Mechanical

by Bruno Flexer

  "Move it, Riley!" Ramirez sent up, and Tom put all his efforts into descending the building. Finally, he reached the street and looked around him in panic. The Serpents were gone!

  "Here, Sir!" Jebadiah sent, and Tom almost sobbed with relief when he saw Jebadiah’s Serpent light up as Tom's Serpent's sensors painted the source of the radio transmission.

  "Half an hour till sunrise. Retreat to the forward operations base. Triple time. Move."

  They moved, following Captain Emerson, running as softly and quietly as the sophisticated Serpent systems allowed. They hid in a beautifully groomed park on Second Avenue while motorcycle groups zoomed past them. Then they went south on Second and Tom, even in his panic, noticed Sergeant Jebadiah had hesitated for a moment before running onwards.

  "KFC. KFC is gone. Who doesn't like fried chicken?"

  Tom heard Sergeant Jebadiah lament softly while the sergeant faced the blank street corner on Second Avenue.

  They had to stop and hide three more times while motorcycle groups howled, prowling the streets. They reminded Tom of killer bees swarming out of their hive to find and kill intruders. They attacked as soon as you're near their nest and will pursue you in a swarm of tens of thousands to hundreds of thousands of bees for miles. Their venom is no more potent than regular European Bees, but since they are much more aggressive, that comes as little comfort indeed.

  Stupid facts to remember while Tom moved as fast as he could in enemy-held New York City, and hostile motorcycle groups searched for him and his squad in an ever more agitated way.

  They took two detours and hid in Thompson Square Park in the East Village while a group of motorcycles cruised around them at low speed. They undoubtedly peered into the park, but the dense trees and the Serpents' dark unreflective armor saved them yet again.

  Finally, their shed came in sight, but Captain Emerson's terse command made them go for cover while he sent Ramirez to scan the area.

  Tom was pressed against a residential building on Montgomery Street, a mere three hundred yards from their base, when he realized that the sun was starting to rise. A unique red glow engulfed the East River and buildings started to sparkle with reflected sunlight. Tom started: he was beginning to hear movements from the residential building that was next to him. People moving, chairs creaking, refrigerators opening and closing, and doors being opened, but there was no talking. No one talked to anyone else.

  "Clear," Ramirez's message came through the radio, and the three Serpents slipped under FDR Drive to enter the shed one by one.

  Tom walked to the middle of the shed and sat down heavily on the floor. He was not tired, of course, it was just that he had reached some limit inside. There's a limit to how many times one can risk one’s life without getting caught and just go on: He had jumped out of a plummeting airplane, moved through enemy-occupied city, and entered the power control center while evading the motorcycle hunter groups that seemed to control the area.

  Tom would have thrown up now if he had been outside his Serpent.

  "Lieutenant Ramirez and Sergeant Jebadiah, close all openings to the shed. Make sure no one can see us from outside. You're on guard duty till we move out."

  The last command finally broke through Tom's cloud of dread. He rose unsteadily and watched Captain Emerson work around the shed's entrance, making sure it was secured and properly camouflaged, and that nobody from outside could see that the shed has been opened and used.

  "What—what do you mean move out?"

  "Lieutenant Riley, the mission is not over. Our primary target has not been eliminated. It is your duty to analyze the information you acquired at the Manhattan power control center and locate the enemy's position." Captain Emerson didn't stop his work.

  "But there was nothing there! Nothing that could indicate the enemy's location!"

  "Go over the data again, Lieutenant. I have been assured that power consumption rates are the key to finding the enemy. We have sixty-one hours till the enemy's zone of influence increases. Find the enemy, soldier."

  "Look, Sir. I went over all the information the control center possessed during the time I had. There was an increased power consumption rate in the Financial District, but that's all. All the buildings there are now consuming more power, but it could be just the people there. In Fort Belvoir, they told us the enemy was putting people there. That can explain the increased power demand. More power for air-conditioning, heating, water pumping and supply, cooking and even the elevators work harder. But I can't find the enemy that way! Wait!"

  Tom stopped talking. There was something that had been bothering him for some time now, something that—

  "Sir, if there are sixty-one hours till the enemy's zone of influence increases, how was the enemy able to take control of our pilots?"

  "Irrelevant. You have your orders, Lieutenant Riley. Concentrate on them," said Captain Emerson and moved back to double-check a large wooden plank he had placed to block the entrance to the shed.

  Tom turned away in anger though he was sure the captain didn't even notice. Anyway, Tom did not have anywhere to go. He fumed a moment or two and then started pacing again, moving four or five steps to the end of the shed, turning and pacing back.

  Sunlight now streamed in through some high windows on the shed and a partly opened roof. It was daylight outside. Tom needed a moment to realize that they were now hiding in plain sight less than a mile from where the enemy held several dozen tanks along with a larger number of Bradleys, all carrying guns and targeting systems enabling them to easily annihilate all the Serpents.

  Tom's gaze was invariably drawn to Ramirez's Serpent, whose spikes quivered occasionally while the Marine Corps lieutenant was looking outside.

  How does he move his antennas and aerials? Tom wondered stupidly. He tried moving his own aerials, trying to concentrate on the many sharp spikes, but nothing happened.

  Tom shook his head and resumed pacing, focusing his attention on the matter at hand. They all said the key was in the power consumption. They were all so sure that was the key. Well, Tom really had had very little time in the control center, but he’d had the presence of mind to record everything his sensors picked up. He had all the information the control center had showed him recorded inside his computer.

  Tom opened his left-arm computer panel and started playing back the recordings of all the screens and graphs he had seen in the control center. The images now took a full half of his field of vision and Tom concentrated on those images while still pacing back and forth, largely ignoring the shed around him.

  But no matter how long he analyzed each graph, he really didn't get any more information than he already had. Power consumption across the board from city infrastructure to street lights to subways to commercial and residential sectors was more or less at the same levels they had been before the enemy took over the city. The only glaring difference was a lower consumption of power in the residential neighborhoods and a higher consumption of power in the Financial Sector.

  Tom sighed and removed the images of the power control center graphs from his field of vision. He looked around him. Now Captain Emerson and Lieutenant Ramirez were on guard duty, peeking outside through carefully drilled holes in the shed walls. Sergeant Jebadiah took turns moving from wall to wall and checking the back entrance for any sign of the enemy's soldiers.

  "It's really a shame, Sir," the sergeant said to Tom who now stood next to him.

  "What?"

  "The enemy now controls New York City. I get it, Sir. Really. But to just close KFC." Sergeant Jebadiah shook his head.

  "What are you talking about, Sergeant?"

  "Look Sir, I'm a simple man. I really liked the popcorn chicken they do over there. Once me and my bros, we ordered three buckets and then went and drove two hundred fifty miles in one night to go to spring break. Got the car all greasy. Couldn't really bring no gal into the car, see what I mean? But the chicken was great, Sir. So even with the war, me and the boys, we like to pull our sala
ries together and go have us a bucket of chicken now and then. It's mighty difficult with prices in the war, but there you have it."

  Sergeant Jebadiah checked the magazine on his rifle before he went on.

  "Never been to New York, me. Big places like this and me do not mix. But I heard there is KFC over here, Sir, just like near my base. And now I go and see the enemy closed it down. I'm telling you, man, you don't close KFC. You just don't close it. Why would you close KFC? What's it ever done to you?"

  Tom was a little at a loss.

  "Well, Sergeant, we know the enemy controls the minds of people. Maybe after being controlled their tastes change. We know the enemy changed things in the city."

  "Have you tried the popcorn chicken? Breaded on the outside? I just loved it. Couldn't wait for it. They way it crunched." Sergeant Jebadiah sighed. "So who would close it down? Why would any one close it down? What kind of people would close a KFC store? You're the intelligence officer, you tell me, Sir."

  Tom looked at the sergeant's Serpent that now seemed not to resemble a sophisticated and lethal war machine, but rather a flabbergasted boy whose toy has been taken away.

  "Sergeant, let me assure you that as soon as we kill the enemy, KFC will return to New York City. You have my guarantee." Tom paused, getting his thoughts in order. "You asked me once why I volunteered, Sergeant. This is it."

  "KFC, Sir?"

  "That's exactly the point, Sergeant. What makes the United States so special is freedom. People can open all sorts of things, even KFC, and no one can tell them not to. But look what happens when an enemy takes our cities. The enemy closes KFC down. Freedom is worth fighting for, Sergeant. Perhaps it's the only thing worth fighting for."

  "Really, Sir? It's worth fighting for KFC? You think so too?"

  Tom sighed. "Well, yes."

  "That's real good to know, Sir."

  Sergeant Jebadiah carefully put his rifle in the special holster all the Serpents had on their left leg and looked at Tom.

  "So how's it going, Sir? Finding the enemy?"

  Tom sighed heavily. "Not good, Sergeant. We hoped to be able to find the enemy's HQ or mind-controlling device or its personnel by monitoring the power consumption, but we've been to the Manhattan power control center and we saw nothing except a rise in power consumption in the Financial District, which could be explained by other means. We already suspected the enemy's HQ is in the Financial District anyway, but I can't narrow the enemy's location down."

  Tom resumed pacing the shed, his hands behind his back. He did not care how strange his Serpent looked, nor did Jebadiah say anything about it.

  Tom glanced at Ramirez and Emerson. Unsurprisingly, their forms lit up now and again in Tom's sensors. They were having another encrypted conversation, just the two of them. Tom did not know if he found the fact that this time they did not look at him comforting or ominous,. The longer their conversation went, the more restless Tom became. He whirled around and turned his back on them.

  Concentrate on your job, Riley.

  "Why, electricity? Why did the general insist that electricity was the key to finding the enemy? Did they find something when they took back Detroit? But he didn't say anything about it. Why would he keep it secret? There's no proof the enemy is even on the Manhattan power grid!" Tom found himself ready to punch a hole in the shed's wall.

  He backed away and started pacing again. "Captain Emerson is so sure of it, but there could be a million possibilities. The enemy may need only our power supply or our gas or fuel or anything. But still, the general insisted it was electricity. They must know more than they're telling. But why would they keep to themselves something so important? Something that the balance of the war might hang on?"

  "National security, Sir. They always say national security. I've seen it in movies, Sir."

  Tom stopped his pacing and looked at Jebadiah. The sergeant was now checking his Hellfire missile bin.

  "They always keep secrets Sir, that's the way it is. Even I know it, and I'm from Indiana. Look Sir, you're the only one who can figure out what's going on. Just point me at the enemy, Sir, and I'll do the rest." The sergeant finished checking his weapon and then put it back on his back. "You can count on me, Sir. I know you're not like us regular grunts. You're a thinker and no mistake. You're the one who'll find the enemy. I just know it. My folks count on me and I count on you, so this means my folks count on you and they are not well now. I know you'll do your job, Sir. You're the only one who can."

  Tom was glad that the sergeant wasn't looking at him during this long speech. He was also glad the Serpent could not convey facial expressions.

  "Sergeant, you should know that in the Military Intelligence Office basic course I flunked almost all of the tactical training courses and subjects. I'm a real bad soldier, Sergeant. They wanted to throw me out more times than I could count. One time during squad training, I neglected to take my gas mask with me, though the briefing specifically stated nuclear, biological or chemical fighting conditions. The other trainees sent a letter to the base commander demanding I be removed or at least transferred to another training unit. They felt I was making the entire unit look bad." Somehow, it felt good to tell this to the Sergeant. All of them were elite soldiers, except for him. Tom was tired of trying to mask the fact that he was probably the worst soldier there.

  "But Sir, they didn’t throw you out. They know a real thinker when they see one. Same as I."

  Tom did not know what to say. Luckily, it seemed the sergeant was not looking for a response from him.

  Tom realized his sensors were picking up engines from outside. He also realized he could hear these engines for some time now. Tom approached Captain Emerson and peeped outside.

  At first glance, everything seemed normal: a normal city where people went about their daily business. Soon though, the city's real nature became obvious.

  Trucks and buses passed by on FDR Drive in perfect order. No one rushed, no one honked, no one speeded, no one gunned his engine and no one deviated from his or her course. As far as Tom's sensors could tell, no driver was using his radio, nor was anyone listening to an MP3 player. Every vehicle had only one person, the driver. There were no private cars on FDR Drive nor on Montgomery and Cherry Streets, the streets that were visible from the shed. The road belonged to trucks of various sizes, buses and the rare van, all going their way, perfectly ordered, like computer pieces controlled by centralized software.

  Tom could also see people in the streets, all carrying packages and crates, moving along with purpose and determination. No one was taking a leisure walk nor stopping to admire the beautiful parks and flowers the enemy had seen fit to install since it took the city, nor was anyone taking a pet for a walk. No one carried a briefcase. No woman carried a fashionable handbag or an expensive purse. Anyone who had taken to the streets apparently had a clear and defined purpose Tom could not really fathom.

  Tom shivered. There were no kids on the streets, nor in the only park he was able to see. There was no laughter nor music. There wasn't even any talking. No one greeted another, not even with a raised hand or smile. The people moved in straight lines and no one had to swerve to avoid a collision with another pedestrian. People crossed streets without slowing down or looking at the cars, but no one was hit. Everything blended together with seamless accuracy: pedestrians, cars, trucks and every other kind of vehicle.

  Tom backed away from the hole in the shed's wall.

  Whatever was going on in the city, whatever the enemy was, Tom was now sure it wasn't human.

  The day wore on and Tom kept pacing, stopping occasionally to touch icons on his left-arm computer display. He came up with something that he very much hoped he could find an alternative explanation to. Because it scared him.

  But not nearly as much as the noises from outside scared him. It wasn't the groups of motorcycles that still roamed the streets, their engines howling as they passed by three or four times during the day. It wasn't the convoy of Bradley
and Hummer military vehicles that paraded past. What scared Tom most of all, was the monotone sound of life outside the shed, inhuman life that was alien to anything Tom had ever known.

  Finally, Tom moved to Captain Emerson and laid out his plan. It wasn't a real plan nor was it very clever, but it was the only thing Tom could think of.

  Captain Emerson stood quietly and listened, waiting for Tom to finish. Tom had hoped the captain would see some folly in his plan. We cannot risk it, he should have said. It's too dangerous. Too far-fetched. Too much of a long shot.

  The captain then paused quietly a few minutes. At first Tom thought he was thinking, but then he realized the truth: The captain was communicating over a long-distance radio link with hid superiors, probably the general.

  The general would not approve the plan. He would object. The Serpents with their pilots were a valuable resource in themselves. He wouldn't allow them to fall in the hands of the enemy or be destroyed.

  "Your plan was approved. The observation post will be positioned where you suggested. We'll move out at twenty-two-hundred-hours."

  Chapter 18

  Day Five, 70 Pine Street, New York City

  Tom was getting angrier and angrier, probably for the first time since he had started piloting the Serpent five days ago.

  It wasn’t the trek from their shed to the skyscraper in the heart of New York City that they were on now. It wasn't even the grueling climb to the top of the tower, clawed fingers digging into the tower’s white limestone brick façade of the tower while winds tried to tear Tom apart and throw him down hundreds of feet into the streets of enemy-controlled New York City.

  It was the surveillance itself. The four Serpents were now situated on top of the tower at 70 Pine Street, the building that Tom had selected for its almost unlimited view of most of the Financial District. Only a few other tall buildings, such as the One Chase Manhattan Plaza skyscraper, obstructed some of the view.