Fighting Iron 2: Perdition Plains

by Jake Bible

  The man was in his mid-fifties. He had a well-groomed handlebar mustache of pure black that complimented his dark brown skin. A head of wild hair matched his mustache’s coloring, but was shot through with pure white in places. He was dressed in a dandy style with a nice black satin vest, a white shirt with rounded collar and long, black bow tie. He had garters above his elbows, keeping the puffy sleeves from getting in his way.

  In his way of what, was something Clay couldn’t quite figure out. The man had the look of a doctor or apothecary, but that seemed highly unlikely considering the circumstances.

  “Mr. MacAulay?” the man called down. “Are you injured?”

  Clay thought of his throbbing ankle. He was injured, but that wasn’t much concern at the moment.

  “I’m fine,” Clay replied when he found his voice again. “How do you know my name?”

  “I monitor all communications going in and out of Perdition Plains,” the man said. “Helps me to know if they are finally going to make a move and come for me. I was almost sure they would send you out here in your battle mech, but I quickly gathered you were not a man easily manipulated which is why I had risked the note last night. Unfortunate, they had to employ Mr. Bell to take your place. They should let that man rest, God bless his damned soul.”

  Clay rubbed the heels of his hands in his eyes, blinked several times, then sighed deeply.

  “Ya got me, mister,” Clay said. “I ain’t got a clue as to what is going on.”

  “Oh, how rude of me!” the man exclaimed. “I should have introduced myself.”

  He cleared his throat and gave a short bow. Or tried to. He almost fell over the cockpit edge, grabbed onto the side, slipped, and cried out before regaining his balance.

  “Well that was embarrassing,” the man said. “As you can see, mechs are not my forte, despite my having built this one myself.”

  “Hardly by yourself,” a woman called as she walked from the cavern entrance and out between the flesh mech’s feet. “I’d say letting you take the Prometheus out for a stroll has gone straight to your brain. Your ego does not need more encouragement, Father.”

  She was dressed in grungy-looking coveralls and had a sweat-stained bandanna wrapped about her head, keeping her thick, curly black hair from out of her face. Like her father above, her skin was dark, but not as deeply brown. She eyed Clay warily, her irises golden, catching what sunlight was able to filter down through the constant cloud cover.

  The woman could have been about Clay’s age, but it was hard to tell since her face seemed to be smeared with some sort of grease. Or at least Clay hoped it was grease. Considering the impossible creation before him, he wasn’t so sure.

  She approached Clay, wiping her hands on a rag before tucking it into a back pocket of her coveralls. She stopped about two meters from Clay and stood with her hands on her hips.

  “You said you were fine, but I can see how you are tucking that leg of yours back that you twisted your ankle,” the woman said. “So tell the truth, are you injured?”

  “I may have stepped in a prairie dog hole,” Clay said.

  “You may have?” she asked, arching an eyebrow.

  “Okay, I did,” Clay said. “Twisted my ankle.”

  “I suspected as much,” the woman said. “I can size up a person’s anatomy, and any defects that it may possess, in seconds.” She jerked her head back over her shoulder. “I’d have to in order to build something like that, now wouldn’t I?”

  She waited for Clay to answer and when he didn’t, she repeated, “Well, wouldn’t I?”

  “Oh, I thought that was rhetorical,” Clay said. “Yes, I suppose you would, if you actually did build that thing.”

  “Of course I did,” she snapped. “Why would I say I had if I hadn’t?”

  “Looks more like you’d grow it and not build it,” Clay said. “I mean, that thing is made of flesh, right?”

  “It is indeed!” the man called down. “Honest to God flesh! It’s a miracle, wouldn’t you say, Mr. MacAulay?”

  The woman rolled her eyes.

  “It’s not a miracle, Father,” the woman said. “Calling it a miracle would make us saints. We’re not saints, we’re scientists.”

  She watched Clay for a few more seconds then closed the distance between them, extending her hand.

  “Paige Barnes,” the woman said. “That crazy man up there is my father, Morley Barnes.”

  “A pleasure!” Morley called out. “And I am not crazy!”

  Paige rolled her eyes again.

  Clay looked at the woman’s hand and frowned.

  “I was oiling the well pump,” Paige said. “It’s old hemp grease, nothing more.”

  Clay took the offered hand, and started to shake it, but found himself pulled up onto his feet instead. He quickly favored his tender ankle, and Paige put an arm around his waist to steady him.

  “Let’s get you inside and out of the weather,” Paige said.

  “The weather?” Clay asked.

  As if on cue, a far-off rumbling was heard.

  “Storm,” Paige said. “Doesn’t look to be a bad one, but you never know in the Midlands.”

  “I suppose that means my outing for the day is canceled,” Morley said with deep regret. “How unfortunate. I had been looking forward to my stroll.”

  “You weren’t going to be able to go far anyway,” Paige said as she helped Clay hobble towards the cave. “Not with the Perdition family sending out their dogs.”

  “The Perdition family? You mean the folks in charge?” Clay asked.

  “That’s what they like to think,” Paige huffed. “But they are far from in charge of anything. No one is in the Midlands.”

  “And what dogs?” Clay asked.

  “Have you seen the tweeners that pull their wagons?” Paige asked.

  “Unfortunately,” Clay replied.

  “Those are the bison models,” Paige said. “They have canine models, feline models, and…others.”

  “Human models?” Clay asked.

  “They would like to think so!” Morley yelled down to them as they navigated their way between the Prometheus’s massive flesh mech feet. “But could you call those automatons human in any way, shape or form?” He paused. “Well, I suppose they would be considered human in shape and perhaps form. That was a bad choice of words.”

  “Get inside, Father!” Paige yelled, making Clay wince. “He is a genius of extraordinary caliber, but he is also far from stable.”

  “I can hear you!” Morley yelled.

  “I assumed you could!” Paige yelled back.

  “What are you doing out here?” Clay asked. “Did the folks in charge run you two out of Perdition Plains?”

  “No one runs us out of anywhere,” Paige said. “Especially not those bags of bones.”

  There was a chirping in Clay’s pocket, and he reached for his watch.

  “Gibbons? You alright?” Clay asked as he thumbed the watch open and his com came to life.

  “I am alright, Clay,” Gibbons said. “I have stabilized the Vernacht and do not think there is any danger of it self-destructing. I have effectively blocked all possible transmissions to anything but the com system.”

  “That’s good,” Clay said. “Can you get the thing moving again and come to me?”

  “Not as of yet, no,” Gibbons said. “But that is not the problem I am calling about.”

  “What is?” Clay asked.

  “In our haste to escape Mr. Bell and our own mech, we neglected to remove the pilot from the Vernacht,” Gibbons said.

  “Shit,” Clay replied.

  “That would be a good word for it,” Gibbons said.

  “How the hell did we miss that?” Clay asked.

  “His body slid into the corner of the cockpit and was out of sight for most of the ride,” Gibbons said. “You were occupied, I was occupied, and strangely enough, his body does not give off much of a heat signature. He certainly does not register at 98.6 degrees like healthy
humans. He managed to fade into the background since he was unconscious.”

  “He’s not unconscious anymore, is he?” Clay asked.

  “He is not, and he can easily undo all of my hard work if he regains his senses,” Gibbons said.

  “That pilot does not possess any sense in the human, well, sense of the word,” Morley shouted from the Prometheus.

  “Are you eavesdropping on their conversation, Father?” Paige yelled.

  “I cannot help it,” Morley replied. “Their com channel is too broad spectrum. It is easy to tap into, and the Prometheus has excellent hearing, as you well know.”

  “Sorry,” Paige said.

  “Perhaps I have a solution,” Morley said. “I could give you a lift back to the Vernacht mech so you can take care of the automaton, however you see fit. God would hardly hold it against you if you killed that creature.”

  Clay turned and stared up at the flesh mech. He shivered at the thought of riding inside it.

  “It’s not as horrible as it looks,” Paige said. “An experienced mech pilot would feel right at home.”

  “Is your father any good at piloting that thing?” Clay asked.

  “He can manage to get you over the hill and across the prairie to the Vernacht without crashing or getting either of you killed,” Paige said.

  “You wouldn’t want to come with, would you?” Clay asked.

  “I have work to do,” Paige said. “A lot of work to do.”

  “Clay? Are you there?” Gibbons asked.

  “I’m here,” Clay said. “Just deciding whether or not to ride in the flesh mech with a total stranger.”

  “Prometheus,” Morley yelled down. “It has a name. Once named, an object should be addressed by its name. Otherwise, what is the point of names at all? And I am Morley Barnes. You know my name so we are no longer strangers.”

  “It’s safe,” Paige said.

  “I don’t know you or your father, so I take that statement with a grain of salt,” Clay said.

  “Wise,” Paige said and let go of Clay. “Go. Limp over to the left heel. The Prometheus will take care of the rest.”

  “Clay? The pilot is looking a little more alert than I am comfortable with,” Gibbons said.

  “On the way, buddy,” Clay said.

  “Thanks, pal,” Gibbons replied. “Hurry.”

  Clay snapped his watch closed, replaced it in his vest pocket, then looked at Paige.

  “What do you mean the Prometheus will do the rest if I go to the left heel?” Clay asked.

  “You’ll see,” Paige replied. “If you’re going to go, then you better go. That storm is moving quickly this way.”

  “Okay,” Clay said. He limped to the left heel of the flesh mech. “Right here?”

  “Right there,” Paige said and smiled.

  Clay started to smile back, but stopped the second about two dozen tendrils of flesh wrapped themselves around his body. He began to shout and swat at the tendrils, but they did not let go. He was lifted off his feet and carried up the back of the Prometheus’s leg to a mid-point in its thigh. Then a hole opened and he was swallowed up, lost to the innards of the flesh mech.

  Fourteen

  Clay found himself spat out, which was the only way he could describe it, right into the flesh mech’s cockpit. Coated in some kind of gelatinous goo, he tried to flick it off, but it refused to leave his body, and he only managed to smear it everywhere.

  “My daughter does like to have her fun,” Morley said as he shut the cockpit hatch and picked up a harness from the pilot’s seat. “I could have just as easily picked you up and set you in here with one of the hands. It is considerably less messy.”

  “So is birth from what I’ve been told,” Clay said.

  Clay picked himself up and stared at the space around him. It was flesh, bone, organic. No metal in sight.

  “Is this all bison?” Clay asked as he limped about the small cockpit, careful not to get tangled in the myriad of cables that snaked everywhere, all ending in junction points on a harness that fit around Morley’s body and head. He leaned closer to one of the cables and jumped back as it pulsed with the rhythm of a heartbeat. There was some sort of liquid inside each, and Clay had to swallow down a little bile as he watched it flow back and forth from the cockpit’s walls to Morley’s harness.

  “Mostly bison,” Morley said. “Some components needed to be a little more refined.”

  “Do I want to know?” Clay asked.

  “Do you?” Morley responded.

  “Probably not,” Clay said.

  Morley walked the flesh mech away from the cave and out into the plains. He turned it in the direction of the Vernacht and Gibbons then relaxed into the harness.

  “You are a trusting fellow,” Morley stated.

  “Am I?” Clay asked. “I’ve been called a lot of things, but trusting isn’t one of them.”

  “You have known me and my daughter for less than an hour and yet you willingly climbed aboard what must look like a monstrosity to you,” Morley said. “I could be a mad man and my daughter could be a flesh-hungry killer. You may be just the vessel we are looking for in order to complete my next experiment.”

  Clay stopped studying the cockpit and looked at Morley. He raised an eyebrow and waited.

  Morley glanced over and laughed.

  “There is some normal caution in you, I see,” Morley said. “A little late, but good to know you have it.”

  “If you lived my life, then you’d know we control absolutely nothing,” Clay said. “I roll with the punches and try to stay alive. That’s about as far as my caution goes. If you think being inside a mech made of bison meat is the strangest thing I’ve experienced, then you have no idea what the world out there is like.”

  “I know the Midlands,” Morley said as the flesh mech continued its journey across the prairie. “I have lived here so long that I have realized I will never know the full extent of their strangeness. There are horrors across these plains that make the Perditions appear to be mere hiccups in the illusion we call sanity.”

  Clay thought on those words for a minute then shook his head.

  “You’ve been alone for a long time, haven’t you?” Clay asked.

  “I have my daughter,” Morley stated.

  “And I have Gibbons, but that doesn’t mean we both aren’t alone,” Clay replied.

  Morley turned and studied Clay closely for a long while. Clay stood there, his ankle hurting, and let the older man complete his assessment without comment.

  “You have known pain,” Morley said.

  “That I have,” Clay replied.

  “Yes,” Morley nodded. “I have been alone for a very long time.”

  “Your wife?” Clay asked.

  Morley shook his head, but did not answer.

  Clay nodded.

  He looked about the cockpit then said, “No jumpseat?”

  “A what?” Morley asked.

  “Jumpseat,” Clay said. “Usually a fold down seat where passengers can sit.”

  “I have never heard of a jumpseat,” Morley said. “It is just a fold down seat? That is all?”

  “With safety straps or a safety harness,” Clay said. “Keeps the passengers from getting pulverized during battle.”

  “Do you usually have passengers when engaging in battle?” Morley asked.

  “There is no usual to my life,” Clay said.

  “I will add a jumpseat to the configuration as soon as we return to my home,” Morley said. “Perhaps I can see one for reference? Does the Vernacht have jumpseats?”

  “No, construction mechs have regular seats,” Clay said. “But my mech has jumpseats. Too bad Mr. Bell has it right now.”

  “That could change soon,” Morley replied. “I am sensing seismic evidence of his pursuit. He may reach the Vernacht before us.”

  “What?” Clay exclaimed. “Then we need to move ass!”

  “Yes, well, moving ass, as you say, is not my strength,” Morley replied.
“While I do have complete control over this organic machine, I am not a mech pilot like yourself. The equipment’s limitations are my limitations, I am afraid.”

  “Then let me pilot it,” Clay said.

  He shivered at the thought, but being hooked into a harness made of bison flesh (he hoped) was better than letting Mr. Bell reach the Vernacht before them.

  “Oh, no, I do not think that a good idea,” Morley said. “The organic interface may be too much for you to handle. It takes some getting used to and weeks of mental discipline to be able to handle the sensory stimuli.”

  “I’m a mech pilot,” Clay said. “I’ve merged with AIs, had my mech’s arms ripped off and felt as if they were my own, been put through more mental torture than you can imagine, and I’m still standing.”

  “Ah, yes, standing,” Morley said. “You are injured. If you were to pilot this mech, then it would become injured.”

  “Why?” Clay asked.

  “Because you would merge with the mech and your limitations would become its limitations,” Morley said. “Unless you go through weeks of disciplined training like I have.”

  “Then you better get ready to fight,” Clay said. “Because that’s what’s going to happen if Mr. Bell reaches the Vernacht before we do.”

  “Oh, no, I could not risk that,” Morley said.

  The flesh mech slowed then came to a halt.

  “What are you doing?” Clay snapped. “We can’t get there first if you stop!”

  “We are not going that way anymore,” Morley said as the mech began to turn around. “I cannot risk damaging this machine. As much as I would delight in saving your AI friend, my life’s work is worth too much. The Prometheus is special.”

  “How much is your life worth?” Clay asked. “Not your work, but your actual life? Because I’ll snap your neck if you don’t get moving right now.”

  Morley looked at Clay in alarm. “Mr. MacAulay, that is hardly gentlemanly of you. I have shown you nothing but consideration and respect. To return it with hostility is just unfathomable.”

  “Well, fathom it,” Clay said. “We’re going to get Gibbons, and there is no arguing that fact.”

  Morley began to do what Clay said there was no doing, but the argument never left his lips. He hesitated then started the flesh mech moving once again.