"This way, heretic." A burly guard pushed Thomas Pennyworth down a dark corridor that smelled of urine and fear. The rooms were poorly lit, and that was just as well, because their inhabitants would have only frightened Thomas more. Most were dirty, unbathed and infested with a multitude of vermin. The floor was slick and wet and smelled slightly of sea water. Likely the hosing system used to wash inmates while behind bars. Without shoes, the floor was slippery with whatever detritus was washed out of the cells during the hosing.
The guard wasn't too fresh himself and Thomas wondered what he did to have to work and live anywhere near this hole. Likely a misanthrope assigned here because brutality against heretics was just another form of acceptable behavior. Thomas shivered involuntarily. The threadbare uniform they had given him did not give him any protection against the elements and his skin crawled with gooseflesh, some from the cold, some from the smell, but mostly from the fear of never leaving here again. Hopelessness hung in the air like an elderly perfume, overpowering and noxious. His eye was still swollen shut, and his right arm was in a cast and brace. What was the point of giving me medical care if they planned on executing me anyway?
The cell was only slightly wider than Thomas was tall and smelled as if it was recently occupied. The stale scent of its last occupant hung over the cell like a redolent cloud. Its smell permeated his head, and took up residence; he could almost taste it. Strangely, he felt numb emotionally. After the initial shock and the beating in his office, he wept from the pain but it almost felt right, like he deserved to be taken away. After all, he was thinking heretical thoughts. He did not believe in the Theocracy or its mission.
The guard shoved him into the cell and waved for the door to be closed. The electronic lock activated and the door slid shut with an ominous and final clang. There was a thin mattress on the concrete slab that jutted from the wall. It had bodily fluid stains all over it and a single sheet as thin as the uniform he was wearing was folded at the foot of the bed.
"Chow is in an hour, heretic. There will be an orderly around delivering food. Get used to your cell. It is your new home. The next time you leave it, they will be taking you for excommunication and then execution. Make your peace with the Maker, 'cause you will be seeing him soon enough, heh." The guard towered over Thomas and relayed this information and then he released the leg cuffs through the bars of the cell. He waved his hand and activated the magnetic grappler in his armor and the cuffs shot through the bars to his hand. He turned and walked away, shaking his head.
Thomas did not speak. He didn't see the point. He sat down, looked around his cell and noticed the scratchings on the wall. "Abandon hope all ye who enter here," was scratched on the wall opposite the bed along with an image that resembled the Eiffel Tower. They were done by two different artists and it meant that the last two people who had this cell were learned and likely well traveled.
Thomas wondered what would happen to Max when they read the transcripts of their conversations. He hoped Max could find a way to get out of the house before they came for him. Thomas was at least comforted that Justin was getting medical care and would be in the loving hands of his mother once he was executed. This gave him a just a moment of peace before the horror of his situation overwhelmed him and the explosion of emotion took him and rode him hard and the sobs racked his chest and his screams echoed down the long hallway fading into the distance.
* * *
Justin woke up surrounded by the press of human flesh all around him. His back hurt, his head hurt and he couldn't move his right hand at all. There was something wrapped around his chest and head, it was soft and had a weird salve with a stinky smell all over it. After he wiped it off onto his pants, he realized he was sitting pressed up against the wall of the space and could feel the bump of the road beneath his butt. There was no padding on the floor of this vehicle and the bump really hurt.
The adults standing over him quietly sobbed and whimpered and the whispers of conversation he could hear around him did not comfort him at all. The last thing he remembered was the riots and MODOC pushing his head down behind some man. Then there was a flash of light, a roar of sound and MODOC was knocked away. Justin remembered a kind woman talking to him for a few minutes and wrapping him up in the soft cloth around his hand. Then he felt sick again and passed out.
Justin felt hot and dizzy and wondered why it was so dark. Then he touched his face and realized he did not have his sensor visor. He did not know where he was going, could not see and could not find his interface bracelet. Where was MODOC and Max? Justin was beginning to think he was in real trouble now. Suddenly, his stomach tightened, a flush of heat exploded in his chest and he threw up, violently, and began to convulse. Everyone moved away from him and left him to twitch and spasm. Only then did a young woman in her teens, come near him and moved to put his head in her lap and wiped his face as best she could. She sat with him and patted away his sweat and for a moment, his breathing settled and he lay still.
* * *
The Other moved through the mountains quickly leaving a cloud of dust as it used the old roads in need of repair. Their condition meant nothing to it as it created legs or wheels or whatever form of locomotion suited it. It had a fast pace and moved twenty four hours a day. It would arrive near the Conquerer, in less than a day. Then it would consume it, claim its lunon for its own and proceed to absorbed this planet into its matrix. As the creature moved, it consumed every living thing in its path. Grass, trees, animals, anything not swift enough to move out of its way was absorbed.
When there were people further away, not directly in its path, if it felt they were a threat or had seen too much, it sent winged elements to swoop down, and carry them back to it, where they were immediate dispatched and consumed. The Other was relentless. It moved constantly, it fed constantly. It moved unerringly through the landscape touching only what it needed to feed its fiery engine. As it moved through the wreckage of Ohio, it barreled into a building and came to a unexpected stop. The great creature crashed through what remained of a traffic terminal and its great bulk pooled emitting a fiery heat that caused a conflagration that swept through all of the nearby buildings.
The Other had felt the Conquerer's pulse of dominance and was momentarily stunned into submission. It could not resist. As weak as the Conquerer seemed to be, it appeared to be trying to spawn and spread its spores. The Other gathered its mass around it, a pool of matter, constantly changing it shape and color, sometimes showing limbs, or eyes, or other parts of animals, some of Earth, many from a world far more terrible. The Other gritted its collective teeth, struggled to pull itself together, literally. The Conquerer's pulse forced its collective self to disassociate and expect to be subsumed by a larger and more powerful organism. It was The Way. The Other forced its collective selves to submit to it and utilizing the energy of the fire all around it, the Other dominated and took control of its collective selves. It returned to highway seventy and increased its speed. It had to stop the Conquerer from spreading further.
* * *
The Proctor paced up and down his lavish office while his transport was being prepared. His normal composure was broken, his calm demeanor, uncommonly ruffled. His view from the aqua-city off the coast of the UNAA bobbed gently in the storm which reflected the Proctor's internal tempest. He was wearing his the livery of Theos, the unified religion of Humanity of which he was a Proctor of the Seventh Host. His walls were covered with scrolls and banners from his religious campaigns in the Last World War and the minor skirmishes since then.
"What do you mean the boy is missing?" The Proctor stared at the holo-image floating in the air in front of him. In the image was a security team member covered in black armor and speaking in a carefully modulated tone of voice.
"Your Grace, the household computer system indicated the boy went to his appointment as normal, accompanied by the health maintenance bot. While they were there, they were served by their normal doctor and were reported leaving the building."
"And?"
"That is where the report gets less clear, your Grace. It would seem there was a flash riot occurring about the same time the boy was supposed to be leaving the building."
"And?" the Proctor's voice lowered and took on a more ominous tone.
"We have footage of the event from the two dozen spy-eyes released when the riot began. We pieced the video together this afternoon and after forensic analysis we..."
"GET TO THE POINT!"
"The boy was seen pinned down during the riot by an aerial assault droid's sonic cannon and the maintenance bot was seen trying to protect the boy. The bot was presumably destroyed and the boy was injured. He was seen being treated by two medical team members and loaded on to an insurgency vehicle."
"Do I have to really ask? Where was the vehicle going?"
The security team member hesitated before answering. "It was on its way to a processing facility in New Jersey, your Grace."
"Send me all of the information, digital feeds, compiled data and analysis and any other workups you have completed. Were there any other operatives compiling this data?"
"No, your Grace. There were two AIs involved. KPT 45901 and an older lesser intelligence engine for processing. I am transferring the information to your virtual arrays at the Sanctuary, where they will await your access. They have been configured for your access only."
"Soldier, what is your name. I want to inform your commander of your service."
The soldier did not seem pleased with the complement. Instead, his voice quavered with fear. "My name is Rama, sir. Sergent Laurencio Rama. Second Division, Lead by Lt. Commander Panama." He amended his statement quickly. "Your Grace."
"In this day, we are beset with trials and tribulations, our struggles to see our way clear to the light is always a challenge to our spirits. We beseech the spirit of the Universe, Theos, to guide us and to help us know better how to serve our fellow man in this our darkest hour of need. See to our humble servant, Sergeant Laurencio Rama and speed him on his way to his reward for his dutiful service. In the name of Theos, we are grateful, humbled and as always appreciative for our chance to serve The Greater Good. Amen."
Laurencio Rama, Sergeant, Second Division, takes off his helmet, bows his head, makes the sign of the benediction and places the tips of his fingers upon his forehead, palms together. "Amen." Looking up from the benediction, he stares at the Proctor, his eyes filled with tears, and whispers, "Please, your Grace. I won't tell anyone."
"I know."
The Sergent slumped over the terminal, his heart seizing up in his chest. He moaned and spittle fell from his open mouth. He tightened up and then reared back with his face contorted, his powerful neck muscles flexing against his armor neckplate, he died, coughing and choking, until he fell forward on to the console, barely twitching and after a few seconds, he stopped moving, blood oozing from his mouth onto the terminal.
The Proctor stood excited, breathing heavy, tiny beads of sweat forming on his forehead. His moment of near-orgasm puts out of his mind, the reasons for his current need. "Annju, come to my study."
He turned back to the terminal, "KPT 45901, activate."
"Online, your Grace," a cool, androgynous voice responds.
"Send a cleanup detail to take care of Sergent Rama and to make my condolences to Lt. Commander Panama. All records regarding Justin Pennyworth are to be secured and to be unable to be accessed by anyone without my authorization. Any attempts to access these records, is to be traced and a sanction team is to be detached immediately."
"Understood, your Grace. Your will be done."
Annju Melik, strides into the room, a veritable giant, bronze with dark hair and even darker eyes, filled with menace and adoration. Wearing flowing silks from Madagascar, his muscular body was barely covered and the Proctor was overcome with lust.
"I am here to serve, your Grace."
"Yes, you will. Now."
Annju closed the door behind him.
'Metal Organism Designed only for Cuddling' © Thaddeus Howze 2010. All Rights Reserved
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