Dogfights

Dogfights - Machine (Chapter 21)

The artificial intelligence looked out to the wastes, its flat, yellow eyes glistening. The war machines were close now, silent as night, emitting long shadows cast over rubble. Overhead great streaks of gray marked the skies. A storm was coming, the great bellow of primal energy punching out into the atmosphere. The lights of the city glowed in the distance, illuminating the horizon. Thunder broke out overhead and the booming drums echoing across dead lands, relentless, heightening the anticipation. And then, softly, came the rain, nature expelling itself as lightning cracked through the skies, the balls of light stretching out into the far reaches of the storm.

Time wafted through eons. Lazily it searched here and there, but the spark of life was too cluttered. Mankind was on trial now, judged, the actions of a nation calculated under cold, lidless eyes. The accused sat quietly, not wanting to disrupt the pile of dirt they had concocted in their electronic dreams.

All was quiet, all was still. And then came a long thunderous cry, so monstrous and consuming the entire world felt the call.

A thousand glowing eyes lit up, drafting out to the skyline. White orbs pierced black. One by one the war machines woke themselves from their long sleep. Giant mechanical bodies rose from the ground, crawling forward on all fours like beasts. Without pause they began to ascend. Each step was like thunder, terrible and true, the foundations of the world shaking under such immense power. In unison the war machines walked towards the city, heavy bodies of steel and malice marching their final march.

The war machines lifted themselves up from their tomb, heaving their souls, slithering over the tall cliffs. Their bodies twisted and contorted, great pulleys and levers pushing in all directions, the marvel of the technology of the old world.

The first of the war machines made it to the top of the cliff. Slowly the others followed suite.

The artificial intelligence looked up, watching as the war machines crawled overhead.

The city screamed in the distance. The war machines did not, could not stop, for humanity's time had come.

***

Catherine Kenneth stood above her dead brothers, looking down on them with a heavy heart. The sadness mingled with the metal face, her features downcast in defeat. But in a strange way she was relieved, happy even, for it would all soon be over. Their company was dead, their nation damned, all the hard work and countless hours they had toiled useless, nonexistent. Much too late now to stop the tide. It was better to simply give in, to die in the dust. But there was still one more thing to be done.

The soldiers had circled the stone library, guns drawn, eyes lidless and exposed. Catherine had heard the screams in her head, the silencing of a hundred voices. Her people were gone now. The soldiers had cracked open the barrier separating her hovel from the ocean. It was over.

Catherine turned to nod to the Seekers and watched as their bodies became lifeless and rigid. She moved through the shattered glass, ignoring the blood as she knelt down into the carnage. She stroked the head of Saul Kenneth, the machine, a large gash in the center of his forehead. After a time she lifted herself up, walking over and descending onto Malum.

The soldiers were beginning to move in, their machinery creaking and groaning. Dogs on all sides barked in anticipation.

Catherine sat there, quietly, then joined her brothers on the cold ground.

A great bellow of thunder, followed closely by the boom. Each thud shook the stone library. Dust rose and fell as books and pages of books swam in the air.

From the folds of her triangular clothing Catherine pulled out a knife, simple in design, primitive. Catherine looked upon the weapon and contemplated her next move. As the disturbed dust began to rise some of the particles entered into Catherine's lungs, making her choke. She hated the dust then, more than ever. She wanted to be rid of it, to not always be just steps away from suffocation.