Revenge of the chickens, p.33
Revenge of the Chickens, page 33
part #3 of Blocks Series
After Trinity had repeated the sequence for the third time, Truculent and Thumper appeared. The Emperor Cardinal strode over to the Tuned, grabbed its gown and yanked it up so its face was very close to his. He burbled loudly at it before dropping it onto the bed.
The Emperor Cardinal turned to face Mina and her friends. “A Channel tickle, cell activity. The first sign of a pregnancy in a very long time. Another factory, full of Channels in stasis, is on its way. It’ll be here at the same time as my new AI fleet. Births will ensue on an industrial scale. Or... well you and it already know. Keep talking to the Tuned. I want to speak to the Shard directly. You have until the AI fleet arrives.”
Truculent, Thumper and Trinity disappeared. The Block door back to the lounge opened. Mina ran over to Battery Boy, gave him another big hug and whispered, “You did it, you’re a genius.” Battery Boy’s face reddened, and he smiled. It was wonderful to see him smile. She couldn’t remember the last time he’d looked happy.
Their evening meal was eaten with subdued relish and satisfaction. The conversation was lively and suffused with low-key humour. For the first time since Block Seven had swallowed them up, Mina felt a glimmer of hope. It was agony not being able to tell her friends about her own discovery. Later, she persuaded the others to come on a walk with her around the Heaven House before going to bed.
When they emerged, the view was unchanged. The Block was still orbiting Venus. Immediately, Mina made straight for Trinity who was standing in its usual place. They both started dancing, clapping and toe tapping. Battery Boy and Tress looked on wide eyed.
Trinity left and Mina turned her attention to her friends. “Trinity hasn’t betrayed us. It’s fooled Truculent.”
Battery Boy’s eyes turned to slits and his jaw hardened. “Really? How do you know?”
“It’s like you said Battery Boy, but Trinity hasn’t lost its rhythm. It’s using a code. An old computer code, hexadecimal, to communicate with me. Stupidly, I just didn’t realise, until you mentioned the rhythm thing.”
Battery Boy scowled, “Why should we trust it? Besides, won’t Truculent know now? Isn’t he listening?”
“Anything Trinity communicates, hears or sees is monitored by Reference. But Reference won’t get the code. It’s just too obscure. Too old. It’s a miracle I still remember it. We can’t speak to Trinity directly. The lounge is bugged but not the Heaven House.”
Battery Boy was still glaring, “You haven’t answered my question. Why should we trust it?”
Mina understood. Battery Boy was thinking of Eden and the Ark Administrator. “Trinity has told me how we can beat Truculent.”
Chapter Twenty-Six – The Battle for Twenty-Two
An emergency broadcast ping drew his attention. Stuff unfurled his paper-screen, and it filled with a scene not unlike the backdrop to his own broadcast, a few days earlier, when he’d warned that the disappearance of the Observatory would be the prelude to an all-out attack by Reference. The camera was focused on a solid antique desk in a large ornate office. Flags, family pictures, awards, medals, framed diplomas were everywhere. It might have been mistaken for an upmarket curio shop if Stuff hadn’t immediately recognised the immaculately dressed old man with the neat white hair sitting at the desk. As the camera slowly panned out, the Ark President rose from his seat, walked around to the front of the desk and sat on the edge in a relaxed pose. He looked directly into the camera with a reassuring expression, as though he was about to address a slightly upset grandchild. “Citizens, there’s no need for alarm. A temporary fault has disabled the Observatory lifts; that’s all. We put our faith in Eva, not the mad ramblings of the Reals. Especially the deranged Stuff. This is a time of rejoicing. We’re going home.” The President smiled broadly, stood up and returned to his seat. “There’s absolutely nothing to be…”
The image flickered, turned to snow and then cleared to reveal a young man staring out from the screen. He was no more than eighteen, looking flustered and nervous. His head filled the display. White headed pimples poked up through a wispy beard like snowy peaks through a morning mist. Long-fingered hands ending in dirty finger nails kept appearing in the shot to push back long greasy strands of black hair, or to pick at a spot. His red, acne scarred nose glowed like a stop sign, and his fat lips were scarred from nervous chewing. The eyes didn’t go with the face. They were grey, focussed, intelligent, and predatory.
“Hello everybody. Eva’s asked me to look after things while she goes on ahead and gets Earth ready for us. My name’s Bernie by the way. You can call me Boss.”
The voice had a lisping squeaky edge as though it might still be breaking. It would grow irritating very quickly. Stuff studied the teenager’s expression and wondered if this was how Tracy had started out.
“I know there’s lots of rumours swirling around about that crazy old man, Stuff, and what’s happened with Anton’s Observatory and people are a bit worried and everything. Well, don’t be. Stuff’s senile. Who in their right mind would call themselves Stuff? And the President is sweet, but he’s so yesterday, so out of touch. The youth is taking over. Right?”
Bernie laughed heartily, showing off some seriously rotten teeth.
“Anyhoo, nothing to worry about. The Ark’s being remodelled. Everyone co-operate with the… ah… builders, and it’ll all be over in a couple of weeks. And I can promise you, it’ll be fantastic. Oh, one last thing, you mustn’t interfere with the… builders, they’re on the clock. You’d only be delaying everything for everybody. Can’t have that, can we? Bye for now.”
Bernie’s face faded out to be replaced with a simple handwritten sign. The New Ark. Better for Everyone. Up the Youth. Out with the Old. Bernie the Boss.
Stuff flicked through the channels on his paper-screen and only found the same image. He tried searching. Everything ended up displaying the same crude message. Bernie wasn’t stupid.
“A spotty teenager’s running the Ark?” It was Angela. One of the two Reals who’d first come with him to the Central Park base. She was a tall, lanky woman in her early twenties, with dark hair tied up tight under her cap. Her chiselled face was as lean as the rest of her. Stuff couldn’t ever remember seeing her smile. Usually, the young woman looked angry, impatient or both. Stuff put the useless paper-screen away. They had radios. Crude, but they worked. Bernie probably didn’t even know that radios existed, and Reference wouldn’t either.
“Reference controls everything, including Bernie. He’s here to manage us, and get the QQ numbers up.”
Angela shuddered, “Quality and Quantity? It’s real, then?”
Stuff had grown weary of being right all the time, about the Block. Yet, he’d never been Banded or lived inside a Vigilance factory. There was only the one brief nightmarish journey under and through Block Seven before they’d escaped through the Yard with Mina’s help. That was enough, Tress and the others had filled in the nightmarish details.
There was one thing that puzzled him about Angela. “You’re too young to have FMS, why’d you join the Reals?”
Angela seemed surprised by Stuff’s question. For a moment he thought she wasn’t going to answer. “Parents had FMS. It killed them.” She turned away to talk to another Real soldier.
Stuff was with a hundred-strong group of Reals’ fighters. They were occupying a fortified position just inside the main inter-Level transport hub, the Terminus. The giant cylinder reminded Stuff of an enormous shiny steel can. Its gleaming metal surface was peppered with beautiful stained-glass portholes, each the size of a car. They still looked small. A vast arched entrance decorated with dark wood and dressed stone spanned the Avenue, the main transport link connecting the Terminus with New Tokyo. At the centre of the Avenue was a multi-track maglev rail, sandwiched between multi-lane highways. At the outer edges were moving walkways that could easily carry ten people abreast. Beyond were open fields, and the manicured lawns surrounding the Terminus. In the distance, New Tokyo’s distinctive skyline was silhouetted against a crimson and yellow sunset.
The sinking sun lit up everything gloriously. The colours cast by the stained-glass portholes splashed across the interior of the great hub. Inside the Terminus, a multitude of huge circular lifts transported people and goods between the top and the bottom of the Ark. It had far more capacity than any Block doors Trinity could open. It was always busy, in both directions. This morning the traffic was one way, all leaving the top Level, and the queues stretched as far as Stuff could see. Thousands of autonomous vehicles and long lines of maglev train wagons shimmered in the air heated by purring engines. The walkways were full. People from the nearby conurbations were marching into the station and moving faster than any of the mechanised locomotion. They dragged squeaking suitcases, pushed bicycles overloaded with bags, dragged garden handcarts filled with someone’s idea of what was essential. The rule was one suitcase; they’d have to choose what was really essential when they arrived at a lift.
From his vantage point on the circular mezzanine floor, he had a good view over the vast interior. Passenger, vehicle and train lifts were being loaded up, dropping a single Level, then coming back for more. It was mostly orderly, except when people were forced to abandon luggage or share their vehicle with strangers. Looking outside, through the round Terminus windows, Stuff watched rivers of people shuffling along the moving walkways. The multitude stretched far into the distance, transforming into an impressionistic painting. Beyond that, New Tokyo filled the skyline.
Only a small proportion of the Level’s population was leaving. As expected, not everybody had believed his broadcast. It was still tens of thousands. Most were staying put. They were waiting for Ark Admin to tell them what to do next. Bernie’s message might have encouraged more to leave or perhaps they found it reassuring. The crowds heading into the Terminus were nervous but good natured and patient. After all, nothing serious had actually happened. Anton’s Observatory was only… temporarily inaccessible. The live feeds from the roof had ended and the lifts going up there weren’t working.
The mood in the FMS internment camps was different, they were desperate to get out. Even with the limited capacity of Trinity’s Block doors they’d nearly transferred everyone from the top Level to the base in New York.
Angela returned after a long conversation with the Real, that Stuff didn’t catch.
“Did the Real report any sightings?” Stuff asked.
Angela wasn’t listening. She was staring at her paper-screen. Her gaze was locked on Bernie’s hand written sign, somehow made even more malevolent by the childish writing. The New Ark. Better for Everyone. Up the Youth. Out with the Old. Bernie the Boss.
“Any sightings?” Stuff repeated.
“What?” Angela looked up and shook her head. “No. No, nothing.”
“I’d put that away, it’s useless now. Nothing Bernie says can be trusted. Maybe we should call the forward posts again?”
Angela rolled up her paper-screen and put it inside her flak jacket. She unhooked her radio and began systematically calling the other units spread across the Level. Some were hidden inside New Tokyo, high up in the great skyscrapers, from where they could survey the whole city. They even had a couple of spotters at the top of the Tokyo Tower.
Stuff half listened as Angela checked in with each unit. No one had seen anything. The sun was setting; night was eating up the Level. Stuff decided to call Ted and Don back in the New York base. “Any idea where the attack will begin?”
A nervous voice floated out of his receiver, “Oh, high Stuff. Ted here. You okay Stuff?”
There was a clunking, knocking sound, “This is Don. Stuff you’re too important, you should be here.”
He didn’t answer straight away. He wondered himself, why was he here? The answer was obvious. He wanted to know. Could he be brave, could he fight, face the Crawlers, would he run? “I’m fine Ted. I need to see them Don. I have to face them.”
Don was silent.
“Ted, any ideas where they’ll strike first?” Stuff said.
“Ted here, Stuff. Well, you know, based on what you told us about a Boss,; we think, me and Trinity, that Reference will ask Bernie to choose a location. For the initial attack. You know, maximise the harvest.”
Stuff felt the old fear from his childhood run up his back and grab his skull in its icy claws. He disconnected. “Angela.”
“Yeah, what?”
“They’re coming here. This is where Bernie will tell Reference to attack. And Angela.”
“Stuff?” Even as she spoke, Angela was swinging her weapon off her back and into her hands.
“Just before, he’ll shut down the Terminus. It’s the only way out, besides Trinity’s Block doors.”
Angela tensed, “You sure Stuff?”
“I’m sure.” And he wished he wasn’t. His test was coming. And it wasn’t another bear, from his childhood battle in the Store.
Angela snatched at her radio. “All Tokyo units to the Terminus. Base, we need Block doors, now.”
So much was going on inside Stuff’s head that he didn’t understand the loud braying noise that echoed through the transport hub. A Reals’ soldier came running up to Angela, he was sweating and he was pale.
“Power’s failing. The lifts are shutting down,” the man said; he looked sceptical as though he was expecting someone to tell him he was wrong.
“Which ones,” Angela yelled, and still Stuff could barely hear her over the wailing sirens.
He couldn’t hear the soldier’s answer, but it was clear enough – all of them.
“Crushers forward, defensive positions,” Angela barked.
The sirens were strangled into silence. Lights flickered inside the hub and went out. The ominous glow of red emergency lighting spilled across the Terminus floor like blood. Stuff ran to the window. Tokyo was darkening. A wave of black was sweeping across the city. The walkways had stopped, people were falling over, stumbling into each other. The maglev carriages dropped onto the track; thousands of vehicles died, their cabins lit only by on-board batteries. Bernie had cut the main power to the Level. Reference had chosen well. Angela was yelling orders into her radio. Block doors appeared. Reals swarmed out. Angela barked instructions at the new arrivals, sending them to different points inside the Terminus and outside.
Stuff yelled into his radio, “Ted, can we get the power back?”
“Maybe, Stuff. Maybe. I’ll try rerouting from Level Twenty-One.”
“Get out of there Stuff,” Don shouted.
Stuff ignored Don. He grabbed Angela’s elbow, “Can you hold the Terminus? Ted’s getting power back.”
Angela gritted her teeth, “We’ll hold.”
More Reals were coming through the doorways. Angela yelled orders. They flew in all directions, around the mezzanine floor, through both sides of the Terminus entrance, and further out along the walkways.
Outside, the vast crowd exploded with noise. Stuff ran to the window. People were running everywhere. Throwing themselves out of the grounded maglev carriages. Climbing out of dead vehicles and running. A few were rooted to the ground, staring up at the sky.
“Oh no. No. They’re real.” Angela wailed.
Crawlers, thousands and thousands of Crawlers were falling from the clear night sky like black rain. Stuff wanted to run, to hide, to escape. His hand went to his radio and fumbled at the controls. Stuff only had to call and Trinity would open a Block door. He wasn’t Battery Boy, Jugger, or any of the others. Stuff was a scared little kid again and he remembered Eva’s taunt – he was always the frightened one.
“All units. Wait, wait,” said Angela beside him.
Stuff’s fluttering hands picked up his weapon. He gripped it so hard his fingers started cramping. The shakes subsided. He poked the barrel through a porthole, shattering a large section of glass.
“Pick your target. Wait.”
The Crawlers were falling slowly as though they were only scary inflatables. Stuff stared down the sights and began tracking one machine amongst a cloud of the horrors.
“There’s time Stuff, you’ve done enough,” Angela whispered.
Stuff kept his cheek on the stock. “No, I haven’t. Not nearly enough.”
When the descending Crawlers were only ten metres above the crowd’s heads, Angela yelled, “Fire.”
Stuff fired. He’d no idea what to expect. Their assault weapons were experimental, untested on the real thing. A silent pulse of golden light struck his target. A cloud of arcing electricity engulfed the Crawler, which stopped and hung in the air. The crackling blue light faded away. The Crawler resumed its unhurried descent. Stuff moaned and dropped his head.
“Yeah,” Angela screamed.
Stuff looked up. His Crawler, lots of Crawlers, were falling out of the sky like boulders. They crashed into the walkway, the hub, the highway, the maglev track. The machines dropped like giant sooty hailstones and lay unmoving, inert.
Crushers followed up, stamping the metal squids underfoot, blasting them at close range.
“Power’s back,” someone yelled.
Stuff found his voice. “Angela, get the lines moving again.”
Angela left Stuff, raced off the mezzanine floor and out through the entrance to the Terminus. All the way she was picking off Crawlers. She rounded up a squad of Reals and got them to focus on shepherding the crowds towards the lifts.
Stuff slowly collapsed onto the floor. His heart was trying to get out of his chest. A wave of nausea flooded over him. Somehow, he managed to turn to one side before he was violently sick.
“Stuff, Stuff,” Angela was yelling out of his radio.
His legs barely held him up. Stuff leaned out of the window. Angela was down below pointing at the sky. The Crawlers were retreating, falling up and away. Everyone started shouting at once. Waving their fists at the retreating monsters, crying, laughing, hugging each other.
