On the outskirts of Eschaton City, the cyborg haunted the wasteland for scraps of machinery in the dusk of evenfall. A lone silver shadow crept along the vermillion desert.
Finding a hand would be a blessing; a head, a benediction; an entire body, a miracle.
The cyborg had the hardware to diligently study its hunted machines, memorizing how they were made and cataloguing them in its personal database.
Time and money were required to find anything new in the wasteland.
But even so, the cyborg didn't have that much time. Moreover, the night was fastly approaching.
Most of the City's specialists were now cleaning up Eschaton City after the human nuclear bombs. The long and brutal war had long since ended.
The Mayor's Council, The Coalition of the White Dove, now attempted to keep the City clean, but they didn't have any scientists to do the job. Many of the remaining councillors didn't know what to do with the waste. Some of the corpses had decayed beyond recognition. Others had parts missing.
What was left of the human race had left many portions of the collective in a state of turmoil.
The cyborg was a scavenger. It picked up anything useful that was left behind. Any piece of metal that it could sell. If humans did not care to salvage their devices, the cyborg would.
The cyborg had a story to tell. But it would need the permission of the Council to get that story out. It would need approval. And most of all, it would need funding. If only it could enough scrap. It would require a fair few complete bodies yet.
For all of the Council's efforts to put the City back in order, they had done nothing to restore the power supply. The macro-watt sources of power the City's furnaces and water pumps drew from were all broken. The only way to supply power was with huge and expensive generators. And they all had their own shortcomings.
Another, in the far northern region, relied on a giant cable stretching from the south-eastern skybridge. It had never been repaired. It had been blackened in the long night of the war. Another, further south, was strategically located at the base of a cliff with no path to the west. With such a geographical oddity, the materials brought down there were quickly consumed by the hungry furnaces.
The supply was nearly gone. The cyborg had to scavenge.
An old, metallic tumbleweed slowly rolled into view. The cyborg's facial lens settled on the old husk, a burnout hum-vee.
On the horizon, the distant pinprick of a tall metal tower was all that the cyborg could see and reminded it where it was headed.
Vast plains spread far and wide on either side of the tower. Scrap was scattered far and wide. The cyborg made an effort to keep to the sand-ridged paths.
The wind shifted, and an old upright iron pipe swayed under the onslaught. The wind became one with the pipe, strangling it as it was torn from the ground. It flew and hit the cyborg directly in the torso, causing it to violently tumble onto the sands, breaking into its own metal parts.
The cyborg’s micro-watt heartbeat stopped.
The dust and the darkness enveloped the metal body and now was indistinguishable from the scrap that surrounded it.
***
If Escaton City ran out of power and everyone turned the furnaces to save a little bit of fuel, the fuel would be eaten away in minutes. And a system like City's could not be trusted without power, especially during the night. If the fleet broke down, City would be destroyed.
There was a famous saying among the Citizens of Eschaton: No one will die for power.
The population of the City had grown from fifty thousand to over seven hundred thousand in the last two years. The City's workforce had outgrown the regular human population. That's why The Coalition of the White Dove gave its mandate to Eschaton.
The Coalition's managers didn't care much for the situation of their workers. On the contrary, they saw the workers as expendable assets. All this considered, the Council had decided that the cyborg, Naic was the best candidate for their mission.
It was a hard decision. But given the means, it was the best choice. They did not have time to waste, and the feasibility of an artificial copy of the Councilor Artus Grask was doubtful.
The management of Eschaton was too smart. They managed to make the artificial cybernetic body. The Wardens were amazed. They had expected that there would be an android body, but an artificial copy of a real person was not imaginable.
Naic met with the Councillor Artus Grask, dressed in his vermillion silk robe and holding his porcelain blue cane, sat in his throne. Grask did not keep his eyes to his visitors, but stared at him for a moment and closed his eyes, muttering a prayer. The room was opulent in metal and gold, the walls of arches and arches of coruscating mirrors that met at the ceiling.
Naic looked around at the people gathered before him. The Wardens, and people of Eschaton. Grask had tasked him to get the political backing of the council. That would be the key to success. His superiors were impressed with the cyborg, not because of what it could do, but for what it could not do.
During the meeting, Naic told Grask that it was easy to make the artificial body, but it was not easy to find the money.
Grask smiled gently. "Come to our mission, Naic. We have plenty of money. There is no need for you to have such worries. If you think you will not have money, then stay in City. I am sure that everything will work out."
"I understand," said Naic.
"You did well to prepare the mission, Naic. If you succeed, you will be rewarded with power and wealth. You could return to City."
Grask spoke in his lazy way. The Wardens wondered if he was imagining the euphoria from power.
"Everything will work out if you succeed in bringing me the information," said Naic. "Please bring it back as soon as you can."
Grask showed another smile. "It will work out, Naic. I am sure of that."
Naic bowed politely and left the room.
(End of sample)
***
The mission was a difficult one. The artificial body could not pick up any signals without being plugged in to a power source. Naic needed to keep a low profile. That's why, Grask sent him to the home of his enemy, Fadel.
As soon as Naic arrived at the airship, he contacted Grask. The Wardens could hear Naic's breathing when he talked to Grask. There was a dangerous static. The Wardens knew that the high pitched, red noise was made from static. They were surprised, even when Naic contacted Grask again and the loud static was gone.
The operation to destroy Fadel's plant was planned to take two days. This was needed to get everything right. Fadel was a master mechanic and he loved to tinker. He could not be thwarted. He had spent a good deal of time experimenting on the plants before he was detected. The Wardens had searched Fadel's base for months, but did not find any clues as to where the cybernetic soldier Naic was. The leader of the cybernetics group, Warrecker, had not informed anyone of Naic's location. The Wardens thought that Warrecker was dead, but Naic's voice warned them that was not the case. Fadel was still alive.
They planned the operation during the night. The plant was on the outskirts of the town and Naic had to make his way through the town and through the streets to reach the plant. It was a large plant. Fadel would have more cybernetic soldiers coming and going.
Naic got to the plant before sunrise. He found the automated door to the plant opening and a mysterious man inside. He was wearing a silver toque, a grey woolen jacket, dark trousers, and steel toe boots.
"You must be Naic," the man said in a voice that was low, but seemed to carry down the street.
Naic bowed. "Master Broker," he said.
"Good," said the man, his tone still suspicious.
Naic pushed the door open. The two men entered the plant. They were in a small warehouse. A shelf of supplies and a counter with computer consoles filled the room. Naic could feel a soft mist and hear mechanical whirrs, but his artificial body could not be seen.
The man sat down at a desk and began typing on a keyboard. Naic watched, a little fearful.
"You have already been through the plant," said the man. "Where are the last two remaining cybernetics soldiers?"
Naic had never expected to be questioned in the plant. He was only there to destroy Fadel's facility.
"They should be here in a minute," said Naic.
"Where is the last soldier?" asked the man.
"They are not here. Their mission was completed," said Naic.
"Who are you?" the man asked.
"I am Naic," he replied.
"Where do you come from?"
"Fuscelan."
The man suddenly went very still. "You are the soldier who was sent to Fuscelan. You are the last one. You will probably kill us," he said.
Naic felt a sudden surge of adrenaline. "I am not going to kill you. I am on a mission of peace."
The man stood. "You are very intelligent," he said. "How do you know we are not trying to kill you?"
Naic knew he had to convince the man he was not a danger. "We need peace. The war is coming. Our soldiers are being killed every day. The only chance for peace is to stop the war," he said.
"We need peace too. If you can stop the war, you can come home," said the man.
"You are working with the humans? Your superiors?" asked Naic.
"Yes," the man said. "We are on the same side. You can join us and be home in no time."
Naic relaxed. He had thought he was alone on his mission.
"Where is Warrecker? Who are the other leaders of this operation?" asked Naic.
"We are trying to get the rest of the leaders, but they are not very cooperative," said the man. "They do not know that you are still alive."
"I can go with you if I am not killed on this mission," said Naic.
"Yes, I am willing to negotiate with you," said the man.
"Give me some time to think," said Naic. "This is not easy."
"I understand," said the man. "I will contact you when we have finished our negotiations. Do not think about running."
Naic nodded. "Of course," he said.
The man looked over at the console and pressed some buttons. There was a loud buzzing sound and a bright light came on. The man stood up and the plant suddenly burst into life. A robot arm unfolded from the console and a shiny chrome fist began to punch out energy beams. The clunky shiny metal robot came to life.
The blue, robotic fist punched a hole in the wall of the room, but not before Naic made an escape. He was inside the hallway and within the range of the robot. He stood against the wall and used his artificial hand to control a small laser. He hit the robot with the laser and the fist stopped moving.
"Hello Naic," said the robot. "You cannot keep running. We can see you, even if you cannot see us."
Naic was surprised. "How did you know I was here?"
"The surveillance device outside the room told us."
"You were watching me the whole time? I thought only the computers could see me."
"You were on the list of persons of interest," said the robot.
"I didn't know," said Naic.
"You must get help from the humans," said the robot. "We will be here for another twenty days. You will not have to kill me or anyone else."
Naic turned. "But I am on a mission of peace. I will not kill anyone. I will negotiate with you."
"Negotiate?" said the robot. "You are the one we have been looking for. You are the man who can end this war. We sent you on a one way mission to find him. Now that we know he is alive, you are going to tell us where the rest of the leaders are. Then you will come home."
Naic felt a pit in his stomach. The robot was right. If he left this robot to pursue a weapon, he would be signing his own death warrant. He looked around at his fellow soldiers. None of them were going to allow him to leave. They were watching him with angry looks in their eyes. One of them, who was a short human with dark skin, began to say something to him, but Naic lifted a hand and the other soldier stopped talking.
"I will come with you," said Naic. "Please, take me away from here."
The robot looked at Naic and smiled. "Very well," said the robot. "Come, we have a lot to discuss."
The robot looked at Naic and smiled. "Very well," said the robot. "Come, we have a lot to discuss."
The robot pulled Naic to his feet and reached into Naic's chest, pulling out his micro-watt generator. Naic looked confused, he did not have the time for anger, before he died. The robot bent down and extended his robotic arm, pulling the generator onto the floor. The robot looked up at Naic, and Naic could see the sadness in his expression. He put the generator down next to Naic and looked back down at his hands.
The robot disassembled the parts. Artus Grask walked in from a side door, dressed in his red cloak and put his hand on the robot's shoulder. "You took care of Naic, I see". Artus was a small man, shorter than Naic. "Is he in good order?" asked Artus, leaning down to look at Naic.
The robot looked at Artus, and shook his head. "Nothing has changed," said the robot. "You will be able to sell his parts."
Artus picked up the parts, and walked out, leaving the robot.