Skye City: The Darkness of Emmilyn

The Armoury

We march through the corridors of the rebel base, coming to a reinforced metal door with Restricted written above. The door has a wheel on the front and appears strong enough to withstand a bomb blast.

Nelson turns the wheel and we enter a scary-as-shit room with three walls covered in rifles, a fourth wall containing a large shutter, and a metal-grid floor crammed with dormant droids standing in rows. Many of these armoured beasts are similar to Ivor, many bigger or smaller, some have wheels instead of legs, and all have gun-arms. And I wonder why humans ever become soldiers when machines can do the fighting.

'This room is shielded to protect the droids.' Nelson turns the inner-wheel to lock the door. 'Otherwise, even a single EMP could render them useless.'

'If this room can be shielded, why not just shield the entire base?' I say.

'Well, there'd be no point because the building is powered externally. The pulse would just travel through the wiring. Plus, shielding the entire complex would be absurdly expensive. We can cope with losing power, but losing our mechs...'

'So let me get this straight, the EMPs which were detonated, which took out three bases, were your own? That's some bad planning,' I say.

'Not really. If you know the pulses are coming, you can prepare. Power everything down, disconnect the wiring, move sensitive equipment into the armoury. You wouldn't completely avoid damage, but you could reduce it, and the pay-off would be the enemy was unprepared. They'd suffer far worse damage,' Nelson says and I shake my head.

'Only you didn't know the pulses were coming...'

I approach one of the largest killing machines which has badly-welded armour-plates and rust showing through its green paint. It stands over twice as tall as me, and has a glass dome where most other droids have a head. This must be a cockpit, but I cannot see inside from this angle.

'It's my dream to pilot one of these mechs, but I have to earn that privilege.' Nelson strokes a huge gun-arm which is filled with holes.

'I don't get it...' I sigh, picturing this killing machine on a battlefield, swatting soldiers like flies, and I shudder.

'Get what? The finest mechanoid in the Rebellion's armoury?' Nelson says.

'I don't get why you'd put a person inside. Don't they function perfectly well without people? Seems like just another excuse to kill,' I say.

'Firstly, you'd be a damn sight safer inside a mech than outside. Secondly, there are some instances where a human pilot is preferable to an AI. We're better at making moral decisions for a start.'

'Oh, so this is about morality? My bad,' I say.

Nelson pulls a bottle of Tarlaxian gin from his inside pocket, and sits on the gridded floor between two of the mechanoids. Huge metal feet dwarf him, and large pistons and armour-plates give the impression of collossal power. These machines could squish you like gum with just a misplaced footstep.

'Should a rebel soldier really be drinking so much? What if you get called into action?' I say.

'Actually, I don't drink that often. Maybe a couple of bottles a week. And I can safely say we have earned a drink today,' Nelson says.

'You got that right.' I smirk, tilting my head back.

Gin splashes as Nelson shakes the bottle before my nose, and I hesitate for a moment, then snatch. I down half the contents, coughing and trying to stop myself from gagging. I had forgotten how strong Tarlaxian gin is. Not that I am complaining.

'We've really been through a lot, eh?' Nelson says and I wait for my throat to stop burning.

'Yeah, but we're still here. Lel's not. And poor Claudius... The others could be alive or dead. Right now, it feels like they're both, or neither,' I say.