Mechanical

by Bruno Flexer

  Tom brought up more information from his computer. Electricity was probably the only real clue they had regarding the location of the enemy.

  “There are two main electrical power control centers: the one on 53rd Street is the main subway power control center, but the main city power control center is on East 14th Street, near Union Square.”

  Tom resumed pacing the shed. He didn’t even notice another group of bikes coming and going on FDR Drive. Tom’s attention was directed only at the display now taking up half his field of view, showing him in detail the information from his computer.

  “I can look at the power drain of various city sections, maybe even buildings, but there’s no guarantee the enemy really needs so enough power that would register in the city’s control stations.”

  The soft whining coming from Tom’s motors was the only sound in the shed now.

  “There’s really no choice in the matter, but it isn’t completely hopeless. If the enemy didn’t need a lot of power, it would have let the authorities cut the power to the occupied cities and made do with generators or power stored in various batteries and such. So it clearly needed more power.”

  Tom stopped and faced Captain Emerson’s Serpent.

  “Sir, our best bet is the power control center on 14th Street. If the enemy really draws a lot of power, I might be able to pinpoint his location.”

  “Bet? If? Might?” Ramirez whispered without turning back, but Emerson said nothing, just stood there in front of Tom, who stood frozen for an uncomfortable long time.

  “Sir?” Tom asked.

  “We received authorization. We move out now.”

  Tom was flabbergasted. “What—what? Now? But it’s almost daylight!”

  “Lieutenant Riley, we have three and a half hour till sunrise, and the power control center is only three miles away.”

  “But—but—”

  “Lieutenant, surprise is on our side. The enemy does not know we have operatives immune to his control. He has no cause to be alert or to guard the control center. As far as he knows, no one can enter the city without being controlled by him.”

  “We have to prepare carefully! The enemy won’t let us—”

  “We have our orders.”

  But we won't be able to penetrate the control center without leaving some traces. The enemy will know something is wrong. He will know something has penetrated his city. He will start hunting whoever invaded New York City. But Tom said nothing.

  "We're moving out. Stealth is still our main priority. Avoid detection and contact at all costs. Engage the enemy at my command only. Double time." Captain Emerson paused to consult his own arm computer. "Thirty-five minutes to reach the target. Then it will take fifteen minutes to penetrate the target and pacify it. Lieutenant Riley, you'll have one hour inside, and then thirty-five minutes to return to the forward operating base. Move out." Captain Emerson finished firing commands and left the shed.

  Tom pulled out his rifle again and checked it, for all it was worth against a city filled with enemies. Ramirez and Jebadiah had no qualms, leaving the shed through the entrance they had created in its back. Sergeant Jebadiah made sure the entrance was camouflaged, lifting nearby crates and debris heavier than a human could lift to make sure the shed looked unoccupied.

  Before Tom really understood what was going on, he was back on the alien New York City streets.

  This time they moved rapidly, Captain Emerson and Lieutenant Ramirez at the front, Tom in the middle and Sergeant Jebadiah bringing up the rear.

  “Scan for motorcycles. Keep eyes peeled for any other targets. Stay in cover at all times,” Captain Emerson sent.

  Tom moved quickly, grasping his rifle tightly, keeping as low as he could. Every noise made him jump, thinking one of the enemy biker groups was returning. In fact, the many trees and plants, fully half of them added since the occupation started, gave the streets a wild look in Tom’s eyes, foliage moving everywhere accompanied by many strange noises that had no business in a city, especially at night.

  Tom’s vision enhancement sensors could see eyes staring back at him: birds and small animals that had multiplied since the enemy took the city. Tom fidgeted, turning his rifle in every direction, imagining the enemy was looking straight at him with those small glowing night eyes that belonged in a nightmare. The silence of the streets was unearthly and unbearable.

  They reached East 13th Street and left FDR Drive, moving through a narrow garden into a small industrial area that contained some kind of factory on one side and residential buildings on the other. Tom glanced back. The garden's earth now contained deep-clawed footprints. The squad used the trees' thick foliage for cover, keeping on the lookout for anything that seemed alive and awake in the night.

  Tom clutched his weapon so hard he started hearing the metal creak. They were now inside New York City itself, moving again among the enemy-controlled people, beneath buildings that held nothing in their dark and lifeless windows.

  Tom thought it would have been better if someone saw them already, but the night, the many dark plants dotting the streets and the Serpents’ own black matt armor managed to keep the ten-feet-tall monsters out of sight. As far as Tom knew. Nevertheless, the Serpents used low concrete fences and every kind of cover they could find to remain hidden, moving while continuously bent and hunched down in a way that was impossible for mere humans to maintain.

  They reached East 14th Street and Tom was amazed at what he saw there. If he weren’t piloting his Serpent, his mouth would have dropped open in surprise. In fact, his jaw would have bounced off the carefully brushed sidewalks. The street lamps in the street were more numerous and Tom noticed the graffiti on the walls. Or, rather, its absence. Someone had recently put a lot of effort to wipe out every graffiti painting on walls and concrete fences. Why? Why would the enemy care about that? Some walls were even freshly painted. It was eerie.

  East 14th Street was just as alien as everything else Tom had seen so far in New York City. The many small stores were all gone. Their signs and billboards had been cleanly removed. Their large windowpanes remained, through which could be seen mostly crates, canned food and other supplies in ordered stacks. The place Tom's computer indicated should have held a United States post office held nothing. It was just an empty building.

  Again, they moved inside a heavily inhabited area, with buildings on all sides, all staring down at the Serpent with black, empty eyes. The Serpents moved more carefully now, taking care to place every clawed foot on the concrete sidewalks slowly and silently. The streets were so clean they did not have to worry about stepping on something, but one loud noise might bring the city down on them. In the terrible silence of the streets, even the light breezes wailed loudly and menacingly.

  Captain Emerson suddenly flattened himself against a building, his huge gaunt Serpent pressing itself against a store's empty entrance, blending in with the relative darkness. He was a dark thing trying to hide inside a dark city. Tom looked around desperately for a place to hide. They even took out the bus stations! Then he zoomed in on something and sprang sideways to hide behind a stairway leading up to a residential building.

  Tom could now hear what had made the captain hide. The whining of approaching motorcycles was heard. Tom moved, trying to wedge himself deeper into his cover, but a moment later, the motorcycle whine had moved away. The group had only passed nearby, probably across 2nd Avenue.

  "Move out," Captain Emerson sent out, and the four spiked, black shadows detached themselves from the night and continued stalking down the street.

  Tom glanced to his right. He was right next to a five-story residential building. Even at two thirty in the morning there should have been some sign of life—a radio, a television, someone coughing or a baby crying. Or a light where an early riser was preparing to go to work. But there was nothing.

  Tom approached the building. With his Serpent's height, he could just pull himself up and peep into a bedroom window to see—

&nbs
p; "Sir!"

  Tom resumed advancing down the street, but he still glanced at the dark empty windows all around them.

  "Spread out. Sergeant Jebadiah, perimeter watch. Lieutenant Ramirez, scout our inside route. Go!"

  They had reached their goal: a tall corporate building that housed the power control center in its middle floors. Tom crouched under the building while Sergeant Jebadiah melted into the shadows, and Lieutenant Ramirez placed his rifle in his socket on his left leg, straightened up and jabbed his fingers into the building's side. Then, he jabbed the fingers of his left hand higher into the building and he easily pulled himself up this way, the electric motors of his Serpent barely registering any effort.

  The lieutenant needed less than a minute to reach a terrace on the building's tenth floor, his many sharp antennas moving slowly in an exquisite dance that somehow emitted violence. Once there, he disappeared from sight.

  "Clear," came Ramirez's message a moment later.

  Tom climbed the building, taking care to stay away from any windows, and joined Ramirez on the tenth-floor terrace. Captain Emerson joined them a moment later, which made Tom very glad because Ramirez was just crouching near a metal door leading inside the building, staring at Tom.

  "Ramirez, clear the floor. Move."

  Ramirez's Serpent easily pulled the metal door off its hinges and entered the building, moving too silently for something so large and lethal. Before entering, he raised one finger from each hand, brandishing them like switchblade knives. Only when he was gone was Tom was to look around him. The terrace was covered with flowers, carefully groomed and watered, now trampled under the claws of the Serpents.

  "All clear," Ramirez's message came through their short-range radio link, and Tom followed Captain Emerson into the building, noticing two security cameras that Ramirez had previously destroyed.

  Folded down, Tom moved through the ugly beige corridors till he came to the control center itself. Tom took care not to look at the bloody remains of three people, nor at the dripping claws of Ramirez, but the sight didn’t prey on his mind the way he feared blood would. He just ignored it and went on his business.

  The control center itself was a large oval room with displays on the walls showing the status of the Manhattan electrical grid, including malfunctions, short circuits, infrastructure problems or consumption anomalies. Tom would have grimaced if his immobile Serpent face had allowed. Even the building’s spotless corridors and control room were swamped with plants. Nice, groomed potted plants, but plants nonetheless, giving a nice contrast to the smashed security cameras in the control center.

  Unrelenting demand for cleanliness and plants on the streets and inside the buildings is sought. Tom thought it should have told him something about the enemy, but he couldn’t really understand it at all. Some of the flowers, particularity the orchids, were quite nice though.

  Tom moved a body aside without thinking—something that would have surprised him if he had had time to notice it—and sat down in front of the main console situated in the middle of the large control center.

  “Thirty minutes left,” Captain Emerson sent.

  Yeah, thought Tom. It was great sitting in front of a computer again, though he had to fold himself down and tear the chair out of the floor to fit next to it. Tom’s hands, with their long, black, curved dagger-like fingers, hovered above the console’s keyboard. This was the first time he had a chance to work at a computer since he started piloting the Serpent, just three days ago.

  It felt great.

  Tom tentatively touched a key on the keyboard with the finesse of a pianist trying to play a piano made of wet clay. Then, he touched another, and then he really started working, sighing with relief. Applying the minimum amount of pressure, the keyboard responded beautifully.

  Unsurprisingly, there was no lock or password. No one expected an attack here, Tom thought. He started going through the various control screens the computer offered him. The control application is programmed in old MFC technology, Tom thought. No matter.

  It took Tom several moments to locate the screens he was after. Ramirez passed through the control center twice, patrolling the building and breaking Tom’s concentration each time.

  “Five minutes to go,” Captain Emerson sent.

  What? Tom looked uncomprehendingly at his screen. How did time fly so fast?

  At last. Power consumption history graphs. Tom found a detailed graph and played with the settings to find the information he was looking for.

  Let’s see. Almost all power consumption went way down three years ago, when the enemy attacked, then gradually consumption started increasing. Public buildings are now at the level they were before the attack, except the schools. Subways dipped to nothing three years ago and slowly returned to normal levels. Housing and private consumption is at normal levels. Commercial and light industrial consumption has also resumed levels approaching normal. Street lights and Manhattan infrastructure are also at normal levels. Traffic lights are gone, which is no surprise, since probably all have been pulled out.

  So, no abnormal power consumption is noticed. Everything is at it should be. Nothing drains more than it should.

  Tom tried splicing the data according to districts. The Financial District buildings showed a marked increase from their state before the enemy attacked. The other districts, though their consumption level increased, didn't really reach their pre-enemy level.

  “Multiple contacts! Motorcycle groups heading towards us. Lights on Park Avenue, Third Avenue and West 14th Street approaching fast,” Sergeant Jebadiah’s message was terse.

  Tom jumped from his console, unfolding to his full height and bringing his power core to maximum output, his frightened, hurried movements tearing the control console from its place and creating a small fountain of leaping sparks.

  The enemy had discovered them.

  Chapter 17

  Day Four, Power Control Center on East 14th Street, New York City

  "Assemble on the roof. Sergeant Jebadiah, retreat and join us there. Stealth is a priority. Do not engage unless fired upon. Move."

  Tom ran through the corridors of the building, fumbling with his weapon, trying to jam a magazine in and charge the weapon while moving as fast as he could. He made two wrong turns in the long corridors until he finally found the terrace, joining the other three Serpents who, naturally, were already there.

  Captain Emerson gestured, and Tom fell facedown. He had run out without even noticing that the other Serpents were all crouching down on their bellies, peeking downwards carefully. Tom stayed where he was, way out of sight of anyone looking up. His sensors picked up multiple motorcycle engine noises converging on the building, streaming down the streets towards them. Tom's hand not holding his rifle scratched the terrace's surface ineffectually, his fingers digging deep furrows in the concrete below the stupid flowerbed.

  There seemed no end to the number of motorcycles below them. They seemed to shake the building by the sheer sound of their howling engines, and their headlights seemed so powerful that a false dawn was rising from the street, right below the building the Serpents hid on.

  Tom glanced at Emerson, but the captain's Serpent was down on his belly, peering down, saying nothing. The powerful light dawning ten stories below them moved, shifted and increased in strength as more and more motorcycles assembled, while still more seemed to come from other parts of Manhattan.

  Still, Captain Emerson said nothing.

  Tom slithered along the roof, heading towards the edge of the terrace. He reached it and paused. He now found out he could not bring himself to glance downwards at the motorcycles below—at the puppets of the enemy, his soldiers.

  Still, Captain Emerson kept his quiet, just looking down.

  Tom could now hear unmistakable noises through the blaring of the motorcycle engines. The riders were dismounting and entering the building. Tom heard motors being killed, building entrance doors being flung opened, boots storming on the sidewa
lks. But nobody talked. Not one word or other human voice came from below them.

  "Follow me," Captain Emerson said and carefully moved away from the edge of the terrace. He moved quickly, following the terrace as it went around the building and stopped when they reached the other side, where the building they were on abutted a tall residential building.

  Captain Emerson looked carefully down and to the sides before he backed away a few yards.

  "Follow me," was all that the captain said before he made a running start and then leapt into the air. Any other time, Tom would have gasped to see a Serpent jump more than forty feet and land perfectly balanced on another building's top, but now, he just grimly watched the other Serpents perform the same jump and easily negotiate the distance to the other building.

  Tom backed away some and stopped. Then he backed away some more.

  Come on Riley, if these grunts can do it, you can do at least as well.

  If only he believed it.

  Tom's sensors started to pick up noises from behind him. Boots and shoes were heading out towards the terrace.

  Tom ran and leapt into the air, having the foresight to shut down his microphone to stifle his terrified scream. The top of the other building suddenly flashed before him and then hit him right in the face. Tom's Serpent crashed into the concrete and rolled about a dozen feet before he stopped, now terrified he would fall off the other side. Sergeant Jebadiah was there to steady him, and Captain Emerson was already scanning the streets below.

  "Follow me," the captain said and started descending the side of the building, coming down on East 15th Street, on the other side of the block. Captain Emerson did not wait but jumped down the last three stories, landing with a barely audible thud, his gaunt Serpent legs easily absorbing the impact by folding down neatly almost their entire length.

  Tom followed as fast as he could, his clawed hands grasping the bricks and tiles of the building with enough force to crack more than one and create a shower of dust and small bits and pieces raining down on the street.