Ravagers [05.00] Eradicate

by Alex Albrinck

  They watched in silence. Mary and Roddy watched the reports from Eden, where the robot army fought childhood fearlessness and boredom. Jack had toured the island and reported finding a series of caves that he insisted he’d explore once he found portable lighting. Jill reported finding a gravestone; Sheila perked up at that news, murmuring about long-dead ancestors. John looked interested in the story, but asked no questions.

  Micah recounted the messages from Wesley, encouraged at his former employee’s success thus far on a mission that, bluntly, seemed doomed to end in the man’s sacrifice. But Wesley didn’t seem to recognize that problem, or didn’t care, and Micah didn’t see an alternative plan he liked. There were plenty he liked better, but all of those involved risking more lives, something he knew Wesley would veto.

  It seemed to take an eternity to reach their destination, and when they did, they found…

  Absolutely nothing.

  The terrain here was barren, though they saw no sign of Ravagers pooling on the ground. Micah explained that, due to Sheila’s bravery, they’d taken control of the Ravagers, tiny robots programmed to wreak devastation. By changing the programming, they’d neutered the machines’ destructive powers; they’d moved them into the areas where the Phoenix super-elites were expected to make landfall once terraforming activities were completed.

  “Terra… what?” Sheila asked.

  Sheila knew; she’d figured it out while aboard the space station, especially after finding a spot called “Noah’s Ark,” where Phoenix maintained vast stores of surface plants and embryos of land-dwelling creatures. She either didn’t remember in robot form, or she’d asked the question so the others could learn without feeling foolish for asking.

  “It’s a process for taking land devoid of life and turning it into a thriving biome. We found detailed processes and instructions for gathering the needed supplies in the time capsule. The process actually starts with developing an atmosphere and generating water and water cycles, for some reason, but those steps could be skipped.”

  Roddy looked thoughtful, and Micah could almost read his mind. Why would the ancients put instructions like that in the time capsule? It didn’t make sense. But it would come in handy, even if a small sliver of humanity had willingly destroyed vibrant habitats and thus created the need.

  John glanced around. “So… are we waiting for something?”

  Micah nodded. “I think I need to step outside. Our hosts, immortals from the Golden Ages of old, will be looking for me. I recommend each of you stay in the sphere until I call for you.” He paused. “Except for you, Roddy.”

  “Why?” Roddy asked.

  “I… didn’t mention I’d be bringing friends. Except one. The one who would tell them what they want to know more than anything else.”

  “Figures,” John muttered.

  Micah and Roddy exited the sphere and looked around at the empty land, now dried dirt and dust after plant and animal life had been extinguished. At Micah’s urging, Roddy ordered the ship to deactivate the invisibility feature, and a moment later the rippling silvery surface glistened into view, gleaming as it reflected the overhead sun.

  Micah used his communicator to send out a signal on a previously agreed-to frequency, a code he’d generated with the group he’d dubbed the Old Timers to assure them that he was, indeed, the one with whom they’d been communicating, and that he’d arrived at the coordinates they’d provided to him. The transfer of information didn’t occur over regular communications networks, leaving it undetectable to those who might wish them ill.

  They didn’t need to wait long to learn if his communication had reached its intended audience.

  Clouds of dust arose on the horizon. The plumes expanded outward rapidly as they neared the visible sphere and the two men standing beside. Micah and Roddy waited patiently, understanding the purpose of the demonstration and the importance of remaining still. In mere moments, the plume dust and smoking circled them, making clear that they weren’t permitted to leave. Not yet, anyway.

  As the plumes of smoke died down, human figures emerged on all sides, advancing toward the duo. A few had rifles visible, loosely training in the direction of Micah and Roddy. A warning, but not a direct threat.

  The advancing group stopped when they were fifty feet away, except for a single woman who moved forward. “Are you the one who’s been contacting us?”

  “I am. My name is Micah Jamison. The code word I shared with you was ‘cavern.’ Are you Miriam?”

  The woman’s countenance changed from one of threat assessment to one of relief, but her posture remained rigid, her eyes focused as she continued toward them. “I am Miriam. You’ve made some bold claims and brash promises, Mr. Jamison. Can you prove those claims and back up those promises?”

  Micah nodded, tilting his head toward Roddy. “I can, with his assistance.”

  Miriam stopped about fifteen feet away, studying both men before she nodded. The women and men forming the protective ring around the perimeter moved forward, and though Miriam seemed convinced there was no threat, a few others held rifles at the ready as they converged toward the center.

  Relax, Micah told Roddy, using the comms nanos they’d all implanted and had been using to communicate with Wesley. They’re just trying to provoke a reaction. Don’t act nervous.

  Roddy wasn’t nervous; he’d figured out the purpose behind the tactic. Act like you “know” that something is amiss, and you might prompt a reaction that confirms it. He didn’t care for the tactic; they didn’t really have time for these games. And it wasn’t unreasonable for someone surrounded by a small group of armed strangers to wonder about the intent of the strangers.

  But he stayed calm, keeping his eyes on Miriam, who was clearly the spokesperson for the group.

  Miriam moved, not toward Roddy and Micah, but toward the sphere. Her eyes lit up in awe, a reaction she’d clearly been restraining as the motive-testing chess match had unfolded. She let her fingers touch the liquid-metal surface. “This is… how… where did you get this?”

  Micah nodded again at Roddy. “His parents, like you, come from the time of the Golden Ages, and even before, when you and your cohorts had a fleet of these ships available. They retained theirs, well hidden from… unfriendly eyes. At their request and with their permission, Roddy has used this ship to transport me and others as we prepare to launch our final counterstrike against the elites who have for so long plagued our world.”

  “A second ship of this sort would be… helpful in the days ahead.” Miriam’s voice was soft, tinged with hope that they’d grant her inferred wish.

  Micah bowed his head. “I had a similar model until very recently.”

  Miriam whirled on him. “What happened?”

  “I became acutely aware that the flying bombs known as missiles are detrimental to the long-term health of these ships.”

  Miriam’s eyes narrowed. “How did the missiles find the ship?”

  “I was in Eastern territory, having become aware of a narrow window in which I might be able to eliminate a pod of Ravagers before they reached a major population center. Much to my surprise, my route took me over an Eastern military base I hadn’t previously known about.”

  “They shot you out of the sky?”

  “Not the best moment of my former military career.”

  “You look… rather healthy.”

  “Thankfully—for me—the ship took the brunt of the abuse and managed to soften the landing. It was… jarring. I lost consciousness. Thankfully, after I woke up, I was able to contact some friends, and here we are.”

  It occurred to Roddy that Micah had skipped a step or two in his story, but he’d told the tale well enough that Miriam might not recognize the omission. Indeed, Miriam now turned to him. “You just happened to be flying by and scooped this man up?”

  “We were in the area. Naturally, we’d want to help an old friend in need.”

  “You’re a man of the West, are you not? What were you doin
g in Eastern territory?”

  “My wife and children had been missing for years. I learned they were in the East. As previously mentioned, my parents had this ship. I availed myself of the opportunity to reunite with my family.”

  “And on the way home you stopped to give Mr. Jamison here a ride?”

  “Naturally.” It was easy to tell the partial lies when his answers contained so much truth.

  Miriam seemed to recognize that their stories were consistent enough with the truth that she wouldn’t catch them in an inconsistency. “Mr. Light, Mr. Jamison had told us that you have information we would consider to be of great usefulness in the final battle against this group calling itself Phoenix. Are you an Ambrosian?”

  Roddy frowned. “I think I know what you mean, though I’ve not heard it described with that term. I’m fairly certain I’m the only person standing here right now who is exactly the age they appear to be, give or take a year or two rather than a century or ten.” He tipped his head in Miriam’s direction. “Begging your pardon.”

  Miriam offered a faint smile. “Clever. But how, then, did you come into possession of this knowledge, since you’d have no use for it?”

  “My parents were born in the time before the great battle, preceding the dawn of the Golden Ages. They lost what you lost. As such, I was… born with those abilities, dormant though they were. Through intense study of historical records, they seized upon an idea for how to restore things, and I did as they did and found that I could do what they’d done. I’m told I’ve only scratched the surface, because everything must rebuild… but I can do things most people can’t. Here. On the surface. Where the weapon was detonated after the final battle, the one that appeared to relieve Energy users of their powers forever.”

  He held out his hand, palm outstretched, and concentrated. Wisps of visible energy trickled forth from his palm, congealing into a swirling mass of a light blue color, until he lowered his palm and let everything dissipate.

  He looked at Miriam, who’d watched the display with a nearly palpable hunger. “Satisfied I can help you?”

  Miriam turned to stare at him, and Roddy could feel the eyes of the others on him as well, all holding a similar powerful desire to learn. “Yes,” Miriam whispered. “I think you can help us more than you’d ever know.”

  * * *

  “There are others in the sphere,” Micah told Miriam. “They are additional friends and allies. However, they’re not able to take advantage of Roddy’s lesson, but are quite familiar with the layout of the space station. They are going to take this ship and begin doing some reconnaissance to try to assess where our targets might be before the rest make the trip.”

  Miriam nodded. “You’re assuming we have means of reaching the space station without this ship.”

  “I assume nothing.”

  “We have ways of making the journey.”

  “I thought you might.”

  She chuckled. “We should probably meet the others, lest we accidentally injure an ally as we attempt to assassinate our adversaries.”

  “Alliteration noted,” Micah murmured. He paused. “One of our number is recently returned from a mission to the space station, where she successfully wrested control of the Ravagers and gave it back to us.”

  “I don’t want to Ravage anyone.”

  Several of her friends chuckled, and Miriam waved a hand to silence them.

  “We’ve recoded them so they’re now harmless. But that’s not why I mentioned it. Her efforts left her badly wounded and scarred, and though she’s able to fight now, she looks… different.”

  Miriam shrugged. “I don’t much care how she looks, or if she’s earned scars in battle.”

  “We decided to adopt a bit of potential psychological warfare against our enemy. So we made her up to look like… an old ally of ours, but the most bitter enemy of theirs.”

  Miriam frowned. Then looked puzzled. Then: “Wait. You don’t mean…?”

  “I do.”

  “Bring them out.”

  John and Mary exited first, followed by Sheila. Her appearance—mimicking a woman named Hope Stark—had the intent Micah had intended on the Old Timers. They all went still and silent, staring at Sheila, who seemed oblivious to the unusual reaction. But it wasn’t Sheila’s reaction that mattered. If this group of Old Timers, people who’d personally known Hope Stark, would react in such a manner to seeing a clone of their old friend and ally… “I see by your reactions that Sheila’s appearance, as a psychological warfare idea, has merit. Everyone, please meet Sheila Clarke. She’s joined by John Smith and Mary Light.”

  Miriam and the others greeted John, Mary, and Hope-sorry-Sheila in turn, with minimal small talk, and reasonably controlled gaping at Sheila’s appearance. If she’d not been a robot, if she’d truly been in her human body masking the physical injuries incurred aboard the space station, the overt and intense focus on her appearance would leave her baffled, flustered, and self-conscious. As it was, she simply shook hands, asked the name of each person greeted in that fashion, and moved on smoothly to the next.

  John moved away from the throng toward the sphere. “Mary, Sheila… we should probably get moving. The rest have important matters to discuss. And we have a space station to survey and sneak aboard.”

  The two women stepped away. Mary stopped for a brief embrace and casual kiss from Roddy, trying to avoid an amused smile as she sensed several of their new allies try to mask their disappointment.

  And then they were gone, hidden in the sphere, masked by invisibility, vanishing in a cloud of dust raised in silence.

  They made clear the intent to blindfold Micah and Roddy, who both assented without discussion. Roddy wondered if this so-called Old Guard—reputed to retain the dormant powers they’d once wielded—had been without their skills so long that didn’t realize he could “see” his surroundings without using his eyes. He noted a few landmarks on the journey, hoping he wouldn’t need them in a rushed escape or frantic return. When the vehicles finally stopped, when Roddy and Micah stepped free onto the ground, he could feel and hear a thrumming vibration.

  He listened to the sounds of engines and gears grinding, as the surface on which they stood lowered into the ground, in a manner not unlike the shack Micah used to hide the portal to Eden. When the “ceiling” returned to the surface to once again mask the entry to this place, the blindfolds were removed. Roddy blinked and looked around, doing what he could to continue the impression that he’d not “seen” where they were the entire time.

  More people emerged into the entry area, no doubt drawn by the promise of a man who claimed he could release powers so long dormant within them. Micah glanced around. “Miriam, if I may… I am unable to take advantage of the information Roddy will share with you. Are there any among you who will likewise not participate in the instruction? I’d like to review our respective bits of intel on the old Elite that the world now calls Phoenix.”

  One of the men moved forward. “My name is Cyrus. I oversee our external sensors and communication circuits, and make sure all of it is shielded and untraceable to us. I’m interested in learning how you found us.” He said the last part with a hint of anger, as if Micah had personally wounded him. Perhaps he had, Roddy surmised. If Cyrus was supposed to prevent the group from discovery and Micah had found them nonetheless… yes, he could understand the anger.

  Miriam raised her voice. “Friends, allow me to introduce Roddy Light. He’s the son of people like us, from a bygone era when we enjoyed great power, before… it all ended.” Her eyes dipped momentarily, downcast at the memory of the loss of power. “Micah was born with dormant powers, but he and his parents have learned how to awaken what was asleep.”

  She stepped aside, and Roddy moved to a more prominent position. “Hi. Um… I’m Roddy. I’ll explain how my parents figured out the answer, and then I’ll show you how to undo the effects.”

  Cyrus tapped Micah on the shoulder. “Let’s step aside, shall we? I doubt I
’ll understand much of this, let alone be able to use it.”

  “That works for me,” Micah replied.

  He followed Cyrus into a side chamber lined with blinking lights and screens and keyboards, along with several stacks of paper. “My domain,” he said simply. He shut the door, drowning out Roddy’s staccato explanation of “energy signatures,” whatever that meant.

  Micah glanced around. “Nice place.”

  “So.” Cyrus said. “How’d you do it?”

  “You didn’t do anything wrong,” Micah said. “So if you’re catching grief in any way… it’s undeserved.”

  “You still sent an email somewhere you shouldn’t have known about, and managed to push it through our defenses.” Cyrus still looked annoyed. “If I didn’t do anything wrong, some sort of electronic flare that drew you to us… what did I fail to do right?”

  “You didn’t anticipate someone asking the right questions.”

  “Still confused.”

  “I know enough of the ancient times to know how many of the people of that time had to remain alive now, even after all of the calamities. Numbers in the battling groups were known, the numbers dead in the great battle, those lost during other calamities and such since. I had reasonable range of how many people remained. I looked for them inside Phoenix. I looked for signs of people who knew too much and accepted too little of modern lore and accepted truths. I counted them. And there weren’t enough to be found.”

  “Why would you not just assume that the numbers you thought missing weren’t just dead?”

  Micah chuckled. “You immortals are a tough lot to kill. You weren’t dead. You were hiding.”

  Cyrus shrugged. “Fair enough. Still… how did you find us?”

  “I asked questions about what I would do if I were you. Hiding entirely would be pretty easy… but I couldn’t fathom that you’d want to remain entirely ignorant of the events of the world. Going out in public risked exposure; such outings might happen on occasion, but with great irregularity. Not often enough to keep up with the times. And… the current generations do create some decent entertainment for view screen enjoyment. You’d probably want access to it.”