Banner Men
MALLO DEAN
He thought he knew it all. He thought he could just go into the Rubba Bandits’ camp and steal from them, causing no ruckus. That was because he was young, he was naive, and it was also that he obviously didn't know of the reputation of the Rubba Bandits gang. If he had, he probably wouldn't have come within a hundred miles of their camp. But he had; he stole, and now they were after him, across the Droke. His name was Mallo Dean, and he was running for his life.
But how could he not have? How could he not have risked his life, just to go into a Bandit's camp, when they held the greatest collection of interesting objects ever of great value? It was a risk worth taking, in Mallo's opinion. Just this one hoard would set him up for life - particularly with this one special object, shining away, worth much more alone than the value of all the remaining objects he had grabbed and scarpered with. For safety, he kept it in his pocket, away from the rest, which nestled in the small backpack Mallo had tightly hitched over his shoulders. See, those other, lesser objects, they could taint this one. Keep 'em separated; that was his motto. That and never touch it if it's on the floor or if it has a face.
He just felt he had something to prove - to himself and others. He wanted to be a thief, and a good one, because of the general lack of value people placed on him. Besides, if he had stayed in the life he'd kind of been forced into, as a polisher for the Engineers - cleaning and readying instruments - he would have gone mad.
Thing was, he found this type of work exciting and entertaining - an interesting and intriguing adventure. People always said he would be good at something. Or was that a good for nothing?
The Bandits had him trapped. They seemed to be flanking him, or so he thought, from his hiding spot in and amongst the remains of an ancient ruin, with high - very high - walls, of large thick stone, different to the red brick that surrounded the area. The windows with no glass were tall also, and arched, with geometrical patterns cut into the stone around the arching. These ancient ruins provided a lot of cover, but no amount of cover would protect him from a flanking movement.
So he was trapped on three sides. The fourth side, well, that was the Battle Grounds. No one would be mad enough to go in there. Of course! No one would be mad enough to go in there! What a perfect hiding place. And it wasn't like he lacked agility, speed and intuition. All of those things had kept him alive so far, and there was no reason why they wouldn't continue to keep him in the accustomed side of mortality he, so far, enjoyed. Of course it would be suicide, but, well, whatever. Worth a try.
He left his safe cover, keeping low and running as fast as he could. It wouldn't take them long to realise what he was doing, and they'd want to try and cut him off before he got there. But he was canny. He was fast, and they were disorganised; tired and anxious. They were hunting, which expelled more energy than it did for the hunted. The hunted just ran away - as did Mallo Dean, right into the Battle Grounds.
It was like night and day, the difference. Almost immediately, he was arrested by the smell of oil, fuel, the distinct odour of heated metal, the stench of organic matter where the brains had been smashed out of the Machines, where the wild animal had run to escape or to forage and where the victims of organised crime had been deposited.
Because no one went into the Battle Grounds. No one was that stupid.
The metallic skeletal and crushed remnants of older Machines littered the floor, making passage a little dangerous, as the broken pieces jutted out sharply from the littered ground. Mallo checked in his pocket, to make sure the object was still there, so as to make this whole venture seem worth it.
But it wasn't there. He must have dropped it on the way to the Battle Grounds somewhere. He had to get it back. He turned as to retrace his steps, but he noticed at the point he had entered the Battle Grounds, his predators were waiting, discussing and formulating a plan. Mello watched them intently. He could perhaps wait them out, wait until they gave up and returned empty handed, then find his prize once more.
But it wasn't that simple. It never was.
One of the Bandits began arguing with the others, waving his hands about and throwing them down seemingly in despair. Then he took a first step over the line, into the Battle Grounds. Someone, it seemed was as stupid as Mello was. He was again the hunted, and he began to move deeper in, closer to the danger, nearer the tree-size Machines, swinging their metaphorical clubs like great ghastly hill giants. Even this far away, Mello Dean felt so small.
The first thing that struck Mello was how vast the Battle Grounds were. From one side of the horizon to the other it stretched, and even then, he got the sense there was much more beyond. There was a kind of hardy greenery to the area too - surprising based on the amount of fires, explosions and large mechanical monsters roaming about the land. But it felt like it was theirs, it was their kingdom, and Mello a mere interloper.
There were lakes, islands; there were ruins here too, some tall, some crooked and some dynamic. It seemed the organic aspect of the Machines had gained some sense of propriety, some sense of order and respect, that they could fight, sure, and they could destroy, but they could also appreciate and defend.
In some places, the vegetation and the ruins would probably make good cover. These weren't, as Mello and others surely had surmised in their ignorance, just mindless machines bashing seven shades of shit out of each other. There was ownership and there was territory. And Mello was trampling all over it, admittedly with very small boots.
The going was difficult, but Mello sensed the presence of the Bandit, closer and closer. The hackles stood up on the back of his neck, but that could also be something to do with the electrical charge almost tangible in the rusty air. Just to be sure, Mello employed some tricks he had learned in his time of thievery - to zigzag, to double-back and to drop a false trail. It probably wouldn't stop the Bandit's pursuit, but perhaps it could slow him down and make him think and wonder whether he chose the correct path.
Mello nearly fell over a Machine in his bid to get away, which was astonishing, as the Machine was fifteen foot tall at least, with hydraulic arms and a look of mechanical hatred.
"Halt, and identify yourself." it rattled through the rough voicebox it had been fitted with. It seemed a retroactive fitting, like it had done it itself.
"Uhm -" replied Mello Dean, lost for words.
"You do not have the Ignore Chip fitted. You are not an Engineer."
A talking Machine? This was unexpected. But the words of the creature made him realise what he must do, and what he must be, "I am an Engineer. My chip must be malfunctioning."
"Without the Chip you have no identity. If you have no identity, you must be destroyed."
"Hang on a minute. If I wasn't an Engineer, I wouldn't be able to do this - may I?" Mello had noticed one of the munitions at the Machine's side was coming loose. He reached up and, with all his strength, pushed it back into place, where it clicked satisfyingly.
The Machine shifted the gears that operated the munitions. It seemed to be moving more easily, "It moves better. This does not prove you are an Engineer. This merely proves you are able to manipulate objects."
Mello shook his head. We're going to be like that, are we? "How can I prove I am an Engineer -"
"With an Ignore Chip."
"- Without an Ignore chip. If you'd let me finish."
"There is no way. Unless -"
"Unless?"
"Unless you can dismantle this inhibitor I have placed in my circuitry." The Machine pointed to a mangled collection of wires, circuit boards and solder as big as Mello's fist.
Mello leaned in a little closer to get a better look, "Okay - wait. What does it inhibit?"
"Rage."
"Right. Doesn't seem so - wait. If I remove it, won't I get the rage?"
"It is not an allowed action to attack Engineers immediately after an operative move."
Mello was losing the ground he had gained on the Bandit every second he debated with this Machine. Wonder, interest and curiosity had to take a back seat right now. Expediency was the key. Mello Dean dived right in and attacked the inhibitor. It was a square device, no bigger than two fingers wide, with lumps of solder quickly stuck on the pins that went to the circuit board. Mello chipped away at the solder with his fingers. It was coming away, but slowly. Mello reached to the floor, found a sharp piece of metal there, about the size of a knife, and continued hacking away at the solder. Eventually it flaked away, enough for Mello to grasp the inhibitor and pull.
It didn't budge.
He searched for a different piece of metal on the floor this time. He needed something long and thin, to act as a lever. He found something adequate and thrust one end underneath the inhibitor. It scratched away at the circuit board, but Mello took the opinion that cracking or rubbing a piece of circuitry away was a small price to pay for not being killed. With a few good yanks, the inhibitor came loose. Mello pulled the rest of it loose with his fingers. He held it up for the Machine to see.
"You have done adequately, but you are not a good Engineer. Nevertheless, it is satisfactory. I shall return to the fray forthwith." declared the Machine, turning quickly on what passed for its heels and building up a running speed, until it was lost amongst the destructive clouds of war. Mello didn't know why, but he pocketed the inhibitor. One never knew.
Mello had to get his lead back on the Bandit. That crazy man could be on him any second. But Mello Dean hadn't got more than a quarter of a mile further before something else occurred. As if it needed saying, the Battle Grounds were proving to be a very dangerous place to be.
The first Machine came rolling over the hill of crushed metal, forcing Mello to dive for cover. As he did, that space had to be given over to another Machine, thundering over another metal hill. Mello continued rolling until he hit something solid. He was dizzy and couldn't focus as another Machine came crashing into the other two. Things were swinging, colliding with other things. Mello had to get to his feet and run, to avoid the thump of a fist contacting with the ground. A gap appeared and he made for it, but was blocked by the crunching of a foot. The Machines were connecting, sending sparks arching into the air, hitting the ground with burning ferocity. Mello felt like an ant under the oppression of Machine motion. Another Machine then appeared on the brow of the hill, firing its munitions into the fray. Some connected, some crashed to the ground and exploded. As Mello ran for his life, he covered his head, as though that could stop these clumps of metal and fire from crushing him utterly. He dodged this way and that, avoiding being hit by the misses and getting peppered with shrapnel. Occasionally an explosion would catch him and throw him from his feet, but he quickly clambered back to a standing position and looked about him, expecting to be caught by one chunk of metal or another.
All four Houses were now represented in the melee. It would be a fascinating thing to watch, undoubtedly, if Mello wasn't currently in the middle of it, unable to escape. No sooner would he find a route out of it, than the gap was closed up by an explosion, a foot, a fist or a fallen Machine. It took an eon to unfold and Mello Dean was rapidly running out of energy. Adrenaline demanded he continue, however. The body wanted to live, even if the mind was giving up.
Then one of the Machines came thundering to the ground, landing with a crash of earthquake proportions. The vibrations alone took Mello Dean off his feet. The life was further crushed out of the Machine with the pounding of a foot from one of the other Machines. That one itself was thrown clear of the destruction by a well-aimed shot from one of the other Machines. The other two followed and the fight moved on. Mello, however, needed a moment or two spread-eagle on the floor, the stress of the last few minutes catching up with him.
He thought he had blacked out, but couldn't be sure. When he opened his eyes again, he was kind of eye to eye with the Machine that had been brought to ground.
"Human detected. Human must die." it uttered, with barely the processing power left to do so. It certainly couldn't act upon this, as the spinal circuitry had been smashed, so that only the head part of the Machine was still functional. It didn't stop Mello scrambling back a few paces on the floor though.
"Sheesh. You're still alive?" he ventured.
"Human detected. Second human detected. Must destroy."
"Stupid Machine. Must be completely gone. Looks like that brain casing is smashed."
"He means me." came a voice from behind Mello Dean. It was smooth, serious and extremely dark. Mello turned around. It was the Bandit.
"Oh shit." proffered Mello. It never rained, but it bloody well poured.
"Something like that. Names Farry Kong, by the way."
"I bet it is." commented Mello Dean.
Kong chuckled at the reaction, "You have things that don't belong to you, my friend."
"We may be a great deal of things, but I doubt we're friends." said Mello, now standing and wiping the dirt and dust from his hands.
Kong laughed, "You could be right at that. Still - our property?" Kong offered a hand for the return of the Bandits goods.
"It's a merry dance we've been on, eh?" said Mello, trying all the tricks he could to survive.
Kong laughed again, "It's no good pleading to my sensitive side. I don't have one."
"It can't be completely futile? I mean, how are we to get out of here, if we don't work together, eh?" said Mello.
"Who said we were both getting out of here? You stole from the Rubba Bandits. I kill you here, and eat you. It's what I do." shrugged Kong.
"Kill me? Eat me? Is that really necessary?"
Kong nodded, "I'm afraid so. It's a tradition, see? I have to eat you and return your eyes and ears to the Chief, or he eats me. Oh, and I return with the objects, of course, but that goes without saying." then Kong leaned in conspiratorially, "He even checks our shit to see we ate human. Weird eh?"
Not for the first time that day, Mello Dean was lost for words. A little sick came into his mouth though, but no words. He took the battered backpack from his shoulder and threw it at Kong, who picked it up and examined its contents.
"There's one object missing." he said, looking to Mello and thrusting out his hand once again.
"I don't have it. Lost it on the way into the Battle Grounds. Sorry." shrugged Mello. What had he got to lose now? Why not go out as he lived; with sarcasm.
Kong's face changed, becoming dark and menacing. Murder was in his eyes, where indifference had been previously. He took a step forward.
The Machine that was so large behind Mello's back suddenly cranked and whirred back into life. The first letter of its sentence rose slowly, like it was being wound up internally, akin to an ancient record player, "Must - destroy - humans." spluttered the Machine with its last reserve of power, as its self-destruct began counting down.
Mello Dean and Farry Kong looked to each other, suddenly frozen to the spot like a tableau of a misadventure. And the thing continued its count down -
Five - Four - Three -
No comments:
Post a Comment