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Metal hands.

It’s a robot.

A Kaiju-sized robot. And for some reason, it arrived just in time to save us.

Still clutching Lovecraft’s wrists, holding the Kaiju at bay, the robot’s head, with its glowing red eyes, turns down, looks right freaking at me and shouts, “Dad! Get out of here!”

22

Nothing about the massive machine standing above me looks familiar, other than a hint of 1980s Saturday Morning Cartoon style. In all our sifting through history and the files pilfered from GOD, there has never been even a hint that something like this existed. I’m taken totally off guard by its appearance, and I’m nearly unhinged by its use of the word, “Dad.”

I stagger back as the robot’s arms shake under the weight of Lovecraft’s limbs, pushing down. The masked face that reminds me of a Spartan warrior’s helmet with dashes of Samurai, a smackerel of
Wolverine
and clearly non-human influences turns back to its Kaiju adversary and pushes back. The robot is a little smaller, but their strength seems equally matched.

My heel catches on an outcrop of rock, and I fall to my ass, looking up at the robot’s back. It’s armored, clearly designed for battle, maybe even battle with a Kaiju. Ancient and/or alien symbols are carved into the armor, forming decorative patterns, or maybe just warning messages that say, ‘Stay the hell back,’ in Klingon. I see the thing’s face in my mind’s eye again. I see the glaring eyes of a solemn judge, but it doesn’t have the vengeful hatred of Nemesis.
How could it?
I wonder.
It’s a robot.
Then the single word repeats in my mind.

‘Dad.’

The deep baritone voice projected from the robot sounded foreign, but the inflections beneath the rumbling exhortation...and the word.

Dad!

Collins grabs my shoulder, yanking me back to my feet. “Jon!”

I stumble back, staying aloft only because Collins didn’t let go of me. “Maigo...”

“Jon!” Collins shouts. “We have to go! Now!”

I turn toward her, eyes wide, no doubt looking manic. “It’s Maigo.”

Collins’s next shout catches in her throat. “What?”

I point up at the robot struggling with Lovecraft. “
That’s
Maigo!”

She stands in shock for a moment, and I see her mouth the word, ‘Dad,’ as the color drains from her face. Then she’s back to reality, pulling me back. “If we don’t leave now, we might never. Move your ass!” She slugs my shoulder. The pain pulls me from my shock.

The three remaining Swarm drones have landed on an outcrop of rock, their engines still running, ready to lift off again. Woodstock has already climbed up and is standing behind one of the drones. “Handles, my ass. How the hell are we supposed to hold on to these things? They’re smoother than my ex-wife’s—”

I leap up behind one of the drones, lean over the top of it and push down on a horizontal line near the nose. A metal bar pops up six inches. They’re used for transporting the drones, but will work as a handle bar. “Lay on top,” I say, and I demonstrate, centering myself over the drone’s back. “Just don’t let go.”

While Collins and Woodstock climb aboard their own drones, I place the VR helmet back on and see just a subtle shift in my view, moving slightly forward and a little lower. The only real difference is that I can no longer see my arms in front of me. Feeling my way, I slide my arms under the handlebar and flex them up, holding the bar in the crook of my elbows so I can still operate the two remotes clutched in my hands.

“We’re on,” Collins shouts. “Get us out of here.”

With the island shaking beneath us, I take control of Hydra Seven and lift off, rising straight up. When the HUD shows that Collins and Woodstock have lifted off the ground, too, I start heading away from the island, taking it slow as I start to see warning messages about balance and weight.

A grinding noise pulls my thoughts away from flying, and I hear Collins shouting over the din. “They’re falling! Go, go, go!”

I punch Hydra Seven forward and clutch the metal bar with my arms, slowing only when it feels like I might let go. The warning messages being sent from the other two drones let me know that Collins and Woodstock haven’t been flung free. Yet. Not wanting to pull a ‘Prometheus,’ fleeing in a straight line from an object falling toward me, I veer hard to the left.

I can’t see what’s happening behind me, but when I hear an impact, and feel a pressure wave slap my back, I know I’ve made the right call. I check the warning messages, confirming we’re all still present. Then I take us in a wide loop, distancing us from the action, while turning around for a better view. Collins and Woodstock can turn their heads, but I’m limited by the drone’s field of view, and looking back while flying forward just isn’t possible.

When we come around arcing past the coastline, I see the giant robot that is either being controlled by Maigo remotely—I hope—or has her trapped inside it, pinned beneath Lovecraft. The Kaiju’s wings are folded back tight against its body, which is writhing with tentacles and shimmering with color. The giant arms and three-digit hands are pushing down, reaching for the robot’s head, but they’re still held back.

Proving it has much more than a primal mind, Lovecraft moves its arms to the side, opening up a clear path to the robot’s face. It leans in, face-tentacles spreading wide, twitching with anticipation. The layers of teeth spread wide enough to envelope its enemy’s head. And once it does, I have no doubt those strange jaws are powerful enough to send those teeth spearing through the head, and whatever is inside, like toothpicks through a deep fried clam.

I target the back of Lovecraft’s head, hoping three lasers will be enough to distract it. I pull the trigger and see three red beams blaze between the drones and the large white orb. There’s a puff of smoke, hardly any effect compared to the scalding holes drilled into its face, but the reaction is comparable.

Wings flare wide, and the two big arms come up and over the head, shielding it behind the thick fingers. A roar rips through the air, but rather than cringe from it, I smile and make a mental note: the back of its head is sensitive. Maybe even a weakness.

I prepare to take another shot, trying to aim between the fingers, but the robot takes full advantage of the opening.

The big metal fist, which I note has just two big fingers and a thumb drives a punch into Lovecraft’s side. The Kaiju’s body bends with the blow. I don’t think it’s done much damage. But there’s time for more.

Hit it,
I think,
hit it again!

But the giant robot fist stays lodged just below the Kaiju’s ribs—if it has ribs.

What the hell is it doing?

C’mon, Maigo.

That’s when I notice long channels along its forearm sliding open. It takes just a second, and it’s quickly followed by three L shaped blades that spring out. The blades unfold and lock into place as they snap up and then forward, plunging into the Kaiju’s side.

Lovecraft’s anguished cry reaches a high pitch that I think will rupture my ears. But then the beast is tossed to the side. Or did it dive? Either way, its cry becomes a wet, bubbling gargle as it splashes down in the ocean.

To my surprise, the massive beast that I could so easily picture destroying entire worlds, leaps for deeper ocean and dives down when the water is deep enough to accommodate it. Then with a splurge of black goo that blackens the ocean for miles, Lovecraft opens its wings and shoves them back, propelling its girth into deep water, where it dives and disappears.

I circle the island as the robot pulls itself up from the crushed lighthouse and stands like some heroic beacon in the morning sun. The giant head turns, sees me and then follows my progress around the island. The face is a stoic mask, lacking any kind of expression other than serious determination. But then its massive arm rises, its two fingered hand opens and it waves, friendly and casual.

The arm lowers again and the head moves, still following me, but splitting at its core and then sliding apart in segments until the face is open and exposed. Inside it is a shiny black oval that looks like oil. The black surface stretches and contorts as something moves within it. A human shape emerges, arms, hands and fingers stretching against the fabric, and then sliding through. A body follows next, and despite the slimy look of the oily substance, comes out clean.

Maigo!

She waves in the same way the robot had just a moment ago, confirming that she’s the one controlling it.

But how? And where the hell did this thing come from?

My eyes wander down the front of the robot, and I see a massive symbol carved into the chest, three circles connected by a single vertical line. Right now, the outer circle glows red, while the two inner circles are dark.
This thing is Atlantean,
I realize.
Holy... This is what was buried beneath Big Diomede!

Maigo holds out her hand and raises her index finger in the same way Collins does when she’s on the phone with someone and I want to talk to her. Then she lies back down, and she’s greeted by black tendrils that remind me of Nemesis’s back and how she pulled Endo inside of her. Maigo slides inside the black, which reverts back to a smooth, oily surface.

“Can you hear me?” Maigo says, her voice clear in my ear, though distorted somehow, like it’s a digital version of her actual voice.

“Maigo,” I say, relieved that she’s safe. “What the hell is going on? How did you—”

“Long story,” she says. “But I’m sorry I did it. I put you all in danger.”

She’s right about that, but I’m not sure having Future Betty would have changed the outcome of this battle the way this robot did. “Just tell me what it is.”

“Hyperion,” she says, and I wonder if she’s expecting me to know what that is. But then she fills me in. “This is what killed Nemesis Prime.”

As the massive head closes around Maigo, I take stock of the colossal machine again. From what I know, Nemesis Prime was bigger and badder than our modern day Nemesis, and if this thing took
her
out, there is more to this robot than we just saw.

The moment the head closes, Hyperion flinches and turns around, looking back out at the ocean.

“You guys better get out of here,” Maigo says.

“What’s going on?” I ask.

“I can feel her coming.”

“Lovecraft?”

“Good name,” she says, “but no. Nemesis. She’s almost here.”

I bank higher and look into the distance, using the camera to zoom in. A mound of water carved in half by two rows of forty foot tall spines charges toward us.

That’s Nemesis all right, and she seems pissed.

That’s when it hits me. Nemesis is a new creation, like Maigo herself, and like Maigo, this ancient goddess of vengeance remembers its first life, and death—at the robotic hands of Hyperion.

23

The world was becoming a strange place. Rising up to the surface brought the voices of humanity, like a thick haze, calling for her attention. For her vengeance. She felt the wrongs of the world as strongly as ever, but amidst the chaos was a beacon of interest.

The creature felt familiar. Like family. But wrong.

She could feel its power, but was it a threat?

Not to her, she thought, but the Voice wasn’t so sure. Endo was suspicious. The Gestorumque was aware of Nemesis’s approach, but wasn’t projecting any rage toward her. Instead, she felt kinship from the creature. Welcome. And this confused her.

But not Endo.

For even more profound than the sense of belonging with this Gestorumque, they could feel its contempt and rage for the people they cared for. People who were in danger. And despite the impressive speed at which she could swim, Nemesis knew she would not arrive in time to intervene.

She was no stranger to extreme emotions. They’d been tortured into her Prime self and passed down to her. But failure and shame, those were new, and they came from Endo’s voice. At first, she sneered at the emotions. They felt weak, which wasn’t how she thought of Endo. But discomfort quickly changed to a new kind of rage, and she found her broad tail pounding through the water even faster. And then a new sense reached her mind: exhilaration. From the speed. From the anticipation of battle. From the hope that this new burst of energy might help them arrive in time.

As they neared the scene, Endo focused their thoughts on what they could detect. The people. The locations. The Gestorumque. While they couldn’t see what was happening, a lot could be inferred by what they felt from those involved. The humans were frightened, desperate, and yet, they were determined and defiant. She and Endo admired these humans for similar reasons despite having very different kinds of interactions with them.

The Gestorumque was more confusing. It was angry and full of vengeance that mirrored the memories of Prime, but all of that emotion was expertly directed, combining primal power with intelligent focus. It was the kind of symbiosis that Nemesis was only starting to find with Endo. And right now, all that rage and intelligent guidance was directed at humanity, who were simply defending a landscape that had been forever altered by Nemesis.