Metal and Ash (Apex Trilogy) (46 page)

Melissa watched Mathew close his eyes, but she could tell he wasn’t sleeping. With all he’d been through she doubted he’d sleep for a long time.

And she was right there with him.

***

The race began as soon as the mag-skiff had reached the summit of the overgrown pass. Stone didn’t have any illusions that the skiff could outrun the HAVs that pursued them. By the look on Gein’s face as it was illuminated by the dashboard lights, Stone could see the man didn’t have any illusions either.

“We’ve got a twenty minute lead,” Mr. Gein said as he checked sensors and readings. “We run into any interference at all and they’ll rip us apart.”

“Pretty fucking clear on that,” Stone responded. “But nothing we can do.”

“Would have been nice to have one of those BTTs pick us up like they did the jacks,” Mr. Gein stated.

“Again with the fucking obvious,” Stone stated. “So glad I keep you around, Gein. It’s like having a mental parrot.”

“Fuck you, Stone,” Mr. Gein replied lazily, tired of always saying it. “You want to go it on your own then put a goddamn bullet in my head and toss me out of this skiff.”

“No, you don’t get off that easy,” Stone replied. “You see this through to the end with me.”

“And where do you see that end being, Stone?”

“Not a fucking clue, Gein. Not a fucking clue.”

***

The mini-mechs sat upon the Railer cars, their bodies magnetically secured as the train sped across the wasteland.

Shiner, out of his mech, paced back and forth on top of a car, his eyes scanning the far distance, waiting for the first signs of the Stronghold.

“They will not be on sensors for hours,” Bad Shell said from atop a different car. Each of the mechs had secured themselves to a Railer car, saving energy and taking advantage of the speed of the train. “Stop that pacing before I crush you.”

“You cannot,” Shiner replied, but stopped and stood still. “I just reform.”

“Nice trick,” Awl Good said as the mech reluctantly let several Railer mechanics check him over. “We get a chance and I want an upgrade like that.”

“Blasphemer,” Hollow Eye said. “You shame yourself.”

“Don’t think so,” Awl Good said, pointing in the direction they were headed. A Railer that had been working on his arm hydraulics clung tightly to a strut as he dangled two stories in the air over the speeding ground. “If the com chatter was right then that Pope man believes those are the Chosen before God. If that’s true then what is the Great Maker? What are we?”

“Not for us to think about,” Hollow Eye stated. “We are just His servants.”

“Too much thinking,” Thunk added to the conversation.

“Very true,” Hollow Eye agreed.

“No,” Thunk explained. “You all do too much thinking. We are mechs. We fight. That is what we do. Anything else is pointless.”

The mechs all observed him carefully. It was the deepest comment Thunk had every said.

“We are more than just mechs made for fighting,” Hollow Eye responded. “The Great Maker has said-.”

“Fah,” Thunk grunted as he turned away. “Too much thinking.”

Shiner nodded, understanding what Thunk had meant, but not agreeing with it. He didn’t agree with Hollow Eye either and wondered if that was what humans dealt with: too much thinking, too many opinions. He went back to pacing and waiting. And thinking.

***

On top of his transport, miles away in the darkness outside the work lights of the Stronghold, the Pope grinned at the mechs’ conversation, having had one of his techs hack their com channel. He had been curious about the thinking mechs ever since he’d met the Great Maker in person.

It amused him that machines had moral and intellectual crises. He found it more than academically interesting that they could reason on such a high level and deal with existential issues that even the Pope doubted many of his Brothers and Sisters dealt with. He had to wonder if maybe there was room in God’s plan for more than just the Disciples. Maybe God had intended for all non-living in the wasteland to be saved.

That thought brought him comfort, for he wondered what his place would be once the allied forces of Capreze and the Disciples defeated the Three’s army (which he had no doubt they would do). Perhaps his next mission was to bring in the metal. Perhaps his next mission was to find more lost metal and teach them the way of God.

Perhaps.

He let his mind wander, occasionally coming back to that thought, but mostly just exploring any random idea that came into his head. He found that to be very meditative, the opening of the mind, the free flow of his synapses. And since he knew he would not sleep that night, he resigned himself to the little bit of rest his wandering mind allowed.

***

Masters winced as he sipped the crap coffee he had just made. Others in the Stronghold’s cafeteria did the same, but kept their complaints mainly silent for fear of pissing off the obviously upset mech pilot. While Masters certainly wasn’t a grouchy asshole like Bisby, or a deadly threat like Harlow, he was still a mech pilot and no one in their right mind took that for granted.

He punished himself again with another sip and then another, ignoring the scalding of his tongue. He wanted –he needed- some other type of pain than what he felt in his heart. He’d known Rachel for years, even before she became a full fledged mech pilot. He remembered her running about the base as a teenager, always hanging out in the hangar, always insisting that one day she’d out pilot them all.

For once in his life, Masters didn’t have a joke or smart ass comment in his head. No internal mocking of one of the Railers or of Bisby’s occasional lack of basic hygiene. Masters had nothing in him except sorrow.

The year hadn’t been his best.

He’d nearly gotten everyone killed when he had blown Dr. Johnson’s brains out, setting off a self-destruct sequence in the Stronghold. He’d been lucky that Jethro had stopped it. Of course, he had been semi-suicidal because he thought Harlow was dead. Which, as it turned out, she wasn’t.

When Harlow had found out he’d bailed on his fellow pilots and left them to be destroyed, she’d shunned him. For months. She still didn’t really talk to him.

And to add insult to injury Capreze had benched him. No mech piloting. At least until earlier in the day. And that hadn’t worked out so well. He could still hear Jay yelling at him for letting the Tumbler get destroyed.

He didn’t feel too much like Mitch Mother Fucking Masters. He felt more like Mitch Useless Fucktard Masters.

He sipped more coffee and winced again.

***

Harlow and Bisby sat in silence as the Railer train zoomed through the night. No one had bothered them since the news of Rachel and Themopolous had been broadcast. Marin had given strict orders that all Railers let them be. She knew how explosive the situation could become.

Grief was a deadly fire that could burn out of control quickly.

The two mech pilots said nothing to each other. They didn’t need to. Each was lost in their own thoughts about the people lost.

Harlow tried to bring up happy memories of Rachel. She thought of the times she’d spent with Rachel and how they’d bonded over both being in love with mech pilots. It wasn’t easy for a woman in the wasteland and it wasn’t easy for a mech pilot. Combine the two and it was a recipe for a long lonely life. Rachel had known how lucky they had been to find their men when they did.

That brought up other feelings and regrets and Harlow had to shove those aside. No time for self-pity. Friends had died and it was possible more would die soon. She had to push her conflict with Masters down deep.

Bisby, on the other hand, thought only about revenge. He had been Rachel’s mentor, teaching her everything he knew about being a mech pilot. They had spent long hours out in the wasteland on target practice and sparring. He’d showed her the physics of a mech, how it wasn’t the same as a person. He taught her to use the momentum of the massive battle machines as a weapon in and of itself.

He gave her all the knowledge he had. Even though she wasn’t his daughter, Bisby had considered Rachel his legacy. And in a flash that was gone. The future was gone.

Harlow and Bisby’s eyes met for a second, but still neither of them spoke.

***

Further down the Railer train, Campbell and LaFrance sat in a double cabin, the sled dogs quietly sleeping at their feet. Their mourning was for the lives they watched snuffed out by people they had believed to be friends and partners.  Neither of them knew what lay in store for them or their country.

If the American’s and the people of the wasteland were able to fight back the Three’s forces, and defeat the Canadian mechs and troops, then what? Would an invasion of Canada be next? What about all the people that weren’t military? That weren’t a part of the Council’s deception?

LaFrance and Campbell both knew a lot of innocent blood would be spilt if things weren’t handled properly.

But who would do the handling?

***

With the Three’s forces, led by Reginald, miles and miles ahead, Ms. Isely stepped from the water skiff to the Monterey beach. The moonlight reflected about her, casting strange shadows on the wreckage of the day’s battle. She made her way slowly through the debris to a command tent set up by a set of small dunes nestled between two large rock formations.

“Mum,” a guard nodded as she slipped into the tent.

The Three all stopped talking and motioned for her to take a seat.

“Ms. Isely,” Mr. Plain nodded. “A nice surprise.”

“I would think your ship would be a more secure location,” Ms. Isely said as she looked at the thin material of the tent.

“Oh, please, Ms. Isely,” Mr. Continental said, noticing where her attention lay. “This tent is more secure than you think. We wouldn’t willingly put ourselves in harm way.”

“But to dine in the wasteland on the eve of our total victory is just something we couldn’t pass up,” Mr. Brown Eyes stated. “You can understand, I’m sure.”

“There is a lot of ground to cover before victory, gentlemen,” Ms. Isely said. “You may be getting ahead of yourselves.”

“Your lack of confidence is troubling,” Mr. Plain noted.

“I can assure you all that confidence is never something I lack,” Ms. Isely replied. “Neither is justified caution.”

The Three watched her then Mr. Brown Eyes nodded. “Well then join us for a drink and maybe some of that caution will rub off.”

“Maybe,” Ms. Isely said as a guard brought her a gin and tonic. “Let’s hope it does.”

***

The maintenance tunnel was dank and wet, just as it had always been. The Great Maker proceeded along, careful of the slick flooring beneath his feet. He found the hatch he had been looking for and quickly undid the bolts. He set the hatch plate aside and peered into the cramped space beyond.

He slowly lifted himself inside then reached out and lifted up the hatch plate. He carefully set it in place and then warped the metal just enough to wedge the plate into the hatch opening. Unless someone happened to come by and do a thorough inspection of the tunnel and the hatch itself, the Great Maker expected no one to know he was in the Stronghold. And where he was going.

***

“Get some sleep,” Talaria said as the Mayor watched the wall of vid screens. “You’re going to overload that mind of yours. You’ll be useless tomorrow.”

“I won’t be able to sleep,” the Mayor said. “I’m better use here.”

She grabbed his hand and pulled him from his seat. “You are of no use here. Not right now. You listen to me, Young. Go get some rest or I’ll knock you on your ass and carry you to bed.”

The Mayor grabbed her up and kissed her hard. “I am not against that scenario.” He kissed her again and she cupped his ass, giving it a hard squeeze.

“Come on, old man,” Talaria said as she took him by his hand and led him out of the control room. “Let us find some happiness before the hell that will be coming.”

“Yes,” the Mayor smiled. “Let us.”

***

The nightmares didn’t come for Capreze as he thought they would.

Instead, all he saw in his dream was a stretch of wasteland before him and a far off figure walking away.

He knew that figure, he knew that walk, and he knew why she was walking away.

He didn’t break down in his dream and cry. He didn’t fall apart. Something in him knew it was just a dream and that any sorrow or grief he felt would just be empty. The real pain would be when he woke up.

“Hey, Papa Bear,” a voice said as it floated on the wind to his ears. “Don’t you worry. I’m coming home. Juts hang on, okay?”

“Okay, Baby Girl,” he whispered as he turned away from the fading figure. “Okay.”

Fifty-Two

The hangar was the only place everyone, including the new arrivals, could all meet together. And it was exactly where Capreze wanted everyone before he sent them off to what could easily be their last moments on Earth.

“We’ve got a lot of new faces here,” Capreze said as he looked about the hangar. “Some of you know the wasteland as well as anyone. Some of you have no idea what you are in for.”

He tried to catch the eye of everyone in the hangar, even the mechs that stood just outside in the wasteland dawn.

“But know that no matter who you are or where you came from, I am thankful you are here now,” Capreze continued. “When we first took this Stronghold I had sent out a broadcast to the entire wasteland. I had sent an invitation that those that wanted to join us could and those that wanted to oppose us would die.” Capreze paused and took a deep breath. “I was wrong.”

The mech pilots and Railers that had been there for that broadcast all looked confused and worried.

“It wasn’t my place to threaten anyone,” Capreze said. “I am not the judge or jury. I have no right to put myself up as the executioner of the wasteland. I am a mech base commander. That is my training, that is my calling, that is my job. Anything else and I’m stepping into dangerous waters.”