Mechanical

by Bruno Flexer

  Tom had no problem scouting out the position of the forces near then, their readiness states, their composition and their strength. He mapped out as best as he could their possible routes of attack and reinforcement among Manhattan's tall buildings.

  On the other hand, those buildings were the target of Tom's observation. The Serpents took about an hour to make the short journey to the tower and it took them half an hour to climb the building's facade, slowly and stealthily. They had climbed the tower under the cover of night, crawling like the world's largest black bugs on the art deco tower that gradually tapered to a slender spire. According to the data on Tom's computer, the executives of a huge corporation used the top floor exclusively, but of course the enemy now owned and controlled everything in New York City.

  The Serpents had broken in by carefully cutting a window and slithering inside. Tom had waited outside while Ramirez entered the floor and went on his bloody mission, probably with a wide grin inside his pilot's compartment. It took less than two minutes for Ramirez to send the okay signal, and then Tom climbed up and entered the window, after pulling his claws out of the bricks in the building's façade. In fact, he had some trouble pulling his fingers out after he had jabbed them in so hard. Tom had not looked down all that time but still, he had a good imagination and the winds that blew at that height howled awfully loud.

  Captain Emerson had taken them to the service story that housed the elevator engines and service panels, water tanks and pumping equipment, and all the other things that a tower almost one thousand feet tall needed. Most importantly, the service floor was actually the topmost story in the building, was empty, and the rectangular-shaped tower meant the service story had windows in all directions.

  Now the other Serpents guarded the two entrances to the floor while Tom conducted his observations. The Serpents spent the night on the service story, Tom moving from window to window at fifteen minutes intervals, making observations with all his Serpent's sensors, zooming in on different locations and recording everything. And that's where the problem lay.

  Tom was an intelligence officer, and he had done his share of going over intelligence from the twelve enemy-controlled cities. He had poured over satellite images, drone pictures, scout intelligence and front-line reports, all to better understand the enemy and its modes of operation. Tom had taken part in teams that had tried judging when a raid was going to come out from the Dallas quarantine area where he was stationed, what its strength would be and what its objective were.

  Tom now had an unrivaled opportunity in this war. It was the first time anyone was able to observe one of the taken cities so closely. Tom could see a great deal into the Financial District from the tower and most of Lower Manhattan as well. His sensors focused on major buildings, starting with One Chase Manhattan Plaza and going to the New York Stock Exchange, the World Financial Center, the Chase Manhattan Bank tower, 55 Water Street, the United States Courthouse, 40 Wall Street, the Beekman Tower, the Woolworth building, One Liberty Plaza and many more, starting with the highest and going down.

  Tom had carefully and methodically scanned every building for an infrared signature, radio transmission and any kind of radiated energy his sensors could detect.

  "It's a real treat seeing you work, Sir, if I may say so," Sergeant Jebadiah had said when Tom had moved passed him.

  "What?" Tom demanded.

  "Nothing, Sir. You're now a man with a purpose, Sir."

  "Sergeant, I'm trying to work here."

  "Yes, Sir. That's what I'm saying."

  "Whatever."

  "Don't mind me, Sir. Even your Serpent walks straighter now. But go on right ahead, don't mind me, Sir."

  Tom later realized what the sergeant had said. The fear and the anxiety brought about by being in the middle of a city controlled by the enemy and the consequences of what failing here would mean had not really gone away. They had only been pushed back some. Tom briefly tried to remember if it was like this before starting to pilot the Serpent, but he gave one shake of his head and went back to work. He had little time for idle speculation.

  Tom had not only started with the biggest buildings, but with those that the enemy wouldn't really need, such as stock exchanges and courthouses. Corporate headquarters were also targeted among the first. But all Tom could detect were regular signatures coming from buildings that housed a large number of people. There was nothing out of the ordinary.

  Occasionally, Tom glanced down to see motorcycle groups scouring the city. Their distinctive engine howls could not be heard at this height, but their compressed groups and the way the night fled before their headlights were unmistakable. They were trying to find out what was happening at the Manhattan power control center, Tom knew. The enemy suspected something. There were more and more groups on the streets.

  Tom shook his head again. Back to business. Captain Emerson had said that satellites have already scanned the Financial District buildings and indeed most of Manhattan’s tallest skyscrapers, but Tom reasoned that a close-range scan might reveal something the satellites missed. Unfortunately, Tom's short-range scans revealed nothing that could raise his suspicions. All the buildings were heavily populated, even during the night, but other than that, Tom found nothing, no abnormal thermal signature that might indicate that a building was drawing in too much power from the grid.

  Naturally, Tom had scanned the tower they were on during their climb. Blind luck might have led them straight to the enemy. Actually, Tom was too frightened to do anything but cling for his life, but he had had the presence of mind to turn his sensors on and record their findings. After that, in the safety of the service floor, Tom had briefly gone over the recordings, but he had found no sign that could indicate the tower housed the enemy.

  Tom tried to stay away from Ramirez. Whenever he was close to Ramirez's Serpent he could see that great black monster standing idly by one of the doors leading into the service floor and slowly and methodically sharpening his claws. It was not the first time Ramirez had done that, but now in the darkness, Tom could see a shower of sparks fly each time Ramirez whet his razor sharp claws, one by one, with the same care a brain surgeon would give to extracting a tumor.

  A few hours later, Tom stopped for a moment next to Jebadiah. The sergeant looked at Tom expectantly but said nothing.

  "Can you move your antennas, Sergeant?"

  "What's that, Sir?"

  "Your antennas? Your aerials? The sharp things on your back? I tried moving them again and again, but they don't move at all. Only Ramirez seems able to move them at will."

  "I really don't know, Sir. Never really thought about it."

  Tom sighed deeply.

  "You know, this is my job. It's really the first time I can do something useful in the mission. You soldiers brought me here and now everything is up to me."

  "Yes, Sir. I know you'll do your sister proud. I know you'll do my folks proud."

  "Yes, Sergeant." Tom talked slowly, very out of character. I know this is important but I don't really care about my sister now. Or your folks, no offense. But Tom didn't say any of that.

  "Carry on, Sergeant," Tom said and started to move away towards the window with a great view of Lower East Side.

  "My brother Bart was just like you, Sir."

  "What?" Tom whirled around. He liked the sergeant but the man lately was getting on his nerves.

  "He's three years older than me, God bless his soul. When he tried remembering something that got away, he would be all snappy and angry. I remember two whole days he tried figuring out how Harvey Keitel was named. Didn’t go to bed, either. He said it was on the tip of his tongue. For two days he just snapped and yelled at everyone. Two years ago, horse thieves shot him in the chest. Took him a week to die, too."

  "I'm not snappy, Sergeant."

  "No, Sir, but you've got snappy steps."

  Tom stomped away. He just wanted to do his job and get out of here alive, but it didn't sound right, even when Tom told it to himse
lf.

  "Move!" Tom snapped at Ramirez who was standing too close to a northeasterly window overlooking Brooklyn Bridge. Tom was acutely aware how the Marine Corps lieutenant moved slowly away, all the while whetting his claws with unhurried, precise movements.

  With relief, Tom returned to his work. He suspected that he might find one building that was partly empty yet was still drawing a lot of power in an attempt to confuse onlookers, but every building Tom observed showed signs of being heavily populated. Human-sized thermal signatures were all over every one of the buildings, their faint glowing shapes visible from the many windows.

  Tom had also hoped that he might detect some kind of energy emitting from one of the buildings, something he could detect with his sensors: some radio energy or ultraviolet or infrared or anything that might be a side effect of the process and devices that allowed the enemy to control the minds of the populace of New York City.

  No such luck!

  The sun had risen, absurdly fast, and the Serpents were still there, three Serpents guarding the entrances while Tom surveyed the outside, conducting observations and recording everything his sensors detected.

  Tom tried, but he could not avoid seeing Ramirez and Captain Emerson in secret conversation again. Ramirez's small hand movements and Captain Emerson's stiff posture made it clear they were conducting some sort of discourse, not to mention the fact that they would both turned their heads towards him at the same time, their black faceplates more ominous than ever and the spiky aerials on their backs stiffening in unison.

  The memory of Captain Emerson's hands on Tom's neck made Tom pause and shake his head.

  Get your act together, Tom. You've got a job to do. Ignore these distractions. Think about what really matters.

  Tom tried to concentrate on the second part of his plan: If he failed to detect any suspicious energy emissions that might indicate the enemy's location, the 70 Pine Street tower afforded a magnificent view of Lower Manhattan and of most of the traffic that flowed there. Tom could look down the streets and analyze the movements of the controlled people of New York City. Analyzing the traffic, the flow of goods and the movements of the soldiers the enemy controlled might reveal the enemy’s location.

  Analyzing traffic was an old method to detect things you otherwise might miss. If you could not understand what the enemy was after, sometimes you just had to watch the cargo ships and trains to figure out its location and intentions. During the Cold War this was done several times, tracking trains and cargo ships to see where the Soviet Army was concentrating forces.

  Tom couldn't help notice that the motorcycle groups didn't leave when sunlight bathed the unnaturally clear streets of Manhattan. Far from it, the groups seemed even more numerous, and Tom saw them starting to go into parks and gardens, their wide tires leaving ugly dirt marks on the meticulously groomed lawns that New York City had never had before.

  At daytime, especially from his high observation point, Manhattan seemed stranger and stranger. There were no hotdog vendors or newspaper stands anywhere. It was a small detail but, coupled with the streets' unnatural cleanliness, the pedestrians' robot-like behavior and all the vehicles moving with machine-like precision, gave Tom the feeling that whatever was in New York City was not only inhuman but was truly alien to anything remotely human.

  "No hotdogs, newsstands, pickle vendors; and no open stores. Sparking clean sidewalks," Tom murmured later while he stopped by Sergeant Jebadiah's position, training his sensors down and searching the street.

  "What's that?" Tom turned and zoomed his sensors as far as they could go on something strange: several dishes near a door, some with water and others with something Tom could not really make out. It all became clear a moment later when a strolling cat ambled by, buried his nose in the dishes and moved on. A quick search showed that almost every block had at least one sidewalk pet-feeding station.

  "No hotdogs for people, but they feed cats?" Tom murmured.

  "What's that, Sir?"

  "There are no hotdog stands in the streets, Sergeant."

  "I noticed that earlier, Sir. It ain't natural, this. They closed down KFC and the hotdog stands. It ain't natural."

  As interesting as this was, this had no bearing on their mission. Tom tried concentrating on his job, but he was getting more and more frustrated. From his high vantage point, he had an excellent view of a great deal of the traffic that passed through Lower Manhattan, and Tom's visual sensors had excellent zooming capability. All the vehicles and people moving through the streets had that same quiet, relaxed quality that indicated the enemy controlled them. No honking, no speeding and no flooring of the gas pedal. The city that never sleeps certainly went to sleep at night and seemed to behave unnaturally sedately and orderly during the day. People walking on the streets moved in straight lines, never stopping to gaze, talk, or anything else.

  Tom saw trucks stopping at regular intervals outside every tower he could see. People— young and elderly, black and white, rich-looking and poor—would come to unload crates and packages of foodstuffs, clothes, instruments and all manner of things that Tom did not really care about. He only cared about patterns, but he found nothing that could indicate the enemy's location. Trucks unloaded or loaded cargo, moving it between buildings and locations. People entered and alighted from vans and buses, moving between buildings.

  Tom tried to understand what he was seeing. No particular building had more than its share of traffic; no building received more than its share of cargo or people. No building received noticeably less as well. Tom did his rounds, moving from window to window, recording everything his sensors picked up, zooming in on several buildings at a time or a street section or a major junction.

  Tom saw refrigerators and washing machines being moved around. He saw broken microwave ovens and air conditioners being loaded on trucks and taken away. He saw repaired household appliances being returned to buildings, though these days it was very difficult obtaining parts. Foreign devices were hellishly difficult to obtain, and now, locally made appliances usually broke down less than a year after being bought. The American economy and manufacturing base was going downhill fast.

  In a fit of frustration, Tom's fist went through the steel-reinforced wall with a small explosion of dust and tiny concrete chunks. Ramirez would have approved, but Tom couldn’t have cared less about him or the American economic state.

  Where was the enemy? How was he hiding from Tom?

  "Contact," sent Ramirez. His icy tone and the meaning of this one word made Tom freeze, but an instant later, Tom felt a surge of red anger filling him. The other Serpents should let him do his job!

  "Report," sent Captain Emerson.

  "Door number two, one man, flashlight and work overalls."

  Tom stood at the far side of the service floor and activated his low-light sensors to penetrate the partial darkness that had been created by Ramirez when he closed all the window shutters and took out all the illumination on the floor when they broke in.

  A single light now lit the gloom, its source advancing slowly while the circle of light methodically travelled the floor. Then, the light moved up, and Tom had one instant to see something large, black and spiky descend from the ceiling, one dagger like finger extended.

  The light died.

  "Enemy dispatched. Entrance secured," Ramirez reported calmly.

  Tom went back to work. Half the day had already passed, and Tom was acutely aware of the time: forty-three hours before the enemy would expand his area of control. Tom now tried zooming in on the humans traveling the streets. Traveling was not a good word, perhaps. The people moving along the Manhattan streets all seemed to have a purpose in mind. They were all moving calmly and sedately; no one talked into his cell phone, no one carried a newspaper, no one conversed with any other, no one greeted each other, no one stopped to admire the gardens or the flower beds that now seemed to line every sidewalk.

  Tom also noticed that the pedestrian crossings had all had their
traffic lights removed, but people calmly crossed the streets and busy avenues without stopping and without a care in the world. They never looked at the cars as they crossed the streets and the cars never stopped or slowed down but no one hit. Everything was synchronized to alien perfection.

  Everyone was a small cog in some great machine that was New York City.

  The motorcycle groups were the only things that moved quickly in the streets, making all other commuters get out of their way. Tom saw that every building now had a motorcycle group at its main entrance, the bikers congregating and seemingly checking everyone who entered and left the buildings. Tom also saw that a sizeable number of bikes were parked near buildings.

  "Contact," Ramirez sent yet again, and his unmistakable tone of anticipation chilled Tom.

  "Report."

  "Multiple contacts, door two."

  "Lieutenant Riley, report."

  Tom found his speakers were clogged. Too much red anger inside. Let me do my job!

  "I need more time Sir," Tom sent slowly.

  Ramirez's scoff burned in Tom's earphones.

  "Lieutenant Ramirez, engage the enemy after they enter."

  The Serpents hid again. Tom tried to pull away his sensors from the group of people entering the floor, but he couldn't. There were six men and two women, two of them holding flashlights. They entered the place slowly, moving their light methodically.

  Tom had expected Ramirez to descend from the ceiling again, but the group had already passed the spot where the first man had been killed. They are not looking at the machines, Tom thought. They are looking for us.

  Just as they passed a large water pump, Ramirez rose up right into their midst. Tom couldn’t see where the ten-foot-tall Serpent had been hiding. Suddenly he was there, ten dagger fingers extending and flashing in the dark. The Serpent made just two spinning turns and then rose from its crouched posture. Nothing remained of the group of people except one flashlight that rolled on the floor before being summarily crushed by one of Ramirez's clawed feet. Ramirez returned to his post, and Tom noticed his aerials all stiffened and extended.