Cinnamon. Not a hundred percent, but I’m all right.
Delmar here. Crushed against the wheel, but this old armor actually absorbed most of it.
Macendale?
Macendale?
No.
“Dog,” Bruce said, and clawed his way through hanging debris and sparking wires to the kennel on the wall.
Initial appraisal was grim. He was alive, eyes open, looking into Bruce’s, but there was blood and bloating and he wouldn’t sit up.
“Boy, good boy,” Bruce said, opening the kennel door and running his fingers along the dog’s jaw, up behind its ear, calming it.
He wrenched his Gyro out of its holster. No, too explosive, especially in this leaking wreck. It had to be by hand.
“Boy, you’re suffering. You’ve done good, all your life, but you can do no more.”
The dog laid his head down on Bruce’s hand, as if it understood. Licked him.
“This is out of mercy.
“I wish I didn’t have to...”
Bruce shook his head. That wasn’t right. He had to handle this. And now, for the dog’s own good as well as his.
“You’re a good boy,” he said, taking the animal’s head in his hands, nuzzling it.
“I love you.”
When it was done, something went wrong in Bruce’s system. He felt a hollow, empty place, a loss...he hadn’t deleted the dog’s records from memory, why would he...
He touched the dog’s face, closed its eyes. “This would be where I would cry,” Bruce said.
“Are you all right?” Cinnamon asked. Bruce started, turned with a confused look. “I did what was necessary. We are programmed to appreciate life in all its forms, yes?”
“Certainly,” Cinnamon replied. “Did you experience a particular bond with the animal?”
“I don’t know.” Bruce gathered himself, meaning the bits that had been cleaved away by the bullets and the crash, and went outside to sit alone.
Targeting matrix at 85%.
All other systems fully functional.
He looked at the stars, and started to consider things.
***
Macendale lay in a twisted ruin on the shoulder of the freeway, arms and legs akimbo, head turned halfway around its axis.
His lips parted, and his teeth clicked.
He smiled.
He grinned.
He started to laugh.
During a sweep early in his life, he’d come across an illustrated storybook called a “comic” in which there was a character with a painted face and wicked grin, who viewed all of existence as a rather pointless joke.
“The Joker”, he was called. A clown, a clown and a killer. An odd juxtaposition. Then again, if life was a joke, if it was all pointless, if God didn’t really care about humanity and Nightmare was free to have his way with ‘em - well, that’d be pretty goddamn funny.
Macendale rolled over and started snapping joints back into place as best he could. He hadn’t sustained any major damage that couldn’t be dealt with in the near future, except maybe the emotive matrix being smashed to shit - but what good was it anyway.
“I want to have fun,” Macendale whispered, and the night took his secret wish and wrapped him up in dark, welcoming arms.
12.
About Dogs
They pulled off of the freeway and set up camp in a wooded area away from the road, away from the eyes of the robots, should they recover.
“Why were they after us? How did they know?” Amanda asked West. Helping Cutter pile firewood in a bed of stones, the doctor shrugged. “I have no idea. Maybe DaVinci has some insight into this. I just don’t know.”
Jack DaVinci circled the camp, watching the dreamers, his hand on his holster. Cutter glared up at him from the fire pit. “So what’re you gonna do with us?”
“I’m going to let you try this thing with torpedoing the Harvesters,” DaVinci answered. “Whether it works or not, we’re headed back to Gotham afterwards. We’re gotta figure out what to do with all you dreamers living underneath us.”
“Just leave us be, how about that?” Hitch said, entering the clearing. Lucy was behind him, tugging the puppy along. “If this works, there’s no need for any more nanoplastomies or any more undreamers. Maybe we can all live together in peace.”
“Hmm.” DaVinci patted his gun. “So, then, I was cut for nothing?”
“You did what you had to do, or what you thought you had to do. But there’s no reason why we can’t all co-exist.”
“Do you have any idea what it’s like, not to dream? Not to imagine?” DaVinci put his hand to his head and stuttered, “I-I can’t even pretend to be like you. I can’t see what you see in colors and shapes, the potential for creation. It’s all stale and gray and...” He sighed, sat down on a log, massaged his temples. “I lost a part of myself to keep those goddamn Harvesters away. I can’t ever get it back.”
He got up and walked away from the burgeoning fire. “I’ll let you sleep. I’ll be by now and then to check on you. Don’t run. You don’t know what’s out there.”
DaVinci returned to his cab, just a little ways inside the trees, and to the captive Head. He got his tools out of the trunk and laid them out on the ground. Opened the back door and grabbed Head’s kicking feet.
“First thing I’m gonna do is put your muscles to sleep,” DaVinci said, bringing Head out and laying him down on the grass. “Quick prick.
“Now, I’m going to put you under. You’re going to sleep. This is better than you deserve, you understand? Just close your eyes and take it.”
Head writhed as much as he could, which wasn’t much, then began to drift away. DaVinci shot him up with a lethal dose of sedative before pulling out the cutting tools.
He couldn’t wait to get at that nugget. He’d swallow it straight out of the skull, just like Head himself had done with his victims. And the dreams he’d have...
***
“I’m so high right now,” DaVinci whispered, lying on the roof of the cab. Head’s cadaver was trussed up beside the car, most of the mess having been thrown into the trees.
“You know, when the First Harvest came, there were people up in space. International Space Station. They had to sit and listen while the rest of humanity was torn apart.
“God, what it must have been like. The terror. And there was no joy in knowing that they were spared. They’d have to come back down eventually, wouldn’t they? And their wives and husbands and kids were all dead and they knew every last horrible detail and had watched the seas turn crimson from orbit. Holy shit.
“They decided to let their oxygen run out and die up there. I don’t know if the ISS ever fell to earth or whatever, but they just went to sleep, like you did, Mister Cannibal.”
Jack DaVinci looked up at the starscape and whistled some off-key tune, making it up as he went along. He had that luxury for a little while, while he was high on dreams.
***
“They tried to fight ‘em off, first few Harvests. But those fuckers were relentless. Unstoppable.”
DaVinci rolled over and looked down at Head’s cold pale face. “The Harvesters just took so many people out in those first cycles. Anyone within arm’s reach. And they’d rest, for a bit, like cats, then start running again and they just never did stop, so they say.
“Thirty days or so and God knows how many hundreds of thousands of people were killed, maybe even millions, in the first Harvest. They came up on every shore on every continent. They drove Man back, and down beneath.”
DaVinci sighed. “I’d better check on the dreamers.”
He slid down and traipsed off into the woods.
Bruce slipped out of the shadows and approached the corpse beside the taxicab. “So he eats...he dreams...”
“Is he worth all of this?” Asked Cinnamon.
“He knows the networks. The nests. Hives, whatever you want to call them. He knows where people are.”
“I’m concerned about your disposition
,” Cinnamon said. “Since we lost Macendale and...the dog...you’ve been different.”
“In a way that makes me untrustworthy?”
“Not necessarily.”
“Let’s stop with the gray areas. Do you think I’m broken? The only substantive damage I’ve sustained is to my targeting matrix. Other than that, I’m fine.”
“Understood.”
“We’ll follow DaVinci to the dreamers’ camp and neutralize them, then take him into custody.”
Delmar stood quiet at the rear of the taxi. Bruce looked to him. “Are you comfortable with me?”
“I have no concerns,” Delmar replied. “You know me, back at Goar Head I started making shots of rum at the tavern a ritual before they found out we were synths sent in by the Cooperative. By then it was integrated into my personality. I could use a drink right now.”
“Let’s roll,” Bruce said, and started into the woods. “And we’ll see about that drink later.”
***
When DaVinci entered the dreamers’ clearing, he saw a shadow streak across the earth at his own shadow’s back. He turned, but it was too late. The tree branch shattered across his temple, sending him to the ground.
Cutter dove for DaVinci’s gun, rolling away and rising in a crouch with the barrel aimed at the cop’s bleeding skull.
“Don’t move, amigo.”
“What the hell are you thinking...?” DaVinci moaned, grabbing at his head. “I told you Gotham knows we’re out here together!”
“They’re never going to catch up with us,” Cutter said. Hitch and West came to stand on either side of him. “Neither are you. Now, unless you want me to gut your car’s engine and leave you stranded out here, you’d better do what I say.”
West held up a length of rope. DaVinci groaned. “You’re making a mistake.”
“We appreciate what you did back there,” West said, “but we can’t let you stop us. We can’t risk any further complications.”
“Those robots back there - you don’t think they’re going to call for reinforcements? You need me!” DaVinci shouted.
“As if you believe in what we’re doing. As if you don’t want to see us lobotomized like the rest of your lot.”
“I’m a man who keeps his word,” DaVinci said. “I was going to give you a chance.”
“We don’t need your blessing to save humanity,” West replied, and moved forward with the rope.
“Stop right there,” Bruce said. He trained his Gyro on Cutter. “Drop your weapon.”
Cutter didn’t move. “My teammates are on the perimeter, and they’ve each got you in their sights, just like I do,” Bruce said calmly. “Now drop it.”
Cutter sighed and lowered his hand.
“Drop it.”
Cutter released the gun. “You fucking dumb machine.”
Amanda and Lucy stepped tentatively from the rear of the van, Lucy holding the puppy in her arms. “Over here, slowly,” Bruce commanded.
Watching the dreamers, Bruce then said, “Crawl over here, DaVinci.”
“What the hell do you want with me?” The cop demanded.
“Comply or I’ll have to cripple you.”
“And what about us? You’re just going to dust the rest of us, right?” Cutter snarled.
“Be quiet. DaVinci...”
“Stop it!” Lucy cried, stepping forward before Amanda could catch her. Bruce put his gun on her. “Hold it right there!”
The bot narrowed his eyes.
Targeting matrix at 85%.
“Put the dog down,” he ordered.
“No!” Lucy yelled. “You’ll hurt him.”
“No I won’t.”
“Leave us alone!” The girl retorted.
“Put the dog down. I don’t want to shoot it by accident.”
Lucy clutched the puppy tighter. Amanda frowned. “What do you care about a dog? You’re going to kill the rest of us, and you don’t want to hurt the dog?”
“Just put it down!” Bruce snapped.
“Wait,” West said. “What’s the value of an animal’s life over a human’s?”
“The dog isn’t part of the Harvest. The dog doesn’t have to suffer,” Bruce said. “We’re trying to release you from your suffering.”
“Who says we’re to suffer any more at the hands of the Harvesters than we would at your own?”
“We know about Nightmare,” Bruce answered. West went pale. “We know what Nightmare wants. We know that your minds will forever be held captive in its court.”
“Because Nightmare told you so?”
“Of course.”
“And you took its word at face value?”
“It’s a god.”
West laughed bitterly, threw his arms in the air. “You trust Nightmare over us, your creators? Just because it says it’s a god? Just because it says we’ll suffer throughout eternity? You simply believed all that?”
Bruce’s gun hand wavered.
“Don’t test me, human.”
“Nightmare LIED!” West yelled. “It wanted you to come after us, to cut our numbers down and exhaust our defenses! Don’t you see? It used you!”
“That’s not - you can’t be sure...”
“Neither can you!” West shot back. “So who do you trust more? Who do you go with? Nightmare - or us?”
Delmar and Cinnamon emerged from the trees, guns trained on the dreamers. DaVinci watched the exchange from the ground, his own countenance twisted with confusion and grief.
“Should we take them out?” Delmar asked.
“No,” Bruce said. “Listen to what the man’s saying.”
“Bruce-” Cinnamon began.
He shook his head at her.
Listen to him...it makes sense, doesn’t it? What if he’s right? What if we’ve been wrong?
Then this has all been for nothing? Cinnamon replied.
What if Nightmare isn’t a god? Just an alien entity? What if we are WRONG?
Bruce, what do we do, then? Let them go? Help them? What do we do?
He was silent. He looked at the dreamers. He looked at his comrades. He looked at the gun in his hand.
We ask them.
Bruce lowered his weapon.
“What are your intentions, human?”
“To stop the Harvesters. To kill them. We have a plan.”
“They do,” DaVinci said. “It’s a good plan.”
“You believe in them?” Bruce asked him.
“I guess I do. If I believe in anything, I believe in this.” DaVinci looked at the ground, tears forming in his eyes. “Gotham...Gotham doesn’t know we’re out here. I haven’t been able to raise them.”
Bruce shut his eyes. He said nothing.
“Why didn’t you ever try to fight the Harvesters?” Hitch asked the bots. “Why did you just take Nightmare’s word?”
“You taught us about God.”
“About one God. One God!”
“Is your God real?” Bruce asked. Hitch couldn’t answer.
“Let’s leave gods out of this,” West said. “All we know is that Nightmare isn’t of this world. And we know the Harvesters have a weakness.”
“Explain,” Bruce said.
And West did.
13.
Strange Bedfellows
So the unthinkable had happened. Five dreamers, three robots, an undreamer and a dog were headed together toward what was possibly the undoing of the Harvesters.
And, in the depths of the Earth’s oceans, an almost indescribable horror unfolded. The cloistered bodies of the Harvesters began to separate; tentacles untangled and withdrew into flesh, limbs swayed in the currents, and the near-lifeless creatures began to drift up, and away, toward land.
***
DaVinci agreed to ride with two of the bots in his cab, but Bruce insisted that the other one be in the van with the dreamers.
Cutter suggested Cinnamon for the job.
He eyed her curiously as they sat on cots on the back. West and Lucy slept fitfully wh
ile Hitch and Amanda rode up front.
“You aren’t built like most girls,” Cutter said.
“I’m a personal recreation model,” she replied flatly. “Don’t even think about it.”
“Oh, I’ll think about it.” Cutter grinned and stroked his beard, tracing her curves with his eyes. “So you’re fully functional?”
“I haven’t bothered maintaining my pleasure components, if that’s what you’re asking.”
“I’m sure you still remember how they work.”
“Part of my programming includes techniques for dealing with unauthorized access,” Cinnamon told him. “I’m not interested, buddy. Got it?”
“You don’t think you’ll ever come around?” Cutter sighed wistfully, still undressing her with his gaze. “You know, a man who’s gone without for as long as I have isn’t as effective as he could be. Sex stimulates the nerves, sharpens the senses.”
“Is that so?”
“The way I do it, it is.”
“You know, you needn’t bother selling yourself,” Cinnamon said with a bit of a wry look. “It’s not as if you could please me.”
“What does please you bots, anyway? What stimulates you? Gets you off?”
“Nothing. I simply execute my programming.”
“So you’re satisfied with a job well done.”
“You could say that.”
“You like killing?”
“I never enjoy what I do. I’m a robot. You have to stop assigning those human characteristics to me.”
“But were you satisfied to see you’d cleaned out a nest of humans? Huh?”
“I knew I’d done what I was supposed to do.”
“You thought you were supposed to, but you were wrong.” Cutter cocked his head. “How do you feel about that?”
“It can’t be undone.”
“You were going to kill me.”
“Yes.”
“None of this conflicts you at all? Bruce back there seemed a little conflicted.”
“Maybe Bruce’s reasoning is more evolved than mine.”
“Well, you can’t evolve by just sitting there, staring at me,” Cutter said. “Gotta get out there and taste life.”
The Harvest Cycle Page 9
