for her to go on.
“Yeah, that.” Melissa looked down at Beth. “She’s so sad, though.”
“Like how?”
“Like she knows she doesn’t belong. Like she has a secret in her that she can never share. I don’t know. She’s always been that way. It’s as if she’s resigned to die at any moment. And she knows that no matter how much she lives, how much energy she pours into living, it’s all for nothing.”
“You love her, don’t you?” Mathew asked.
“Don’t get pervy,” Melissa snapped.
“And don’t get all defensive,” Mathew returned. “You love her like family is what I meant. Like blood.”
“Yeah,” Melissa answered without even thinking about it. “That’s because she is family.”
“I get that,” Mathew yawned. “Thanks for telling me everything.”
“Is she like your Rachel?”
“Maybe,” Mathew shrugged. “A little.
But I’m sure she’s totally her own person. Genes don’t make who you are. Your life does.” He yawned again. “And your family.”
Melissa watched Mathew close his eyes, but she could tell he wasn’t sleeping. With all he’d been through she doubted he’d sleep for a long time.
And she was right there with him.
***
The race began as soon as the mag-skiff had reached the summit of the overgrown pass. Stone didn’t have any illusions that the skiff could outrun the HAVs that pursued them. By the look on Gein’s face as it was illuminated by the dashboard lights, Stone could see the man didn’t have any illusions either.
“We’ve got a twenty minute lead,” Mr. Gein said as he checked sensors and readings. “We run into any interference at all and they’ll rip us apart.”
“Pretty fucking clear on that,” Stone responded. “But nothing we can do.”
“Would have been nice to have one of those BTTs pick us up like they did the jacks,” Mr. Gein stated.
“Again with the fucking obvious,” Stone stated. “So glad I keep you around, Gein. It’s like having a mental parrot.”
“Fuck you, Stone,” Mr. Gein replied lazily, tired of always saying it. “You want to go it on your own then put a goddamn bullet in my head and toss me out of this skiff.”
“No, you don’t get off that easy,” Stone replied. “You see this through to the end with me.”
“And where do you see that end being, Stone?”
“Not a fucking clue, Gein. Not a fucking clue.”
***
The mini-mechs sat upon the Railer cars, their bodies magnetically secured as the train sped across the wasteland.
Shiner, out of his mech, paced back and forth on top of a car, his eyes scanning the far distance, waiting for the first signs of the Stronghold.
“They will not be on sensors for hours,” Bad Shell said from atop a different car. Each of the mechs had secured themselves to a Railer car, saving energy and taking advantage of the speed of the train. “Stop that pacing before I crush you.”
“You cannot,” Shiner replied, but stopped and stood still. “I just reform.”
“Nice trick,” Awl Good said as the mech reluctantly let several Railer mechanics check him over. “We get a chance and I want an upgrade like that.”
“Blasphemer,” Hollow Eye said. “You shame yourself.”
“Don’t think so,” Awl Good said, pointing in the direction they were headed. A Railer that had been working on his arm hydraulics clung tightly to a strut as he dangled two stories in the air over the speeding ground. “If the com chatter was right then that Pope man believes those are the Chosen before God. If that’s true then what is the Great Maker? What are we?”
“Not for us to think about,” Hollow Eye stated. “We are just His servants.”
“Too much thinking,” Thunk added to the conversation.
“Very true,” Hollow Eye agreed.
“No,” Thunk explained. “You all do too much thinking. We are mechs. We fight. That is what we do. Anything else is pointless.”
The mechs all observed him carefully. It was the deepest comment Thunk had every said.
“We are more than just mechs made for fighting,” Hollow Eye responded. “The Great Maker has said-.”
“Fah,” Thunk grunted as he turned away. “Too much thinking.”
Shiner nodded, understanding what Thunk had meant, but not agreeing with it. He didn’t agree with Hollow Eye either and wondered if that was what humans dealt with: too much thinking, too many opinions. He went back to pacing and waiting. And thinking.
***
On top of his transport, miles away in the darkness outside the work lights of the Stronghold, the Pope grinned at the mechs’ conversation, having had one of his techs hack their com channel. He had been curious about the thinking mechs ever since he’d met the Great Maker in person.
It amused him that machines had moral and intellectual crises. He found it more than academically interesting that they could reason on such a high level and deal with existential issues that even the Pope doubted many of his Brothers and Sisters dealt with. He had to wonder if maybe there was room in God’s plan for more than just the Disciples. Maybe God had intended for all non-living in the wasteland to be saved.
That thought brought him comfort, for he wondered what his place would be once the allied forces of Capreze and the Disciples defeated the Three’s army (which he had no doubt they would do). Perhaps his next mission was to bring in the metal. Perhaps his next mission was to find more lost metal and teach them the way of God.
Perhaps.
He let his mind wander, occasionally coming back to that thought, but mostly just exploring any random idea that came into his head. He found that to be very meditative, the opening of the mind, the free flow of his synapses. And since he knew he would not sleep that night, he resigned himself to the little bit of rest his wandering mind allowed.
***
Masters winced as he sipped the crap coffee he had just made. Others in the Stronghold’s cafeteria did the same, but kept their complaints mainly silent for fear of pissing off the obviously upset mech pilot. While Masters certainly wasn’t a grouchy asshole like Bisby, or a deadly threat like Harlow, he was still a mech pilot and no one in their right mind took that for granted.
He punished himself again with another sip and then another, ignoring the scalding of his tongue. He wanted –he needed- some other type of pain than what he felt in his heart. He’d known Rachel for years, even before she became a full fledged mech pilot. He remembered her running about the base as a teenager, always hanging out in the hangar, always insisting that one day she’d out pilot them all.
For once in his life, Masters didn’t have a joke or smart ass comment in his head. No internal mocking of one of the Railers or of Bisby’s occasional lack of basic hygiene. Masters had nothing in him except sorrow.
The year hadn’t been his best.
He’d nearly gotten everyone killed when he had blown Dr. Johnson’s brains out, setting off a self-destruct sequence in the Stronghold. He’d been lucky that Jethro had stopped it. Of course, he had been semi-suicidal because he thought Harlow was dead. Which, as it turned out, she wasn’t.
When Harlow had found out he’d bailed on his fellow pilots and left them to be destroyed, she’d shunned him. For months. She still didn’t really talk to him.
And to add insult to injury Capreze had benched him. No mech piloting. At least until earlier in the day. And that hadn’t worked out so well. He could still hear Jay yelling at him for letting the Tumbler get destroyed.
He didn’t feel too much like Mitch Mother Fucking Masters. He felt more like Mitch Useless Fucktard Masters.
He sipped more coffee and winced again.
***
Harlow and Bisby sat in silence as the Railer train zoomed through the night. No one had bothered them since the news of Rachel and Themopolous had been broadcast. Marin had given strict orders that all Railers let them be. She knew how explosive the situation could become.
Grief was a deadly fire that could burn out of control quickly.
The two mech pilots said nothing to each other. They didn’t need to. Each was lost in their own thoughts about the people lost.
Harlow tried to bring up happy memories of Rachel. She thought of the times she’d spent with Rachel and how they’d bonded over both being in love with mech pilots. It wasn’t easy for a woman in the wasteland and it wasn’t easy for a mech pilot. Combine the two and it was a recipe for a long lonely life. Rachel had known how lucky they had been to find their men when they did.
That brought up other feelings and regrets and Harlow had to shove those aside. No time for self-pity. Friends had died and it was possible more would die soon. She had to push her conflict with Masters down deep.
Bisby, on the other hand, thought only about revenge. He had been Rachel’s mentor, teaching her everything he knew about being a mech pilot. They
had spent long hours out in the wasteland on target practice and sparring. He’d showed her the physics of a mech, how it wasn’t the same as a person. He taught her to use the momentum of the massive battle machines as a weapon in and of itself.
He gave her all the knowledge he had. Even though she wasn’t his daughter, Bisby had considered Rachel his legacy. And in a flash that was gone. The future was gone.
Harlow and Bisby’s eyes met for a second, but still neither of them spoke.
***
Further down the Railer train, Campbell and LaFrance sat in a double cabin, the sled dogs quietly sleeping at their feet. Their mourning was for the lives they watched snuffed out by people they had believed to be friends and partners. Neither of them knew what lay in store for them or their country.
If the American’s and the people of the wasteland were able to fight back the Three’s forces, and defeat the Canadian mechs and troops, then what? Would an invasion of Canada be next? What about all the people that weren’t military? That weren’t a part of the Council’s deception?
LaFrance and Campbell both knew a lot of innocent blood would be spilt if things weren’t handled properly.
But who would do the handling?
***
With the Three’s forces, led by Reginald, miles and miles ahead, Ms. Isely stepped from the water skiff to the Monterey beach. The moonlight reflected about her, casting strange shadows on the wreckage of the day’s battle. She made her way slowly through the debris to a command tent set up by a set of small dunes nestled between two large rock formations.
“Mum,” a guard nodded as she slipped into the tent.
The Three all stopped talking and motioned for her to take a seat.
“Ms. Isely,” Mr. Plain nodded. “A nice surprise.”
“I would think your ship would be a more secure location,” Ms. Isely said as she looked at the thin material of the tent.
