The Incision of Being, page 10
“Steady and smooth movements,” he told the coppers. “Do not make a leap unless you’re at least ninety-five percent sure you can land properly.”
“Affirmative,” they said.
“Affirmative,” a bystander mocked, and then stood and gawked as Orvil and the coppers scaled the window ledges of a brick building.
Broken rock rained down. People screamed, ran, or used their phones to “report a disturbance.”
Orvil leaped from roof to roof, always aiming for a landing that was lower than his launching altitude. If none were available, he’d find a taller building and scale its window ledges. Orvil noticed vehicles following below when a collision occurred in an intersection. Police cruisers had joined the chase, also, along with a helicopter.
The accumulation of pursuing vehicles and gathering bystanders made Orvil realize that an action performed in the vein of safety did not always carry its intended effect into the near future. Traveling at high altitudes was no longer plausible, so he descended to the streets below, using window ledges to slow his fall.
He got off the street, leaping a fence that led onto an acre of grass with a concrete fountain at its center. A few people lingered near the fountain, their barking, leashed animals giving chase only to be restrained seconds later. None of the vehicles had crossed the threshold into the park. But the helicopter remained directly above.
Orvil tore up patches of soft terrain as he galloped at maximum speeds. Crossing another street and bounding over a silver fence with coiled barbed wire sprawled along its height, Orvil reached his destination.
The lot was full of cargo trailers, many of which were docked at loading bays. A few trucks sluggishly hauled in additional trailers while others left for the exit gate, unhitched.
Orvil followed his internal Traveled Positioning Tracker to the location Annalease had first acquired him over a month ago, and he burst through the loading dock door, splitting the metal barrier with enough screeching velocity to frighten everybody inside. He skidded to a halt, sparks jumping from his feet. Bystanders flinched and gasped as the coppers entered in similar fashion, destroying two of the dock doors on either side of Orvil.
“My name is Orvil 7D. I was stolen from this property fifty-six days ago by an underground organization known as the Harbingers. I must be transported to my proper destination, High Society, at once.”
The people surrounding him were dressed alike. Jeans, boots, long-sleeve shirts with brightly colored vests on top, and blue hard hats on their heads. Some carried tool pouches like the one taken by Annalease on their recruitment mission. Others operated forklifts, their cargo being copper or aluminum mechanthrops. All watched Orvil. Eventually their shock wore off, and someone spoke.
“Holy shit,” he said.
The way he said it reminded Orvil of Salamander, back when he had muttered the same phrase after being shown Annalease’s cracked armor plate.
Spoken by Robert, 2017, 7Jan2668:
“Without it her chest would’ve caved. Could’ve crushed her heart or punctured a lung.”
Spoken by Salamander, 2017, 7Jan2668:
“Holy shit.”
Upon hearing the foreign words spoken by Salamander, Orvil had analyzed and interpreted their meaning: Surprise and fear. Applying this prior knowledge to his current situation at MR&H rendered a necessary change in tactics. He needed cooperation, a physiological response in the form of stiffened lips and curt nods, accompanied often by phrases such as “okay,” “affirmative,” or “roger.”
“Easy there, buddy,” a man wearing a green plastic cap said. “I’ll have to get your identification number to figure out where it is you’re supposed to be.”
The man said more, but Orvil was transfixed by the amount of familia in the room. Racks upon racks of them, stacked to a height higher than some buildings he had scaled earlier, the length of their rows extending wide as the grass field with the fountain. Thousands of coppers, aluminums, and silvers, each seemingly without sentience, fastened to pallets with straps and wooden guards.
Not a single Gold, he deduced, considering the dimensions of each visible rack. The pallets aren’t big enough.
Commotion behind Orvil set off his safety parameters. He swiveled around and saw the police officers that had entered the building, their weapons drawn. Some carried Overriders, and Orvil noticed that both of his coppers had been deactivated.
An easy fix, he thought. No, not easy. Painful. But fixable. A single bullet would cause his own Overrider to assume control of every mechanthrop in the room. The humans would be outnumbered hundred-to-one. The probability of them preventing critical damage to themselves was miniscule. Would I be able to recover in time to prevent an onslaught?
No. Not even if the scenario played out a hundred times and he applied everything he had learned from the previous scenario to the next. Plus, he’d harm his chances of returning to the transport pod if every human in the building were permanently deactivated.
“Shutdown all functions immediately,” a voice said from behind Orvil.
It was the man from earlier, the one who had told Orvil to “take it easy, buddy.” The man took a few steps back, his finger incessantly depressing the trigger of the Overrider in his hand.
“Those don’t work on me,” Orvil said.
“What the hell’s going on,” a forklift operator muttered. He turned his head to scratch an itch when Orvil made eye contact.
“Everyone in this room who gets paid by MR&H needs to vacate the premises,” a person announced from the door. Her crisp jacket and pants were unlike the outfits of anyone else in the room. The stranger’s physical characteristics also verged wildly from the others. Being it the police officers, forklift operators, or men with blue or green caps, there was at least a few replicas of each assortment. But the woman was unique.
Like me, the only Gold in the building, Orvil thought, a revelation that immediately induced a level of contentment between himself and the stranger.
“We have a deadline to meet,” the man in the green cap said as he consulted a tablet.
The woman flashed a small plate of gold attached to her hip. “This mechanthrop,” she said, pointing at Orvil, “just left a trail of destruction in his wake. If you want to be held liable for any and all potential injuries he may inflict upon your employees, then please, work on your quota.”
“Potential injuries is something we deal with day in and day out,” the green cap said. “I’m not sending my people home just to call them back in tonight. Thirty minutes.” Then, louder for everyone in the room to hear, “Thirty-minute break. Be in the cafeteria at 3:45 sharp for an update.”
The room emptied of everybody not carrying a weapon of sorts. Eighteen PD officers surrounded Orvil. They created a perfect circle of steadiness, yet Orvil could smell the sweat permeating through their uniforms. Their heart rates clocked in around 115 beats per minute, and Orvil could hear the skin of their forefingers rubbing the triggers of their weapons. They didn’t realize that their biggest threat was themselves.
“Harming me will only cause you great pain,” Orvil said.
“We fully believe you,” the woman wearing the golden badge said. She lingered on the outside of the PD circle. “Violence is something we’d greatly appreciate avoiding at this time.” As if on cue, the PD officers lowered their weapons, and the woman passed through their perimeter. She kept her hands up, palms out, and spoke in a voice that eerily reminded Orvil of Skink. “We’d like to ask you a few questions, if you’re okay with that.”
“No,” Orvil said. “I must return to Mechciety. Now.”
“You’re from Mechciety?” the woman asked.
“Yes, we all are,” Orvil said, glancing up at the racks of mechanthrops.
The woman nodded. “Okay. We can arrange to take you back to Mechciety, but we’ll have to make a stop along the way. It’s a process, transporting mechanthrops back and forth over the border.”
“Take me to the transport pods. I belong in High Society.”
The woman took out a cell phone. She showed it to Orvil. A large red, rectangular transport pod filled the screen. Constructed of dense metal, its walls fortified to withstand immense amounts of pressure from all angles, the image was a paragon of security.
“Affirmative,” Orvil said. “That is the location I must go.”
“And we will take you there,” the woman said. “But we must stop along the way, okay? Like I said, it’s a process. It’s going to take time.” She gave Orvil her cellphone. “Come along for a ride with us. What do you say?”
Orvil lifted his gaze to give her an answer, but the backdrop of stacked mechanthrops gave him pause. What would come of all those coppers and aluminums? What had happened to the coppers from the sewer?
The answer to her question seesawed back and forth in Orvil’s AI, alternating between his personal wish to return home, and an emerging desire to power up every mechanthrop in the room.
“Come with us, answer a few questions, and you’ll be on the transport pod back to Mechciety,” the woman said.
Orvil reexamined the phone. A single pod, opposed to the hundreds that were present during Orvil’s departure from Mechciety. Hundreds of pods, thousands of mechanthrops…the potential was there.
“Okay,” Orvil said. “I’ll go through your process, and then you show me the pods.”
The woman smiled and accepted her phone back. She led Orvil to a van outside, its dimensions too small to fit him vertically, so he had to curl into a ball. Two PD officers sat on benches to either side, their weapons primed as the van traveled to another facility.
Chapter 11
Annalease suppressed a cough as she entered the hideout. The scent of burnt blood hung in the musty air. The others smelled it, too, Robert grunting, and Skink muttering “Ew.” Salamander repeated himself from earlier, his voice scratchy as he said, “I don’t think he made it.”
And he was right. Eagle hadn’t survived the attack. His body was slumped on the ground, a stream of blood leaking from his charred head. It trailed down his chest and arms to the ground and followed the room’s subtle slope.
“He was still alive when I got out,” Salamander said.
“I’ll get the mop,” Skink said.
“Leave it.” Annalease unslung her tool pouch and let it fall to the floor. “Get supplies. Refill canteens and eat some food if you’re hungry. And arm yourselves.”
Robert stood in front of Annalease and gently rested his hands on her shoulders. “We need to take care of the body and clean up. We can’t risk someone walking through here and reporting it.”
“Nobody’s going to randomly walk through here,” Annalease said. “Skink, forget about the mop.”
“Probably not, but we can’t risk somebody taking his body for a diagnostic while we’re out chasing a Gold, armed to the teeth,” Robert said. “Try to envision a scenario of the four of us running through the streets with weapons and not getting the authorities called.”
“We know exactly where he’s going,” Annalease said, batting Robert’s hands away. “Skink, get your weapon. Salamander, what are you doing?”
Salamander had followed the blood trail to the middle of the room, where he stood staring at the laptop. “It’s a message from Liam. Sent forty minutes ago.”
“Forget it, we need to get moving,” Annalease said.
She opened the box of food rations by the heater and grabbed a handful of packages, but before she could distribute them Robert yanked them out of her hands and tossed them on the ground. “We’re not going anywhere until this body is taken care of,” he said.
“You take care of the body yourself,” Annalease yelled. “We’re leaving, now.”
“You’re becoming erratic,” Robert said.
“I’m in complete control,” Annalease said, lowering her voice. “Our top priority is to protect the herald of the future at all costs.”
“He’s not the herald.”
“He is!” Her voice cracked as tears dampened her cheeks. She turned away from Robert, then lowered her face and covered her eyes as Salamander and Skink stared in wide wonder. It wasn’t the first time Annalease had cried, but it was the first time any of the others had witnessed it.
“The Gold has done everything in his power to antagonize and escape us,” Robert said. “He’s killed one of our own. Stop thinking he’s anything more than just another mechanthrop.”
“The prophecy speaks of a golden era,” Annalease said, wiping her cheeks.
“And I’m sure it’ll come,” Robert said. “When the time is right.”
Salamander rotated the laptop for Annalease to see Liam’s message. He had done it quietly and with averted eyes. The stress was beginning to affect him too.
Annalease wiped her cheeks once more and straightened her posture. “Go on, Skink, get the mop.”
Skink nodded and trotted into the other room.
“So, how did it happen?” Annalease asked.
Salamander’s gaze shifted from Annalease to Robert, to Eagle. “Soon after you left, the Gold began talking. Insulting us, making threats. Basically telling us you didn’t really care for our wellbeing.”
“And did you believe him?” Robert asked, walking up to Annalease’s side, arms crossed.
“No,” Salamander said. “Of course not. He was employing psychological strategies of manipulation. It wasn’t until he played some…” he covered his mouth and coughed. “That smell is horrible. It wasn’t until he played some sounds…” He accepted the extra mop from Skink, and they commenced cleaning as he talked. “The sounds were terribly high-pitched.”
“Screeching, whining?” Robert asked.
Salamander stopped sloshing his mop through the puddle of blood. “It sounded like an airplane engine during takeoff, except it was all around, rebounding off the walls. Instant, continuous pain.”
Skink squeezed her blood-ridden mop over the bucket, deepening the scarlet shade of the sewage water within. After the mess was cleaned, they’d pour the blood-water back into the sewer river, a place Skink herself sometimes used to “clean up.” The thought made Annalease lightheaded. She closed her eyes.
“The sound he made just before assuming control of the mechanthrops,” Robert said. “It sounded like a revving engine. He was trying to assume control again.”
“Yeah, that makes sense,” Salamander said. “Maybe that’s what Eagle was thinking, or maybe the noise was too much for him to handle. He turned off the power and opened the cell.”
“And you didn’t stop him?” Robert asked.
“I was doubled over, covering my ears,” Salamander said. “When the door opened the Gold stopped screeching, and I was able to flee. Eagle stayed behind. I heard shots as I was running through the sewer.”
“Should’ve dismantled him the moment we brought him here,” Robert said. “I had a bad feeling about him. Here, give me a hand.”
Annalease and Robert carried Eagle to the operating room, moving as quickly as possible to minimize the amount of blood dripping on the floor. A broken arm, fractured spine, and multiple contusions comprised Eagle’s exterior injuries. Internally, he had bled to death.
“We can’t risk leaving anybody behind anymore,” Robert said, donning his rubber apron and plastic face shield.
Annalease handed him the bandsaw. “I agree. From now on we stick together. Always.”
“What about transformations?” Robert asked.
“They’ll have to happen the same day,” Annalease said.
Robert didn’t respond for a moment, as if he were waiting for Annalease to say more…You want me to address Eagle, she guessed. His total lack of personality after the procedure you performed. But Robert had never botched an operation before. This one was a fluke, and the crew was already tense. No need to throw trivial issues into the mix.
“Okay,” Robert said. He tested the bandsaw, its blade spinning as he revved the motor. “I better get to it. I’m guessing you’ll still want to chase the Gold after this.”
“Yes. After.”
Annalease peeled back the curtain and left the room. Fluorescent lighting gleamed off the wet concrete where Skink and Salamander had mopped. A thin trail of diluted blood remained next to the water bucket. “There’s still some spots that need wiping,” Annalease said.
“The Gold’s on TV,” Skink said.
“What?” Annalease approached the computer.
A shaky video, its quality alternating between clear and blurry as the camera recalibrated its focus, displayed three mechanthrops climbing buildings in the city. One Gold, and two coppers rained rubble as they scaled window ledges.
“Where are the closed captions?” Annalease asked.
“They were on a second ago, when the news reporter was talking,” Skink said. “They switched to a recording submitted by witnesses.”
The Gold and coppers disappeared onto the building’s roof. The video switched to an angle on the far side, its point of view capturing the mechanthrops as they jumped from one roof to another. A news reporter emerged on screen a moment later. The subtitles scrolling along the bottom read, “This rare sighting of a golden mechanthrop, bounding the length of many rooftops from earlier today, must have its owner worried sick. What’s the price tag of a golden mechanthrop these days, anyway? Close to seven figures?”
“No regard for anyone’s safety,” Annalease said. “Just the numbers.”
“If they saw what we saw, it’d be a different story,” Skink said.
“They will, when the time comes.” Annalease exited the news tab as the words, “…taken into custody…” scrolled along the screen.
The bandsaw in the other room revved and then spluttered as it sank into flesh. Salamander trembled.
“Hey, are you okay?” Skink asked him.
He took a deep breath. “Yeah. I just feel like a let-down.”
