Mech 3: The Empress Read online

  While Aldo was content with the outcome, Joelle worried continually. He reflected that the slaughter she’d witnessed aboard the ship had injured the bubble of invulnerability so many people’s minds seemed to live within. Aldo had no such illusions to be shattered. He knew he was going to die someday—probably soon, and in a bloody, painful heap. He’d long ago come to accept this eventual fate, and although he was determined to stave it off for as long as possible, he did not waste time dwelling on it. Joelle’s attitude did not match his own.

  “How can you be so coldblooded about this?” she demanded.

  Aldo shrugged and oiled his blade. One had to be very careful while doing so, as the edge was so fantastically sharp it may well take off the hand that cared for it due to a single thoughtless motion. Its sheath was specially constructed to avoid this fate by gripping the sides of the blade. The long rib of the scabbard that covered the blade itself never actually touched the edge when it was being drawn. If it had, the sheath would have been slashed apart as easily as any other substance that brushed the perfectly aligned molecular-chain.

  “I can’t get the image out of my mind, Aldo—I just can’t. I see the scene over and over again. We dragged them out, each crewman’s body, and put it into the low hold. They are still down there, flash-frozen by vacuum by now I would expect. Those are all people we used to know—people you played cards with and in some cases made love to. Now, they are a pile of frozen, mangled corpses in a dark hold. Doesn’t that bother you? How can you think of anything else?”

  Joelle continued in this vein while Aldo worked on his blade. She paced their shared cabin as she did so. Her hands rested on her shapely hips as she walked back and forth. When she walked away, Aldo often glanced up to admire the view. When she approached, however, his eyes went back to his blade. The power buttons on the hilt were less than firm, so he disassembled it to tighten the screws inside.

  Finally, he became aware that she was standing over him, staring down with a stern expression. He glanced up, eyebrows upraised. Had she posed a question for which she expected an answer? If so, he’d missed it.

  “Good point,” he said, hoping this would pass muster. It did not.

  “You’re not even listening, are you?”

  “I’ve heard enough.”

  She made a small growling sound in the back of her throat. “We’ve got less than two weeks before we land and all you do is scratch at that sword of yours.”

  Aldo lifted the blade slightly. The tip poised motionlessly in the air between them. Joelle took an uneasy step backward—but he’d not meant the movement as a threat.

  “Look here,” he said, pointing at the tip of his weapon. “You see this tiny spot of metal, the vanishing point of a perfect killing device? This point is tipped with a single molecule of carbon, kept in line with a generated field—a trick of physics. Do you know how many beings have been pierced by it? How many times it has destroyed a biotic being which is infinitely more complex than itself?”

  “Quite a number of times, I would suspect.”

  “Just so. Not thousands—but hundreds, yes.”

  “What are you going on about?”

  Aldo lowered the point and went back to work on it. The hilt was rebuilt and fit tightly again. The buttons felt stiff against the thumb. Nothing wobbled or shimmied as he pressed the flat of the blade against his bunk.

  “My point is this simple device is more important than the hundreds it has defeated. It is more admirable, and arguably superior.

  “You are telling me that sword is more important to you than the dead people in the hold?”

  Aldo made a thoughtful face by pulling his lips down at the corners, while simultaneously raising his eyebrows high. “Not exactly…but they are dead and useless, while this weapon and my arm still function. Therefore, I apply my thoughts to the weapon—not to ghosts of the past.”

  Joelle stared at him, her eyes squinting and her nostrils flaring. “I can’t believe you. I’m moving out of this cabin. I should never have stayed so long. If you love that sword so much, you can sleep with it instead. Turn it on, maybe it will keep you warm tonight!”

  Aldo chuckled as she left him. He shook his head and continued to work on his blade. A hundred women had stormed away from his bed, and with luck, a hundred more would do so in the future.

  But today, with only a few days left before planetfall, Aldo’s heart and mind were focused upon his blade.

  Fifteen

  Baroness Nina Droad took possession of new funding and gathered a force of Twilighters under her banner, the likes of which hadn’t been seen in decades—but Sixty-Two struck first. The mech rebels were not like humans. They worked around the clock without complaint and suffered from vastly less bureaucracy. Once they decided upon a course of action, they behaved almost like a single being.

  Oddly enough, Sixty-Two found his endeavors to free the minds of his mech army slowed down their efficiency in the area of organization and production. But he hoped he would gain at least a cadre of leaders who were able to think for themselves. True individuals who were able to make independent judgments. The first dozen mechs had already been through the slow, painful process of reconversion. He had not attempted to reunite them with their pasts, but only with their emotions and self-determination thought processes.

  So far, there had only been a single casualty, and this had not been due to any known fault in the procedure. One mech, as apparently normal as all the rest before the reconversion, had freed himself from the restraints as soon as he was able and run off into the desert. He’d never uttered a word, but mech witnesses said later he brushed past them, making the odd, wheezing sounds Sixty-Two had come to know as mech tears.

  The mech had proceeded to run off a cliff at the highest point without a moment’s pause in his stride. He plunged seven hundred feet into a rocky ravine. At the bottom, jagged stones projected upward to meet him. He’d taken pains to land flat upon his back, which was a mech’s most vulnerable point. The door that led into the braincase was located there. Despite being insulated by gels and liquids, the shock had ruptured the brain tissue inside. When they found him, his lifeless orbs stared blindly up at the unrelenting red star that hung forever over Sunside.

  Sixty-Two found this response disturbing. Had the mech been so overwhelmed with grief at his fate he’d decided to kill himself that very moment? Or had he been considering the idea for a long time and been unable to act upon it until mentally freed by the process? He doubted he would ever know the truth.

  Still, he continued until he had a dozen or so mentally-freed mechs. They only had one mind-scrubbing machine to do the work, so the process was painstakingly slow. He interviewed the surviving mechs after freeing them, and found them to be a much more interesting group. One individual named Bellevue wanted to eat food—something which mechs were capable of, but which was largely pointless for them. They lived with a small amount of glucose and lubricants, usually administered as a frothing brown beverage. This Bellevue craved cakes, meats and beer—even though he couldn’t taste any of them.

  Others had similar quirks. Sixty-Two wondered if these personality details were holdovers from past memories, or instinctive behaviors built into the emotional wetware humans kept inside their skulls. These minds were a tangle, of that he was certain. But he pressed onward in any case and named seven of them as his captains, including the insatiably hungry Bellevue. Each captain was given command of a hundred mech perrupters and bolstered by another fifty laborers that had been modified for combat. These last didn’t have guns for arms, but wielded machetes with thick, forged blades of hammered steel. They had used the walls of captured mining facility structures as raw materials for these weapons.

  All told, Sixty-Two had more than a thousand mechs at his back when he marched toward Twilight again. Their first target was the small border town of Dolleren, which sat in a mountainous region of Twilight near Sunside. Dolleren had a light industrial center sector around the pro
duction of generic cpus and wire-harnesses. Both products were valuable to the mechs as replacement parts.

  The mechs met very little resistance, and stormed the walls effortlessly. The few defenders fired a thin spray of laser bolts, then promptly threw down their arms when they realized they were facing overwhelming numbers.

  Unfortunately, the defenders managed a lucky shot and killed two mechs in Captain Bellevue’s company. This occurred on the opposite side of the town from Sixty-Two’s position, and Captain Bellevue was thus free to apply his own judgment as to how his company should respond.

  The results were nothing less than horrendous. By the time Sixty-Two led his own forces to the center of the town to see what all the noise was about, he found humans fleeing and lying in bloody heaps on the town square. Males, females and young alike had been slaughtered. At the center of it all stood Captain Bellevue, his metal jaws masticating as he ripped limbs from the corpses and chewed them. Gore ran down over his metal body. His orbs shifted from side-to-side excitedly. Sixty-Two got the impression he wanted to taste each victim of the massacre.

  “Captain Bellevue, can you explain your actions?”

  The Captain spat out bits of bone and gristle, as if clearing his throat, even though his voice was actually generated by a speaker in his chassis. “They killed two of my mechs, sir.”

  “And you felt slaughtering the town was an appropriate response?”

  “I did.”

  Sixty-Two looked around himself in sick alarm. “These people are not even the troops from the walls. They are helpless civilians.”

  “May I suggest,” said Bellevue, plucking with his grippers at a fresh pile of gore, “you recall how they mistreated our own people a few ten-days ago. They came upon us without warning in the desert and slaughtered the entire populace.”

  “You claim this was an act of vengeance?”

  Bellevue turned his orbs down the street—they seemed unsteady in his head. “Yes, partly. I also wanted to taste their flesh.”

  “You can’t taste anything, fool!”

  “Yes…it was not as satisfactory as I’d hoped it would be.”

  Sixty-Two demoted Captain Bellevue and ordered him back to the base camps in Sunside. There, his ferocity would be warranted if another invading force came from the Twilighters.

  Sixty-Two surveyed the carnage with unease. The humans had been heartless before. Now, he had given them good reason to continue in that vein. This had not been his intent. He’d believed he could show the humans he was dangerous, and they’d best leave them alone. He’d thought by showing they were strong enough to defend themselves when attacked, they might work out a basis for a truce of sorts. Now, however….

  He kicked at a child’s doll. The limbs were all missing, and there was blood darkening the street below it. Sixty-Two wondered how this would all end.

  Realizing he’d started a war, and would need fresh troops, he headed to the mech charging bays and shut-down pens. He freed the mechs there—or rather, he became their new master.

  #

  Two days after the massacre at Dolleren, Nina Droad found herself on the town’s High Street with eyes drawn to slits. She sat on her mount and glided slowly through the town, absorbing the scene. She’d seen the vids already, of course. The mechs had swept into the town in an organized force and brushed aside the paltry defenses. Then one group of them had begun a senseless slaughter. The images of a mech chewing on limbs was particularly disturbing. The technicians could not fathom how their conditioning had been so perverted. Was there a virus involved? Could a destructive group be behind the rebellion, bent on anarchy?

  Watching the mech commander and the cannibal mech discuss matters in the street, Nina had her own suspicions. The commander wasn’t happy with the cannibal, that much was clear. But how could a mech underling do anything other than what its master demanded of it? The only possible answer was that a number of the mechs were free of their conditioning. For whatever reason, they were thinking on their own and doing as they pleased. Perhaps the cannibal had been a gourmet in his past life, and now enjoyed sampling the meats of other sentient beings.

  None of that mattered. What did matter was the clear implication that these mechs were striking back as a reprisal for what she herself had done. She understood that, looking down at the corpses organized in stacked transparent caskets for burial.

  When the summons came that evening to attend to the Ruling Council of Lords, she was not surprised. They had taken longer to contact her than she had suspected they might.

  The formalities went on longer than before, it seemed to her today. She stayed stony-faced through it all, giving away nothing of her internal feelings of guilt and remorse. The mechs had struck the first blow, killing her beloved Leon. She had responded by killing hundreds of them in turn. Now, they’d slain half a town. Where would it end? Who would strike the final blow?

  She straightened in her chair and faced the vid pickup. Do not reveal even a hint of worry, she told herself sternly. There was only one option open to her now, only one direction in which she could attempt to guide the council.

  “Baroness,” Duchess Embrak addressed her, “so kind of you to meet with the council.”

  “It is my pleasure,” Nina said. She did not roll her eyes and add: as if I had any choice.

  “We shall see,” said the Duchess ominously. “Would you report to us the results of your latest activities?”

  Nina paused. “I have not made a move with my forces. We are still gathering strength—”

  “Are you not now standing within the ruins of Dolleren?”

  “Yes, madam.”

  “Then tell us what you are doing there.”

  “Another mech raid has occurred, milady. Unfortunately, we were not able to get here in time. But rest assured, the mechs will not get away with this massacre. They will be punished resoundingly.”

  “Punishment is not enough. These attacks must stop.”

  “Indeed. And they will stop, once the rebellion is stamped out forever.”

  Duchess Embrak glowered at her. Nina resisted the urge to smile faintly in return. She knew the Duchess had not intended the discussion to go in this direction. It was supposed meant to be a witch-hunt—with Nina playing the starring role as the witch.

  “Let us discuss the root of the matter,” the Duchess pressed onward. “The war has escalated due to your actions. What had been a few minor incursions now has come to this—a town of innocents slaughtered.”

  Nina feigned surprise. “Do I hear rightly? I’m being blamed for the actions of insane mechs? May I refer you to vid clip sixteen—”

  “There is no need—”

  “I ask the council to view the clip, as it is critical evidence.”

  There was murmur of support from the council. Duchess Embrak looked annoyed.

  “Very well, play it,” she said.

  The screen lit up with the towering figure of a mech. He stood over a dying civilian, plucking away limbs and thoughtfully chewing on them. Every councilmember gasped and muttered.

  “I fail to see how this atrocity—” began the Duchess.

  “Thank you!” Nina interjected. “That is the precise word I was hunting for. This atrocity was committed by a mech mere hours ago, while I built my army many leagues away. Yet somehow, this is my fault? I could understand accusing the mech’s conditioners for drunkenness, but this—”

  The councilors muttered with increasing volume as she spoke. Finally, a voice broke loose from the others: “No Nina, it was no fault of yours! Metal beasts, they are!”

  “Thank you,” Nina said, but she did not take her eyes from the Duchess.

  For her own part, the Duchess seemed to realize she was losing sway over her own council. She swiftly changed tacts. “Very well-stated. I am in complete agreement, Baronness. Now, let us proceed to our next step.”

  “Which is?” Nina asked.

  “Why, aren’t you going to tell us? This is, after all, y
our war my dear. You wanted it, you have it, and now you must lead us to victory. Tell us your plans.”

  Nina sat as tall and straight as she was able. In her face, she felt her pulse pounding. She hoped she wasn’t blushing. “I need more troops. I require more money to gather them. Twice again what I have been given—as a beginning. The problem is much larger than I had hoped it would be. The mechs number in the thousands. They will slay us all in our beds. Today it was Dolleren, but tomorrow it may well be Lavender City or Shadeton.”

  Many of the lords present lived in the affluent cities she listed, and there was a renewed level of sound from the councilmembers.

  Duchess Embrak raised her fine-boned hand. “Fear-mongering isn’t appreciated here, Baroness. You list absurdities.”

  “Fear-mongering? Perhaps then, you can tell me what I should do with the army you asked me to raise. Should I march into Sunside and surrender to the rebels? Should I disarm and take up crooning with lake-fish? Or is there some other form of appeasement you would prefer?”

  The Duchess licked her lips. “No,” she said.

  Nina said nothing further. Both women saw clearly that the Duchess had been outmaneuvered.

  “Very well,” said the Duchess, after taking a moment to recover. “I move that we accept Baroness’ Droad’s request for further support. Let her raise her army. Who seconds my motion?”

  A half-dozen hands shot up. The motion was quickly carried. This time, Nina watched as the Duchess’ thumb turned up. This, more than anything else, made her start to sweat. What new variety of trap was this witch laying for her now?

  “Before we leave you to your critical work, Baroness, I wish to make one point crystal clear. You have promised to end this rebellion, have you not?”

  “Uh,” Nina said, pausing. She recovered quickly. Every eye was on her. She had no choice. “I will stamp it out. There will be no mech with two metal struts to stand upon in all of Sunside!”