The Other's fliers finally cross the lunon of the conqueror on a road eighty miles from its main body. The central organism had sat still and cooled. It resembled a large boulder on the side of the road. Native animals stayed away from the strange metallic smell of the Other as it vented steam and waited. The lunon was fresh and the trail was less than an hour old. The flier also found one of its kind nearby, likely struck by the primitive vehicles of the humans. It stopped to consume its kin, adding its molecular mass and lunon to its own. Tearing into the flesh of the flier, passersby on the freeway assumed they were having a nightmare and speed up, hoping to draw no notice of the unknown creature. Locals knew there were chimera left from the war and knew they did not always recognize the monsters that came from the forest, but this one was strange even by chimeric standards.
After its violent repast, the flier took to the air and could see the trace on the freeway heading toward a river. The Other began the chemical processes required to move its monstrous bulk. Several trees were gripped by large tentacles and their chemical energies were added to the creature as it ground them into splinters and the cracking and exploding sounds echoed in the nearby forest. In fifteen minutes, the Other was reheated and active. Fallen snow around it melted and it slowly moved across the surface of the ground, rolling like a tumbleweed made of iron. Its thunderous sounds caused birds to take flight and humans as far away as twenty miles assumed it was the sound of a train or other new machine created by the Plutocracy. They tightened their shutters if they had homes, or vanished into the forest if they didn't. No one wanted to see the latest war machine of the Plutarchs. The could not have been more wrong. As it picked up speed, it began to glow, a dull red at first, like a smoldering coal, heating and glowing brighter until it was red hot, ripping a molten path in the Earth as it headed toward the river and the facility where the Conqueror's lunon was headed.
# # #
The driver pulled up to the gate of the processing plant and a security drone checked his license plates and scanned his retina pattern before recognizing him and allowing him access. No question was made of his cargo. Security drones are lacking in curiosity. The driver knew this route and had made several trips in the past. Past this point, he knew was not to leave his vehicle for any reason or he would share the fate of his passengers. His partner, Shotgun was also familiar with the rules and locked the doors to make sure no one might try and make a break for it by taking the truck. It had happened before and he wasn't trying to take that risk.
Security robots were already massing at the door, armed with stunners and prods to move their product along into the factory. The driver hated this part and backed the vehicle up using the mirrors but once he stopped he turned away from the mirror and proceeded to drink some homemade moonshine, an evil tasting brew guaranteed to have him blind drunk within the hour. When he pressed the button to open the door, he was already deep into his second pull and the burning in his chest masked his feeling about the people he was sending to their deaths.
When the door opened, the robots shined lights into the vehicle, illuminating every crack and crevice. Most of the time, the products were already injured or damaged in some way, but this group seemed to be in even worse shape than most. Many had physical injuries cursorily repaired, but there was more than one of them in the throes of vomiting and many of them were discolored with strange lines crossing their faces and hands. Several of them indicated an elevated temperature but they were within the specifications for processing, so the lead robot proceeded to move them off of the vehicle. The robot AI considered it rather strange that no one attempted to run from the scene. At least one would always make the initial attempt and after stunning the runner, the rest would comply. The AI waited but no such attempt occurred. This group seemed detached and almost unaware of their surroundings.
After its violent repast, the flier took to the air and could see the trace on the freeway heading toward a river. The Other began the chemical processes required to move its monstrous bulk. Several trees were gripped by large tentacles and their chemical energies were added to the creature as it ground them into splinters and the cracking and exploding sounds echoed in the nearby forest. In fifteen minutes, the Other was reheated and active. Fallen snow around it melted and it slowly moved across the surface of the ground, rolling like a tumbleweed made of iron. Its thunderous sounds caused birds to take flight and humans as far away as twenty miles assumed it was the sound of a train or other new machine created by the Plutocracy. They tightened their shutters if they had homes, or vanished into the forest if they didn't. No one wanted to see the latest war machine of the Plutarchs. The could not have been more wrong. As it picked up speed, it began to glow, a dull red at first, like a smoldering coal, heating and glowing brighter until it was red hot, ripping a molten path in the Earth as it headed toward the river and the facility where the Conqueror's lunon was headed.
# # #
The driver pulled up to the gate of the processing plant and a security drone checked his license plates and scanned his retina pattern before recognizing him and allowing him access. No question was made of his cargo. Security drones are lacking in curiosity. The driver knew this route and had made several trips in the past. Past this point, he knew was not to leave his vehicle for any reason or he would share the fate of his passengers. His partner, Shotgun was also familiar with the rules and locked the doors to make sure no one might try and make a break for it by taking the truck. It had happened before and he wasn't trying to take that risk.
Security robots were already massing at the door, armed with stunners and prods to move their product along into the factory. The driver hated this part and backed the vehicle up using the mirrors but once he stopped he turned away from the mirror and proceeded to drink some homemade moonshine, an evil tasting brew guaranteed to have him blind drunk within the hour. When he pressed the button to open the door, he was already deep into his second pull and the burning in his chest masked his feeling about the people he was sending to their deaths.
When the door opened, the robots shined lights into the vehicle, illuminating every crack and crevice. Most of the time, the products were already injured or damaged in some way, but this group seemed to be in even worse shape than most. Many had physical injuries cursorily repaired, but there was more than one of them in the throes of vomiting and many of them were discolored with strange lines crossing their faces and hands. Several of them indicated an elevated temperature but they were within the specifications for processing, so the lead robot proceeded to move them off of the vehicle. The robot AI considered it rather strange that no one attempted to run from the scene. At least one would always make the initial attempt and after stunning the runner, the rest would comply. The AI waited but no such attempt occurred. This group seemed detached and almost unaware of their surroundings.
The boy whooped again and ran off after his kill. He could see the snow still kicking a bit and though maybe he had not made such a clean shot after all. The boy's father harrumphed and waited to see the result. He was a bit old to be running around in the snow and with this being his last boy, he wanted him to have ever opportunity to learn how to hunt and live off the land. He was not sure how how many more summers he would last with his recent gene-hacks causing scarring in his chest cavity.
"You need to stay off your feet, Perry," Doc said sucking on a nicstick, his lips stained purple permanently from his abuse of the chemical analog made to replace nicotine. "The scarring is even worse than I thought. Part of it is in the heart cavity causing it to beat irregularly." Perry put his shirt back on and Doc noted the numerous scars all over his upper body. They were numerous and had healed with large keloids, common to the gene-hacked. Perry was lean and spare, with ropy muscles, hard from his life as a farmer.
Perry's skin was also gene-hacked and he was a deep magenta color allowing him to spend more time outdoors without fear of skin cancer. The hack also allowed him to convert solar energy into chemical sugars that he could metabolize, making him capable of a form of limited photosynthesis. Perry wore very little clothing, a light linen shirt and pants, roughly hewn, because he did not fell environmental cold unless it was sub zero temperatures; even then he could get away with a light cap, gloves and jacket. Perry had dark eyes set into a face more bone than flesh, with sharp lines which told the tale of hard living in the foothills. He knew Doc was right but he wanted to spend as much time with is last son as possible. He made it a point to rest whenever he could and he knew when he was having trouble, it felt like a chimera clawing paw deep into his chest ripping out his heart. He could hardly breath when it happened. The only upside was it was mercifully brief most days. "Doc, you worry too much. I held off on gene hacking until I was in my fifties, I won't have half of the issues of folks who got hacked earlier."
The doctor in his mid-sixties was everything you didn't want in a health care practitioner. He was overweight by about sixty pounds, with his belly hanging over his belt, which was always cinched up too tight. He was a big man when he was younger, but now is wide shoulders slouched and his head hung out on his too long neck like a vulture. His eyes were often red and rheumy with his perpetual high from using nicsticks. His face reminded most people of the local bulldog with his cheeks and jowls sagging in a most unsavory manner. His massive hands were like hams on the ends of his arms but were amazingly gentle with is patients and he handled all of his tools with a dexterity belying his massive bulk. With so much ugly going on, Doc was one of the most gentle of the people living in the Harcourt County community, and beloved by everyone he knew. Despite his apparent physical deformities, he was a paragon of health and almost no one in the county had lived longer or more vigorously than Doc Obrist.
Mikael was only ten, but he was a crack shot and with a bit more time, could be a good fisherman and even a decent farmer. Perry watched the boy run off and when he reached his kill, the look on his face made Perry draw his rifle up and approach the boy trying to get a target on what had him moving away. He could hear sounds like a conversation but the wind was moving away from him pulling the words away. His son had dropped his rifle and stood there. As Perry closed he could see something moving and as he got ready to pull the trigger, the creature which looked like a cat, turned toward him, its eyes flashing brightly and its mouth wide open, fangs bared.
"What the hell is wrong with you people, you act like you have never hear a cat talk before? And do you shoot every cat that comes into your neighborhood or only the ones trying to save a life?
"What the hell kind of chimera are you?"
"I am not a chimera. Max, what's a chimera?"
"A chimera is one of two dozen animals released in this part of the UNAA during the war to find, route or kill the local insurgents. They were genetically engineered constructs whose designs were created in Plutarch labs and were supposedly unable to breed. The last part turned out to be false and they now run wild in this and many other areas along the Appalachian Mountains."
"Okay, I don't know what you are, but seeing all that metal back there on your haunches means you are not good to eat," Perry started, "are you going to hurt my son for shooting you?"
"No, but I am effectively going to be crippled for a number of hours while I self-repair. I could use your help."
"We aren't known for our hospitality in these parts."
"I have a boy about your son's age and he is in a lot of trouble. If I can't get to him in time he is likely to be killed. His father and mother are already casualties against the Theocracy. Please help us." MODOC's plea was heartfelt and the boy picked up his rifle and approached him.
"Can we help him, Pa? I'm right sorry about shooting ya back there. I thought you were a snow hare with all that bouncing you were doing."
"Where are you headed?"
"The Humo-X factory in Trenton."
"We will need to get our snowcat if we are going to go that far. Let me call the rest of the hunters."
Perry reached into his jacket and pulled out a small metallic whistle. Less than two minutes later, five giant cats, over eight feet tall, each with two riders, bounded out of the woods. Their fur was white and bushy with curls more like wool. Each had a home made saddle allowing two riders. The cats had large and luminous eyes which glittered with intelligence.
"I want to be one of those when I grow up. A little help, here." MODOC raised his front paws and Mikael picked him up with a slight grunt, surprised at the weight. The injury his haunch had already begun to close as his micromachines effected repairs. Once the hole was closed, new polymers were being extruded to cover the metallic skin.
"What is that, Perry? We picking up strays now?" The speaker was a man whose grim face was offset by his humorous tone.
"Lex, I think we are looking at a second generation android from the city. He says he has a patron in need of rescue. Patrons, especially ones from the city have been known to be generous."
"Then let's see what we can do to assist him. Is what Perry says true, Cat? Can your master reward us with payment?"
"What constitutes payment for people who live in the woods with giant cats, who hunt chimera and kill Plutarch and Theocratic operatives?" said Max using MODOC vox. He changed his voice to help differentiate the two.
"Oh, you have two voices," Mikael seemed even more interested.
"That is a security program that works for our patron. He is simply making sure I do my best to get the boy back."
Lex looked at MODOC and said in his gruff business-like tone, "A party this size with snowcats, armed as an escort might be rented for ten thousand UNAA credits. Can you afford that?"
"No, but I have been looking at your crew and can see something I can do for you. I can pay you five thousand UNAA credits and correct your gene-hack hardware with a regeneration upgrade. Something created after the early modules I can tell you are still using. I am a medical android with the latest in genetic therapy software used by the Theocracy. The upgrade I am offering you may only work partially with the older equipment you use, but it would reduce all of the keloids I am seeing in this group by thirty percent. And would prevent many of your smaller injuries from scarring at all."
The entire crew stopped moving and looked down at their hands and at each other's faces. Most of them were terribly scarred from their rough lives. Each had been subjected to gene-hacking when they sustained a life-threatening injury and now the genetic hacking was with them forever, repairing any injury with a large and irreversible scar. Even minor injuries scarred so most of them had ugly scars all over their hands and faces. And while none of them were vain men, they all thought it might be worth it if they could upgrade the technology that had saved their lives but were not disfiguring them. In extreme cases, people like Perry died, when an injury was internalized and the regeneration scarred vital tissues. All of their faces had the mark of hope as they looked at Lex and Perry and nodded their assent.
Lex looked at MODOC and he already knew what they wanted. Proof it could be done. Mikael had a scar on his right neck from a chimera attack last year. He was hacked because without it he would have died. It had healed badly and Doc said it might be an issue in a dozen years blocking his aorta, eventually killing him. MODOC had already begun manipulating the gene-hacking micromachines with an update to their software. The update was applied and the scarring was being reduced, particularly on the inside, reforming the aorta into the smooth walls necessary for optimal performance.
These hard men, unaccustomed to technology on the scale of MODOC watched in amazement as the keloid was reduced to almost nothing. "I have altered his micromachines and applied some engineering in the case of his internal injury to a non-life threatening level. I can alter the machine your doctor uses for his gene hacks and I will, if your doctor has sufficient micromachines, cure as many of your potentially lethal interactions for your people, as I can."
Perry looked at Mikael's neck and realized what had been done. Doc Obrist had said the Mikael would never have the speed or stamina of the other children due to the partial blockage. Mikael smiled and almost seemed to glow with new vitality. Mikael held MODOC out to his father to hold while he climbed up into the saddle. The snowcat nuzzled MODOC, leaving snow all over him. The father patted the snowcat before handing MODOC back to his son.
Perry looked at Lex, swung up behind him, and said while wiping a tear from his eye, "Then, let's go get your boy."
'Metal Organism Designed only for Cuddling' © Thaddeus Howze 2010. All Rights Reserved
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