Machine, page 19
part #1 of The Peradran Legacy Series
Outside, Fivetoes' hide took on a fiery luster in the evening glow, it dulled near and around the harness. The Alloydaemon was led from my view. I entered the stable cautiously. My senses revealed nothing other than barn smell. I stayed as far from the other stalls as possible, creeping through the straw as I went for the other doors.
A more mundane version of Fivetoes occupied the nearest stall. It had apparently been made more docile, it plodded toward me untethered. There was no metallic luster, its hide was dull and thick with fewer patterns and wider swirls. It had only three toes and the same square head. I reached out my hand, open and palm up.
It fell into a crouch and snarled baring a row of two inch fangs above and below. It gnashed at me showing how perfectly the opposing rows meshed. Its hide began smolder, tight scar-like swirls appeared and the straw began to singe beneath its talons. The ground began to shake, I thought the gates of hell were opening before me. The three toed Alloydaemon snapped its attention to the far doors. There beyond, Fivetoes thundered past carrying the Machine on his back. In a moment they were gone and the earth was still again. 'Threetoes' shied back into its stall. The Arcane presence gripped me, I turned on my heels. At the strip of diffuse light between the doors behind me stood Morbannon's silhouette. Night had fallen.
“You are very fortunate there is a path over the stable from the pass.”
“Thank you.” I began to leave the stable toward him.
“Don't be in such a hurry. I'll introduce you to my pets. You've met Dexamenus.” He was suddenly overly complacent. His presence was unpronounced. It made me suspicious.
“How?” Referring to the Machine. It was all I could think to say,
“How? How does it live? How does it move? I do not know.”
“Why wasn't It trying to kill everything? How did you pacify It like that?”
“I did no such thing. I only moved It to my lab. Before I could even divine the extent of damage let alone move to try It had my throat within Its fingers. Then It stood and began to lift me. I said the name you gave It and It released me. It asked little in return - a chance to survive alone in Peradra. I knew enough English to determine that It was cognizant albeit naive and It managed to explain what had happened. I taught It simple communication skills and enough riding knowledge to find safe refuge from someone called Theo.” He stopped and led me to the next occupied stall, opposite Dexamenus.
“This is Tuvia.” I recognized the beast, it was remarkably similar to one I had seen in the gallery, in a portrait of the Lalgoran woman I thought to be his mate. It resembled a horse with a solid chestnut coat, a flowing ivory mane that fell below the beasts shoulders and came together in a crest on its sternum. The elongated skull and small eyes gave it a reptilian demeanor. Its hooves were divided twice, into three large and unshod segments. There was no saddle in the stall and it was tethered to the gate. A trough was half full of a sweet smelling grain and water mixture.
“You mean you set It free, in Peradra?” I feared a great misjudgment had been made.
“Wouldn't you agree its a better choice; in your dimension It would be a test subject. Here there is a chance for freedom.” He patted Tuvia on her neck affectionately. “She is the third generation of Resh'pov to grace my stable.”
“Freedom? That Machine is capable of severe violence.” I could not believe that even Morbannon would release such a thing upon his world.
“Once, maybe. Now It exists as an orphan. The Eschelea stripped away all that It was, leaving only rudimentary reasoning skills and the mere shell of a mind.” He turned from Tuvia his prize Resh'pov and led me past more empty stalls.
“Mind? Your goal maybe, not his mind.” My words didn't seem to describe the sinking feeling I felt or as deeply as I had hoped. “What else did It say?” I was talking to his back as he unlatched another gate. The occupant of the opened stall snorted nervously. Morbannon spoke in soothing tones, using words from the Ancient Tongue.
He was a Resh'pov male, his mane was dark red and full like a lion's. Its coat was black with a glossy maroon sheen.
“Tuvia's mate?”
“No, her papa. His mate was wild. Tuvia returned on her own with Helis here during my absence. The Eschelea provided for her.” Helis shuffled tensely. “Their more intelligent than my Alloydaemons but require perpetual care taking.” He stilled the massive Resh'pov and assured it of my friendship. Its dark eyes met his.
“Did it mention my name?”
“Who?” He looked gregariously at Helis.
“The Machine.”
“The Ma-chine?” He thought for a moment. “What does it stand for?”
I realized that I had never said it aloud until then. “That is a Machine.”
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
DEAD RECKONING
“Mission Three.” Alan's face had fresh pink scars sharpening his perpetually stoic expression as he read the file stamped FAILURE. Beneath it was a similar file stamped CONFIDENTIAL.
“Mission Three.” This time his voice lifted in anticipation. He threw the red herring in the trash and admired the first page of Theo's summary.
Mission Three
Conception/Culmination
Designer: Theodore Panopolis
Director: Alan Jerring
Microsurgery: Sakamoto Shimera (KIA)
Pilot: Kevin Connor (MIA)
-Performance of the microchips VM3a and VM3b in post exposure analysis
were positive.
-VM3a was implanted successfully.
-Bio-regeneration was observed as positive.
-Control exposure failed to fully inhibit the progressive transformation.
-VM3a was completely absorbed at 2:03:27 hours after surgery.
-Subject’s Programming remained uniquely pronounced and was followed in befit of Pilot Kevin Connor's dementia.
-Casualties were within acceptable parameters.
-VM3b remains stable in form and content.
-No positive data was retrieved supporting a living dimension beyond the
parallel-frequency portal.
-VM3 70% successful.
* * * *
On his remote terminal Alan viewed a bar graph projecting the progress of various Science Departments and Laboratories. The graph header was 'Mission Four'. The first bar was red and labeled 'Support Suit', as it reached up, the time scale lengthened from 'Days' to 'Weeks'. The red bar stopped at 'Five Days'. The other bars were orange for Lab Five at '12 Hours', yellow for Field Crew at 'Ready' and white for the new Portal Chamber at 'Two Days'.
Idly he tapped his keyboard, flipping through various diagrams until he came upon a live feed of the Support Suit Lab. The Lab was empty, lit only with diffuse pinkish-red security lights. It should be, it was three a.m.
The Mission Three summary lay open before him. He laughed to himself and said aloud, “That Bastard.”
Then he tapped at his keyboard again, bringing up a live feed of the secret Support Suit Lab. It was brightly lit, white lab coats hovered everywhere. He switched his feed to the Lab Console, buzzing for an answer at the other end. He waited as the Lab Console camera stared at miscellaneous cables dangling from the ceiling. He listened to the buzz echo in the speaker amid the commotion within the Lab.
He knew the real Mission Four Suit was being sent on a dry run into the Void, to insure the safety of its brave Pilot. The nonexistent Suit was not. The unwitting Pilot would be the new recipient of the VM3b microchip; post exposure.
Both would enter the Portal, five hours apart. Both were to be armed with various environmental recorders and an assortment of high performance designer steroids. Also a ten second delay fail-safe return circuit back to the Portal Chamber. Their orders/programming were to record as much data as possible and retrieve either or both of the two Suits within that time if possible. Their recording equipment had forty-eight hours of video space each. Four days between them.
A face appeared in the monitor, a brown-haired man with glasses, about thirty.
“Sir?” Was the agitated inquiry. After a pause. “Mr. Jerring, you're in late tonight. What can I do for you?” His name was Brandon Amblunt, he put together the covert Assembly Lab crew. He hand picked them from an elite repertoire of underground and therefore “invisible” talent; microchip mercenaries.
“Brandon, how's our timetable?” The Lab functioned independently from the rest of PPT, nothing of its purpose was available via standard up-link. There was only the secure video phones that lead only to himself and Theo.
“Right on schedule. We'll be ready for remote exposure by oh-eight-hundred.” He glanced at his wristwatch and made for the disconnect button next to the camera.
Alan barked, “Brand! Wait a second. Why haven't I heard on your Pilot, we do need a Pilot.” His finger twitched before the live remote feed.
The distended finger drew back to reveal a nervous expression. Brandon glanced over his shoulder, trying to arouse his composure. He half stuttered his explanation. “Ble-believe me Alan, he is solid, sol-id.”
“If I don't see his face by six you're going! Understand?” Brandon's shock was mirrored by a couple of faces near enough to hear the threat, they sulked out of lens shot.
“Hold on man, no need for a power trip. I put this thing together and everything is golden.”
“Are you guys smoking dope in there? This is just big enough to flatten you all, you see...” He liked dealing the high cards. “Find him.”
“Look,” He lowered his voice suspiciously. “This guy is selling his soul to you, cut me some slack.”
“No Brandon, you are selling his soul to us. Just remember Midas and his 'golden' touch.” He cut the line and watched the live remote. Brandon was flipping the vid-phone the bird and cursing Alan's karma copiously. Alan turned the volume down and panned to the new Suit.
Four cobalt lasers microwelded a semiconductor webbing into the helmet near to where the microchip was to be implanted. Two of the microchip mercenaries supervised. He had memorized the entire team's names and faces, mostly first names. Ned and Bob, both were women with similar hair cuts. Ned was twenty-five with a Masters in Physics and Metallurgy. Bob was twenty-nine with her own Doctorate in Semi-conductor Technology and Masters in both Math and Biology. They typed away at opposite consoles.
“Twenty-four gig. and hot.” Two of the lasers fired thin, focused beams. A third was pulsing opposite the fourth.
“Current on. Sixty percent.” Bob seemed disappointed by the figures.
“ok, number four is slow lets change out the lens.” She shut down the lasers.
Alan knew that would take a full hour. He felt like calling Brandon again and giving him shit about the unmentioned delay. But that would only slow them down more, Brandon would rain on Ned and Bob then they would complain instead of concentrating on their work. Besides Ned and Bob were his most valuable techs. Between them was a mind that equaled Sakamoto's.
* * * *
“Mission Three.” The number seemed to reflect darkly over other information like sixteen dead and four critically injured.
“Mission Three.” Theo toasted himself with a snort of Bourbon. He wasn't sure he could have done it like that. But it happened, by itself, it was a mistake. He felt like a computer hacker must have felt, accidentally discovering a password into a high profile system. But joined together with everything else, made it Science.
The thing about Science was that its not exact, always there was the variable, the pi and the projection. The big steps were taken when the best guess was all there was. Like Columbus, defying the Edge of the World to exist.
* * * *
The mountainous landscape rolled beneath the steady thunder of Fivetoes' rhythmic run. His passenger stared with inhuman eyes. Every detail seemed to latch onto Its pain. It could not remember anything else. Pain lingered vividly in Its memory, coursing through Its circuit. The images replayed themselves relentlessly, taking any freedom from Its view. It had no name, no identity, nothing. When the pain seemed to subside everything would retreat with it, the Void filled every fiber of Its being. It may have well been insane.
Soon the barren rockscape was behind them, narrow rows of trees began to fill the hillside plateau. Beyond lay an expansive valley, lush and forested, black in the lightless sky. It jeered openly at Its inward chaos.
Even within the glow of the moon Fivetoes' own radiance reached the edges of the trail, making the night beyond seem for The Machine, blacker.
The beast was hot. It bounded onto a fallen Scalla, searing its track into the wood with a screech of burning sap and bark. Instantly the Machine realized what was happening. Fivetoes was leaving a trail that could be followed. Atop the fallen tree Machine leapt from the Alloydaemon's back, the beast reared and turned upon the Machine, brandishing its powerful fangs. They were a full three feet apart on the massive barricade.
The Machine braced, its android lungs inflated and servos purred with life. Smoke billowed from deep scars beneath Fivetoes' talons. His hide became mirror-like, glowing white hot in the indigo sky reflection.
Fivetoes' pounced, the Machine met him with a wide swing that connected on the left of Fivetoes' neck.. Its fist sunk deep in the molten flesh, Fivetoes' hide grew suddenly soft. Deep within Machine's atomic framework the permanent signature of the Void met the only force capable of resisting its influence, a nature similar to its own.
Immobilized, the duo remained locked in subatomic conflict yet sharing the same nonexistence reality. The presence of the Void grew, for them time was slowed. The Peradran landscape evolved from night into day, melting around them fluidly like the very air had become liquid.
There was a subtle variance in their natures, the Arcane Zeraad and the Technological Void. Each bore a specific signature, symbolic, surreal. Interlaced was the blood of the dead Eschelea Oc'ssr. The essence of the alien fluid linked their psyche with the other, matter became antimatter and nonexisted as one. Malevolence and rage became equanimity and repose, a glint of freedom. Bonded by an indiscernible nature that was inimitably their own.
The Machine removed his bioalloyed fist, Fivetoes' hide cooled and the intricate swirls could again be seen. Piquant smoke drifted away on a gentle gale from the South. Fivetoes concealed his fangs in a bestial caricature of reason, as they too cooled, becoming for the first time like ivory. The Machine watched the metamorphosis unaware of his own.
Dark metallic patterns repeated themselves around the Alloydaemon's eyes. A fleshy layer formed, thin metallic blood filled empty capillaries. The effect made the alloyed hide even more impressive, if such a beast should be so close to a secular nature.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
SHELLY'S BALLAD
The Static-field glowed in the moonless desert night. Fifteen hundred feet beyond, the Void field generators hummed to life. Intense magnetic fields pulled at one another until the fabric of matter was drawn apart. A black semicircle formed, the air around it was distorted, rippling outward to substantiality. On the other side was the Void, the destination of Mission Four's key participant; Joseph Cartena, a “retired” mercenary with all the right skills. His “mission” was similar to Kevin's, enter the Void and return thirty seconds later, his time. The “mission” was simply to record a more specific time distortion ratio during re-entry, which was total bull. The distortion was precisely constant until the Veil resumed its one-dimensional place within the Void field. Only Joseph knew nothing of trans-dimensional physics.
The booster rockets fired, the Void Runner catapulted forward. The runway became a red carpet behind the intense flames which seemed only to lengthen as the vehicle moved away. The fire dissolved when the event horizon was penetrated, as seen only by electric eyes.
There was no cheer in the remote control room. The mercenaries condemning Cartena to his fate buried their feelings alive and completed the motions of a successful departure.
The vid-panel speaker scraped into the silence. Alan's voice mired out, “Brandon, I want you in a Suit when Cartena returns.” Dead air hissed for a response.
Ned stepped up to the vid-phone. “Alan, I would like to Pilot a Suit myself. Brand said something about asking you, I had a sensor suit sized...” She lingered on the thought and added, “I was an nurse for a while after college.” After bringing up the likelihood of Trauma, she pulled back in a mock wince when Alan blinked stoically. She didn't know him well enough to know that he rarely looked otherwise.
“Ok Ned. It'll save me the trouble of dragging a greenhorn out of bed for a 'drill'.” He watched her jaw go slack and added, “A loose end I didn't want to tie. Be ready. Now get Brandon.” He looked away as if she would move faster because of that.
He didn't look directly at the vid-phone again until he heard Brandon's voice. “We synchronized our watches and everyone is staying here until Cartena is in Lab Five. Except for me and Ned.” Alan blinked, this time his expression was true.
“That's right, you and Ned. I don't want her close to Cartena unless its necessary. She's data retrieval and observation only. Understood?” If he smoked, that would have been a good time to tap an ash. He didn't want Ned in any danger but she was worth enough not to deny her the experience. It promised to be a unique one at the least.
“Understood.” He wasn't going to elaborate on his level of servitude. It just wasn't the time for it, he knew Alan. The vid-phone went black.
Ned was anxiously discussing her new opportunity with Bob, who was not as enthusiastic.
“I wouldn't even pilot one of these things out of the Lab.” Bob waved her arm over the empty work station, dormant machinery hung in abundance about its area.
“Maybe not, but I'm on a danger rush or something.”
“Your wild hair got us into this and your making it difficult to get back out. Everything in our own shop was fine.” She was getting exited and she had everyone's attention. Her self-awareness peaked, she said in a muted tone. “When is it over? When something bad enough happens… to you?”
