Fusion

By Mark Lingane

I am Omega. I am the end. Welcome to the new age.

One boy and a steam-powered bike on a journey to save the world. One girl and a past she cannot escape. Two insane warlords and a prize they cannot understand. One fate will bring them together, and at the centre is Sebastian facing his destiny.

When everything is broken, when nothing is worth saving, when disease, defeat and hatred encircle you, it's time to face the darkness.

Book 4 and the dramatic conclusion of the Tesla Evolution.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Insync Holdings
• Release date: Sep 5, 2015

Mark Lingane

Mark was first published at the ripe old age of eight, when a local newspaper published his review of Disney on Ice. The next time his name was in print was a life time later at the age of fifteen, when a national magazine ran his review of the Commodore 64. It was downhill from there, picking up a weekly column in the Sunday Times which funded a rather noncommittal path through university, studying a wide range of topics from Robotics, Anthropology, Philosophy.Computer Science, Psychology.In fact so many subjects were studied he was eligible for graduation at the end of his second year, based purely on attendance.He finally left and joined the corporate world before realizing work isn't that much fun, and going back to study. Further writing followed with regular columns for various technology magazines and newspapers around the country. Then as the reality of permanent food and shelter began to bare its teeth, another attempt at the corporate world beckoned as a technical writer, which turned out okay. Shifting from technology companies to resource companies provided the opportunity to travel and live in some desolate and exotic locations where the locals don't like you much.In 2011, he decided that these shells of books that had been lying around for the last twenty years needed to be finished or burnt. Since no matches were at hand, he finished them and has been releasing them at a consistent rate since.He's not sure if any of them are any good, but did his best and was relieved to see them out the door, much like a teenager who has overstayed their welcome.

Book preview

I am not a general,

Nor a friend or warrior.

I do not bring forgiveness

Or salvation with the light.

I have a question for you, foe.

What do you expect from the fight?

See what hides in the darkness.

Show the truth in the light.

Show me who you are, foe,

A broken mirror in the night.

LOS ANGELES

1

SEBASTIAN WOKE WITH a start. His face was freezing, and the metal floor was shaking violently. His fingers were curled through the perforations in the metal sheeting, clinging on desperately. He was falling. Sweat formed on his brow with the exertion of hanging on, and the effort of suppressing the urge to vomit caused by the falling sensation.

The traumatic events ran through his mind.

The battle on the dock; Melanie, a spear through her, holding off the waves of infected so he could escape; Andana and his pirates grabbing him, pulling him on board the voidship; Melanie firing into the advancing infected, at the mercy of the ripped-open mouths and blackened teeth …

He lay on the floor and curled his knees up to his chest. Tears rolled down his face. Melanie, the unstoppable death machine, had been stopped. His last friend was dead. He was alone.

His heart ached as he recalled his final moments with her. Melanie had sacrificed everything for him. The bad jokes she always made about him were her way of compensating, he knew that. If only he didn’t have to save the world, probably killing himself in the process, he could find a way to get her back somehow, even beyond death. But even as he made the promise to himself, he knew it was just teenage foolishness.

He sat up and took in his surroundings, looking at where his life had brought him. Everything that had been solid in his world had gone. Although, in the end Melanie had been so temporary, in the last few years she had been the one constant factor, the one person who had been by his side through it all. Now the whole world seemed upside down, and everything was slipping through his fingers.

The voidship lurched wildly from side to side. Shouts, then screams, echoed from outside the small room. There was a quick burst of gunfire, a suicidal gesture in a zeppelin. The craft had settled down, but the sensation of rapid descent was overwhelming, shaking his head and stomach.

The room he was in, like everything else on the voidship, was constructed from steel. The entire room was shaking. He placed his hands on the metal doorframe. He examined the door. Simple hinges and structure, but he couldn’t open it. The pirates had secured the exit somehow.

Sebastian let his mind unfold.

The pain hit him instantly. He was shocked by the intensity, which was so much more painful than before. He could sense no lock. He pushed on the door, but it failed to move. He sighed. Instead, he focused his mind on the hinges, sensing the electron structure. He flipped the electron spin and the hinges crumpled to rust. He kicked the door and it swung out into the corridor.

He stepped out and turned to the right. A large man was lumbering toward him. He had lost an arm and half his face. One eye was hanging out of its socket and bobbing around on the end of the optic nerves. Several other men ran behind him, their faces twisted into masks of fear and horror. All the men were badly mutilated.

Howls of desperation, pain, and sorrow filled the passageway, and then were cut abruptly and mercifully short. The echoes continued, bouncing around the metallic corridor. The injured men halted, visibly shaken by the horrific sounds, then began to run again, barging past Sebastian, paying him no attention and covering him with blood.

Sebastian stopped. A smart man would not head toward the screams of pain. Neither would a dumb one. He turned around and followed the fleeing men.

He ducked into a side corridor and made his way deeper into the voidship, hoping that whatever was back down the corridor would be more interested in the prey it had already injured than in finding a fresh source. He calmed his nerves and rested against the metal wall. The wall flexed under his weight and made a slight popping sound. The floor beneath him creaked.

He glanced down. Through the perforated sheeting, he saw something move. Deep red eyes stared up at him through the holes. There was a hiss.

A thump came from the end of the corridor and Sebastian wheeled around. A dead body lay prostrate. He glanced back down below the floor. Whatever had been beneath him was gone. He heard the scrabbling of claws on metal even further below. There was an intake of air, almost joyous, then a click. All the lights went out.

Sebastian let his mind unwind.

Again, the pain hit him instantly. He sensed the metal flooring that stretched away in both directions, leading down the corridor to a T-junction. On the left, he sensed a metal door. Through the door was a small space, which held a metal bucket and a battery-powered flashlight. On the right he sensed a staircase leading down into the belly of the craft. The staircase was a big concern. Whatever was down there could easily come up.

He felt liquid drip out of his nose. Even in the darkness, he knew it was blood. He took a couple of deep breaths and made his way along the corridor. Footsteps mirrored his own. His heartbeat began to increase. In the freezing air of the craft, he was sweating heavily.

The pitch-black stretched out before him; it was impossible to see what lay ahead. He crept along, small step by small step, feeling his way along the wall and trying to be absolutely silent. The flashlight in the small room he had sensed was vital to his survival, and reaching it consumed his mind. He crept forward, listening carefully. He was certain he could hear the wet slaps of bare feet on metal. The staircase was still worrying him.

He reached the junction. His fingers quested around the sharp edge of the corner. He leaned around and felt a warm breeze against his face. Something organic felt creepily close. Terror gripped him. He had nothing to use as a weapon.

There was a commotion from the corridor ahead and the wet footsteps stopped. There was an intake of air, inches from his ear. His heart pounded to the point of pain, and his head swam. He took the chance and charged around the corner. He felt something to the left of him.

He found the door and wrenched it open, as something behind him let out a bloodcurdling scream. He jumped into the small room and slammed the door shut. Something on the other side crashed into it.

He found the flashlight and fumbled with it, twisting it frantically until it clicked on. He swept the beam around the cramped space. All he could see were the metal bucket and wooden-handled mop, both useless for defense. He rested momentarily against the rear wall of the storage cupboard before springing forward and wrenching open the door.

The beam from the flashlight fell across the hideous green body of an infected. Somehow, it must have found a way through Melanie’s wall of firepower and onto the voidship before takeoff. Sebastian’s heart sank. He’d seen the way these creatures devoured their prey. Their speed and ferociousness, powered by mutated base desires, would be difficult to overcome in the restricted space of the zeppelin.

The creature’s deformed limbs flashed briefly in the light before gouging deeply into the body of a dying void rider lying on the metal floor. Blood sprayed out and coated the wall as the infected severed the man’s forearm. There was a dull thud as the dead limb hit the metal, and the man screamed. There was a howl of laughter from the infected. Sebastian knew there were worse things an infected could do than simply kill its victim.

He bolted. The beam of light illuminated the corridor erratically as his pounding legs carried him as fast as they would go. The light caught the edge of the stairs, too late, and he tumbled down the metal steps, landing heavily at the bottom. He jumped up onto unsteady feet and dashed down another corridor, bouncing off the walls.

He sprinted through a bulkhead, turned, and slammed the depressurization door behind him. He searched for a way to lock it, but the securing bolt was missing. There was a furious scratching on the other side of the door. He searched frantically for something to jam the door closed, but the flashlight sweeping over the deck revealed nothing. He braced against the heavy pounding on the door.

Sebastian let his mind stretch out.

The pain speared through him. He caught the outline of a wrench at the far end of the deck on his side of the door. He flipped the electrons and held out his hand. The wrench sailed through the air and smacked into his palm. He twisted and slammed it into the holding loop. The door rattled manically, and he pushed back. Eventually, the thrashing stopped and he heard a snuff, then footsteps heading away. He stepped back cautiously from the door.

All was quiet. He leaned into the door and placed his ear against it. Another bout of manic shaking and banging erupted from the other side. He jumped back, turned, and fled into the darkness.

The deck was long and narrow, with no exits. His footsteps clanged and echoed in the chamber as he ran. Darkness lay to both sides and below. He assumed he was in the hold, the base of the ship. Just outside the zeppelin’s thin metal casing was a drop of many thousands of feet to oblivion. The thought caused him to slow momentarily.

He rounded a corner into another corridor and found a small alcove stacked with supplies. And his steambike. It was in poor condition, his escape through the streets of the capital of Queensland having taken its toll on the machine. He ran a sad hand over its dents and scratches. His sword was still tied to the seat.

He smiled. I’ll take that, he said, pulling it free and strapping the scabbard onto his back.

There was a reptilian, clicking sound behind him. He wheeled around. There was nothing there. He heard a slithering sound. He withdrew his sword and cautiously made his way further along the corridor, putting distance between himself and the hold. The shaking of the craft unsettled his steps, slowing his progress.

The corridor ended in a set of steps that led up to the level above. He heard the sound of a tongue clicking very quickly. He swept the light over the corridor behind him, and caught movement as something disappeared behind the supplies.

The ship had gone quiet. The screams had ceased, he hoped not from a lack of living lungs. Through the rattling of the metal zeppelin, he could hear hissing and growling. There was a scraping sound from below.

Melanie, where are you when I need you? he whispered.

The beam from the flashlight started to dim and flicker. He watched it fade and then extinguish. He sighed. He hefted the sword and listened carefully for movement. There was a hiss in front of him, and he stabbed into nothing. He swept the sword back and forth, and managed to nick the creature. It squealed. He heard it jump back.

He turned back toward his bike. He focused his mind on the steambike’s battery, pouring energy into it. The headlight flashed on, startling the infected, which wheeled around to face the threat. The horribly thin and disfigured body flailed in front of him, stunned by the light. He was able to land several blows, forcing the creature away from him.

He turned and ran up the stairs and into the living quarters on the deck above. He slammed the bulkhead door behind him and shot the bolt into the securing hole, sealing the door. He rested against it, panting.

He caught the stench of old, heavily used clothes. The smell reminded him of the tesla school back at the Steam Academy, where all the teenage boys crammed in together had a sloppy idea of what personal hygiene meant. This smell was much worse. It almost had its own life. His mom would’ve had something to say about it.

Subdued daylight in various shades of gray flickered in via a tiny window at the far end of the quarters. He made his way between the stinking bunk beds, stepping over the discarded clothes and food scraps on the floor, to a row of steel lockers. Some had been torn open, revealing personal belongings that highlighted the depressing, lonely existence of the void rider.

A locker door rattled as he walked past. He stopped. The door rattled again. He placed his ear against the door. He thought he could hear the gentlest of breaths. He raised his sword and flung open the door. A spitting ball of fury leaped at him, all claws and fur. It landed on his shoulder and took a swipe at his ear, sinking in its claws and drawing blood before jumping off him and running away.

Sebastian was stunned. Who kept a cat on the oversized balloon that was a voidship?

The long room ended with another staircase leading up to yet another level. He took the steps two at a time and emerged onto a large deck. He stepped through the bulkhead door and bolted it behind him. It was bitterly cold. Freezing air whipped around the deck and blew his hair into his eyes. Ten-foot harpoons stuck out through portholes in the zeppelin walls. They were attached via thick metal chains to large hoops in the center of the deck.

There was only one other door on this level and it was closed. He moved to the bow of the zeppelin and examined the door. He could hear a human voice on the other side. He tried to open the door, but it was secure.

Sebastian focused his mind and let the pain roll over him.

He sensed the simple bolt on the other side of the door. He felt the electrons in his mind, aligned them, and twisted. The bolt slid open.

He burst through the door. Dark, stormy clouds rushed toward him, coupled with a blinding light that made him throw up his hands to shield his eyes.

2

HEY, KID, GLAD to see you up and around.

Sweat was pouring off Andana as he struggled with the large wooden wheel mounted in the center of the console. In front of him was an array of dials and gauges. Steam poured from the console as the gauges screamed to maximum, adding the only degree of warmth to the entire craft. The large glass wall that comprised the bow of the flight deck eclipsed Andana’s already diminutive frame.

You know there’s an infected on board, Sebastian said. Maybe even more than one.

Yeah, I know. Somehow the freaks got onboard when we was waiting for you.

You’re the one who promised to bring me here.

Yeah, well, words can be mistaken. Look, don’t stand around looking untidy. If you help with these controls, we might just make it out of here alive, or at least not totally dead.

Sebastian stepped up to the console. The gauges were beyond his understanding. Long, tall tubes full of liquids bubbled furiously. Needles were bouncing off the red markers on the dials.

Is it always this turbulent?

No, but we’s been on the back end of the void arm all the way across the Pacific. God knows what’s holding us together. By rights we should be dead, but because of my masterful navigation skills we’s made it. You can thank me later.

He glanced over at the teen and squinted. You look bigger than when you came aboard.

The craft made a sudden lunge to one side and dropped height dramatically. Sebastian lost his balance as gravity left him, and he left the floor. He crashed down heavily onto the steel grating as the craft stabilized again.

If it ain’t too much effort, kid, how about releasing that valve on the far right.

Sebastian looked at the apparatus in front of him. What did a valve look like? Was it a dial or a switch? A button? A lever? Or was it a latch? He went through the various options until something slid to the right and there was an intense release of air, forcing him back several paces.

Andana watched the dial in front of him. It bounced around furiously before rotating dramatically to the left. He gave a sigh of relief. And that means we … ain’t going to die.

A loud alarm pierced the rattling of the zeppelin and the roar of the rushing air.

I might’ve spoken too soon, Andana said.

The clouds parted and the immense city of Los Angeles, parts of it on fire and smoking, filled the expanse of glass in front of them. The ground approached at a stomach-churning pace. Sebastian saw a swarm of insect-like creatures, several stories high, stalking through the massive explosions below.

Hold on, Andana warned. Things are going to get rough.

Time seemed to slow as the voidship continued to descend. Andana heaved on the wheel, trying to turn the craft sideways. The steel groaned in complaint as the tortured structure fought against the opposing forces. The ship started to rotate to the left, slowly, and then snapped forward.

The wheel cracked out of Andana’s hands and he howled in pain. He leaped backward then lunged for the furiously spinning wheel, screaming as the wood slammed against his hands. He picked up a long bar and jammed it through the spokes. The wheel came to an instant halt, but not before bending the bar. The ship lurched as the motors went haywire.

The city swum back into focus as they approached the tops of the tallest buildings, all burned-out shells, at frightening speed. The ship crashed down on top of one of them, bouncing once. The building cracked and collapsed under the brutal impact. The ship slipped down the side of the building and lurched into the one beside it. The second building twisted and slowly started to collapse. What remained of the windows cracked, and glass sprayed out into the air and down onto the streets below.

The zeppelin caught a corner of the falling building, twisted, and slammed into the tumbling rubble. Sebastian held on with grim determination as the ship rolled. Andana, cursing, had his arm wrapped around the wheel. The zeppelin flipped. With its nose pointing downward, it fell toward the ground several hundred feet below. People on the streets below stopped and looked up in horror as the craft hurtled toward them.

The ship hit.

In the blink of an eye, the glass wall in the flight deck cracked and shattered, glowing white-hot as it cut through the metal and fabric lining the interior of the ship. The debris sliced deeply into Andana’s flesh. Blood sprayed out as his body was shredded, until only his hands remained clamped around the buckled wheel. The massive framework of the zeppelin cracked and then crumpled, smashing through the rear wall of the flight deck, but not before pulverizing what remained of Andana.

Sebastian was catapulted through the opening at the front of the ship moments before the glass erupted into the cabin. He soared downward and impacted the ground.

His mind took over. The world flickered in front of him, flashing between death and the dark void that filled his body with pain. The world twisted and the dark void was replaced by a hint of salvation. He could feel his death and he could feel his survival; the choice lay before him as the twin realities flickered manically in his mind. The pain reached toward eternity as he felt his entire body being ripped apart.

He chose life.

The blackness disappeared, but with the rushing light came a new wave of pain. He found himself lying on the black tarmac of the street, free of the crash zone, feeling broken, but still breathing. He lifted himself up onto his hands and knees, coughed out a mouthful of blood, and sagged back onto his knees. He looked around, his vision bloodied and blurred. The people had vanished.

He looked up. Smoke and flames from the wreckage towered above him. The ruins of the voidship creaked distressingly, and then the ship shifted and began to topple. He clambered to his feet and sprinted away under the shadow of the falling craft. The ship crashed to the ground. Metal shrapnel flew past him and smashed into the surroundings buildings, somehow leaving him unscathed.

Welcome to the North America, he muttered.

*

Commander Nikola Tasman glared at the captain of the voidship and narrowed his eyes. Say that again.

The voidship captain hesitated. Normally the ceremonial tattoos over his face and arms kept potential troublemakers away, but the fury and desperation in the face of the towering man in front of him was unmatched by anything he’d seen before. And as a man who continually enraged many fraught people, he had seen a lot of anger. The madman had already lifted up the captain’s biggest bodyguard and slammed him onto the table, shattering it and driving one of the legs through the man’s stomach.

No, the captain repeated. I can’t take you because we miss sweep. You want cross pond to North America, you wait for next rotation.

Nikola grabbed the man by his tunic and wrenched him up to eye level. The captain struggled. How long until the sweep comes around again?

Two months.

Nikola wrapped his hand around the captain’s throat and started to squeeze.

Every captain will tell you the same, the man spluttered, his face turning purple.

Nikola released him and threw him back into the chair. The captain nodded to one of the crewmembers. The man withdrew an automatic rifle, but before he could fire, he found himself riddled with bullets. The place went quiet. The man collapsed to the floor.

Colonel Parker nodded to Nikola, turned back to the bar, and carried on talking to the barman. He holstered his still-smoking pistol. The general murmur of voices resumed as the cleaners moved in to remove the body.

What do people do here for two months? Nikola asked the captain.

The captain pulled out another chair and patted it. Sit down, have drink. Anyway, why you want go North America? It not nice place.

Nikola sighed. My boy, he said. I need to protect him.

3

THE PEACEMAKER SAT atop the Salt Lake City citadel and stared out his panoramic and cavernous corner-office window at the maintenance team toiling on the building opposite. The city around him was struggling to stay together. He’d worked hard to keep the peace in the neighboring regions of the west, and to maintain the Great Wall dividing it from the east, but success had extracted its toll in exhaustion and a withered frame.

A hot cup of dark green liquid sat on the window ledge, billowing steam. He twisted the cup, noting the ebb and flow of the heat condensing on the windowpane, coming and going like breaths.

A tall, thin woman sat in a corner on a cowhide chaise longue. She was reading a thick book, quietly flicking the pages. Occasionally, she adjusted the large-framed glasses on her beautiful face. She didn’t look up as she spoke.

Perhaps I’ll lie down soon.

A few moments passed before he responded. You seem to need more rest these days, Acacia. He adjusted his round glasses, watching her reflection in the window.

Don’t we all. Her voice remained indifferent. She turned a page.

He stared out at the city, silently watching the groups of people roaming the barren, bleak streets.

Eventually, the woman stood up and walked over to stand behind him, her youthful step full of energy. She joined in his vacant stare over the city, punctuated by the Wasatch and Oquirrh mountain ranges that curled around on the horizon. She clasped her hands in front of her.

She turned and examined the tall plants standing around the room, vivid and colorful, towering up toward the roof. The stems of the plants, curling under the weight of the blooms, swayed gently in the breeze.

I’ll water the triffids this afternoon, she said.

The Rocky Mountains to the north had failed to block the powerful polar highs this year, and although the bitter winter had delivered little in the way of snow, it had dealt frozen death to a struggling population battling threats to their survival from all directions of the compass. The snow that had fallen now consisted of a brown sludge and deadly ice patches across the land, bringing a depression that weighed down on all.

The land is dying, the Peacemaker said. I’m failing the people.

You’re doing what you have to do. Remember what you’ve built from the ruins of nothing. These people have a home now.

But the population’s declining. Is there a point to being leader if there’s no one to lead?

You sound like your brother. She looked down at him, wedged into his utilitarian seat. He was gray-faced and emaciated.

Please don’t mention my brother to me. He has no interest in people, other than as a means to an end. His voice resonated with the harmonics of anger.

You need to address your issues.

You know it’s too late for that.

She yawned, hiding her mouth behind her hand. I need to recharge my batteries. You have to eat today. I recommend you do that while I’m offline.

His lips curled. Her terminology made him smile.

You must eat, she reminded him.

I will once I’ve finished my work. So much needs to be managed.

You can’t control everything. You can’t save everything.

I need to protect the people.

Fine, she said. Do what you feel you have to do.

She left him alone in front of the expansive window, a defeated silhouette against the light. The door opened and Acacia disappeared.

The minutes ticked by as the cup on the window shelf cooled. The steam no longer condensed. The only sound was the low hum of the diesel generators deep in the basement of the building.

A small, flickering display to the right of the Peacemaker showed endlessly scrolling numbers. His attention was caught when the scrolling numbers were replaced by a name and two on-screen buttons, red and green. He reached over and pressed the green.

Hello, Chuck, he said.

PM. We have a problem.

How can I help?

We’re in the middle of heating repairs and we’ve run out of power. The people in the tower are freezing. Can we divert power from anywhere else until we finish?

The Peacemaker looked around his large office, full of light and heat. He sighed. You’ll have power shortly.

Thank y—

The Peacemaker pressed the red button, disconnecting Chuck mid-word.

Christopher.

Query? The voice was hollow, emotionless, with an edge of distortion, and echoed out of nowhere.

The Peacemaker looked out the window. A dozen recently built multistory monoliths stood to the south, gray and bleak, full of starving and freezing people. A few rooms glowed with the fires generated from refuse the inhabitants had salvaged from the streets and collapsing buildings. Heating ducting wound everywhere, but it was useless with so little power available.

Does any tower have more than five percent?

Negative, Christopher replied. Repairs to the Great Wall are consuming considerable resources.

We can’t let the people live without power, the Peacemaker whispered. They could get restless.

The citadel currently has twelve percent, Christopher reported. The ducting team will require a sacrifice of eight percent. You will only be able to run level-five systems until the team has completed the duties. Once back online, you will have ten percent remaining.

I need to prepare for the diminishing. Wind down the generators to shutdown.

The third generator is starting to fail. Efficiency has dropped to thirty-five percent. Recovery from shutdown will take two days. What is your command?

He knew it was pointless. The generators had been built by a genius, and no one else could comprehend how they operated, let alone fix any of the individually crafted pieces.

Has there been any information regarding Niels?

His location is still unknown.

It’s impossible for him to have reached the wall. He must be close. Display the last known footage of him prior to his escape. There must be a clue.

Displaying surveillance recording. Do you require any further assistance?

What I require is the Forty-niners to need me.

The Peacemaker stared at the small black-and-white images flashing across the display. A man was tinkering away on a long bench. Then he disappeared. The Peacemaker shook his head.

The probability of assistance with the current conditions is low, Christopher said.

The small flickering image dissolved. Then we’d better change the conditions. Play the clip, then power down.

The footage played …

He stood next to the great tropical plants. The bitter winter winds roared past the window, which were frosting in the cold air, and snow tumbled past in a blizzard. Acacia stood nearby, facing him, but staring at the ground.

‘I // love you," she said.

The glitch always bothered him, but he’d done his best to smooth it out. It was the lasting memory. It needed to be perfect.

The low hum diminished and spluttered into silence. The lights flickered and the room went dark, leaving the Peacemaker alone and staring into the bleakness outside.

4

FIRE ERUPTED FROM the ruined voidship. Sebastian leaped behind a heavy stone wall that defined the entrance to an ancient, official-looking building. The flames roared past him, and then died down until all that was left was the pinking of cooling metal.

He heard the sound of someone having a coughing fit, and a small metal sheet in the center of the street flew into the air and spun away.

Welcome to Earth, she said. Can you free me before we’re all killed?

A young woman, wild-eyed and dressed in a green uniform that was covered in grease and blood, lay on the ground. She was thin, had pale skin, and her long blond hair was pulled back into a ponytail. A huge steel girder lay next to her. Her arm appeared to be chained to it.

Sebastian rolled his head, trying to stop the world spinning like a top so he could focus on her voice. He blinked. Why are you handcuffed?

She indicated the bloodstain under the fallen girder. I was transferring a terrorist from the detention facility in Denver to the LA Metropolitan Detention Center. You haven’t heard about it?

Sebastian shook his head. The world was still spinning. He staggered toward her.

She gasped. I don’t think I’ve ever seen someone covered in so much blood and still be alive.

Sebastian wiped some of the blood off his face. He knelt down and examined her handcuffs. He looked at her, then at the surroundings. He had made it to the North America. The trauma of the voyage, and especially its conclusion, had numbed him. He was in a new country, with unknown enemies.

He decided it was probably a wise move to keep his tesla-ness quiet for the moment. Look over there, he croaked.

The girl looked in the direction he was pointing. When she looked back, the handcuffs were open. She rubbed her wrist and gave it a shake. She held her hand out to Sebastian.

Hi, I’m Memphis.

He looked at her hand, delirium filling his head with bizarre thoughts, and took it in his own. His mother Isabelle had always been specific about how he should treat a lady he was meeting for the first time. If he didn’t show the utmost respect, Isabelle would whack him over the head with one of her ancient romance novels, which always seemed to have a shirtless man on the cover kneeling in front of a skinny woman in frilly clothes.

He knelt down and kissed her hand. I’m honored to meet you, Memphis. He wondered if he should take off his shirt.

Um. Gosh. No one’s ever done that before.

I know that was a bit formal, but my mind hasn’t caught up yet with what’s happening.

They both stood up shakily. Memphis looked up into his eyes, watching him closely as he rose before her. He staggered backward and stretched his back. She noted that he was tall, his shoulders were broad, his strength was apparent, and he was young. He also had a massive sword strapped to his back. She stared at him. You’ll do, she thought.

He looked around at what was left of the street. Are you on your own? he asked.

I did have a security team, but you seem to have taken care of them. She looked down at her uniform. It was torn and ruined. She sighed. This is no good to me now. Help me find a replacement.

Sebastian looked around uncertainly. Where are you going to find clothes around here?

A woman in my security patrol was about the same size as me.

You want a dead person’s clothes?

She gave him a warm smile. You sure aren’t from around here. Welcome to the new age.

They searched through the rubble and dug out the bodies. Sebastian stacked them in a pile, thinking it was better than leaving them scattered. The crashed zeppelin had killed dozens of people, and his searches took him in ever widening circles. He wondered why so many people had been gathered together in one place.

He stood up to stretch his back and saw words scrawled on a nearby wall: The Church lies!

He caught sight of something familiar and dashed over to a pile of rubble. He heaved on a long beam and lifted up a large steel sheet. His steambike. He smiled as he exposed its sad shape. It was badly bent and buckled, but if he could get it to a metal works, he knew he could fix it. He wrestled it out of the wreckage and forced it forward. The front wheel was buckled and squeaked loudly as it rubbed against the shock absorber, which was also bent and was forcing the wheel to grind to a halt with every revolution.

He looked around. Memphis wasn’t nearby. He focused his mind.

As he felt the shape of the shock absorber, his head swirled with pain. He imagined the shock absorber back in the correct shape and snapped the electrons into the correct alignment. Something strange caught his attention as his mind focused on the electromagnetic state. A message? No, it felt more uncertain than that. An unwelcome word entered his mind: Warning. It dissolved into the general background hum.

He focused again and the shock absorber twisted back into shape. He pushed the bike toward Memphis and was pleased to see the rubbing was greatly reduced.

Memphis was standing beside a woman’s body. Oh, wow, you have wheels, she said.

Sort of. They’re not exactly round at the moment. He looked down at the unfortunate woman. Couldn’t you have found a way of covering her up?

The distant sound of artillery echoed between the buildings. Memphis looked down the long street. We’d better hurry. They’ll kill us if they find us here.

Who? Who will kill us?

The Chargers. The front line isn’t far from here.

Memphis unzipped her green uniform and let it fall to the ground. She stepped out of it wearing nothing except her underwear. Her thin body flexed as she reached down for the black-and-blue armor she’d taken from the female guard.

Sebastian spun around and stared intently at the wreckage of the vehicles across the street. They looked similar to the steam utility vehicles they’d driven at the Steam Academy.

You’re a shy one, Memphis said, laughing. She grunted as she tugged on the pieces of armor. When that ship crashed and you came flying out, how did you do that … thing?

What thing?

You sort of flashed on and off.

I’m a … I have some special abilities. I think it’s a survival reflex. I don’t know how I did it. It just sort of happens. But I’m beginning to understand it now.

"So you have abilities. Really?"

Still with his back to her, he said, Why? Have you heard of something like this before?

No. I was just pretending to be interested.

I saw on your shoulder … sorry, I couldn’t help … you’ve got something written there.

My tattoos?

What are they of?

The last thing my mother said to me. And the words her murderer used just before he killed her.

He turned around. Memphis stood in front of him wiping the dust and grit off the armor. She took several small black boxes from the fallen woman’s pack and stored them in pockets in the armor. She placed a pair of dark glasses over her eyes.

Can we get going on your wheels? she said.

He looked at his beloved bike and shook his head. It’s going to need a lot of work before we can ride it.

Shame. We’d better get going. I’m starving and it’ll be night soon.

I’ll just quickly hide the bike.

He felt a little hurt at her quickness to abandon his steambike, but he knew she wouldn’t understand the memories tied to it. He pushed it over to the entrance of one of the buildings that still had a door, and wheeled it inside. He did his best to conceal it, then raced back out to Memphis.

Shouldn’t you tell someone you’re okay? he said.

Tomorrow. We need to get out of here before the Chargers come. You don’t want them to catch you.

As though to emphasize the point, there was a sudden burst of firepower down the street. She tilted her head and her expression immediately turned to fear. There was a loud whistle and the wall beside them exploded, showering them in masonry.

Joshua Richards, Sebastian shouted. Isn’t anyone ever happy to see me?

Memphis gave him a quizzical glance at the odd phrase, reached out and grabbed Sebastian’s hand. Quick.

They sprinted away, with Memphis in the lead.

*

People stared out of the ruined buildings with timid, dark eyes, watching as the boy hid the strange vehicle, and the boy and girl left. They crept forward. They only had a few minutes to search through the debris for food or valuables before the Chargers arrived. They approached the crash zone.

From the top of the pile of metal and glass that had once been a graceful zeppelin, a few pieces slid off the wreckage and tumbled to the ground. A child pulled at her parent’s hand and pointed upward. The adult shooed the child away. More debris fell. One by one, the scavengers, wrapped in their dirty brown-and-green clothing, looked up uncertainly.

There was movement. A green creature slid down the metal sheets and jumped to the ground. It tore into the adults, dismembering them in seconds.

The child stepped back, her dirty face full of terror. The infected turned to face her. Green fluid dripped from its many cuts. The child wondered if it was an alien looking for a way home. She extended a finger. The creature stared at it, sniffing the air. It stepped up to her, looked into her eyes, and slashed out. In seconds, it had ripped the small girl apart.

The infected stopped and sniffed at the ground. It clawed frantically at the wreckage, throwing the metal debris over its shoulder with intense determination. It reached down for something, screamed, and lifted up another infected, which hung limply in its arms, dead. It sniffed its mate and let out a mournful howl, letting the other infected fall to the ground.

Two forward runners from the Chargers’ front line, wearing lightweight blue-and-white exosuits, rounded the corner. They saw the screaming scavengers in their rags for clothes, and the strange green creature that was carrying another green creature. The runners lifted their weapons and opened fire.

Rockets screamed down the street and exploded in the pile of debris. The runners jogged forward, tracking the green creature with their automatic weapons as it jumped around. A series of bullets shot through the arm of one of them. It yelped. The runners continued to fire, driving the creature back. As soon as their magazines emptied, they quickly reloaded and resumed firing. The creature hissed at them, turned, and disappeared into a building.

The street went quiet. Several other runners appeared, taking up tactical spots down the street. When they signaled that it was safe, a man appeared. Encased in a heavy exosuit that was half the size again of the runners’, and partially and badly painted in red, Q-backer Charlie Baxter, commander of the Chargers, stomped through the bedraggled group of survivors. His heavily scarred armor was covered in black streaks and burn marks.

Behind the man came two towering tanks, four stories high and raised up on long spider-like legs. Their mechanical movements were punctuated by immense gushes of steam as each leg moved forward.

The q-backer held up a hand and the tanks halted. He indicated the dead infected, and the runners cautiously approached. One prodded it.

Two men with the rank of linebacker appeared carrying a coffin-sized black box between them. They manhandled the green creature into it. There was a hiss, and the box was sealed and locked. They carried the box to the rear tank. A large claw descended from the base of the tank, clamped down on the coffin, and snatched it up inside the vehicle.

Secure the area and scare away the scavengers, Charlie said. Did you say there were others?

The soldier saluted. Yes, Q-backer. He placed a small black projection unit on the ground. A laser flickered up and an image appeared on the light screen. The video played, capturing Sebastian and Memphis as they glanced in the direction of the camera, then turned and fled.

Rewind to the start and zoom in on their faces, the q-backer said.

The linebacker waved over the screen and started the footage from the beginning. He paused it on Sebastian and Memphis, and zoomed in. Squares appeared around each of their faces.

Copy the faces and send them out to the force. The q-backer took a step closer and stared at Memphis. He poked a large mechanical finger through the image. And, who are you? he muttered.

There was a buzzing in the q-backer’s earpiece. He listened for a moment before saying, The Forty-ninth Division is pushing in from the north. He looked up at the darkening sky. The sky was clear and the temperature was dropping rapidly. Get the team back to base.

The tanks turned and the Chargers made their way back down the street. Dark eyes in the shadows watched them leave.

5

SEBASTIAN AND MEMPHIS made their way through the deserted streets. An occasional noise from the nearby buildings alerted Sebastian to the constant threat of an unknown and nearby presence. The night was rapidly approaching.

A long wailing sound erupted from sirens mounted high on the surrounding buildings.

Memphis pulled them up. We need to find somewhere to hide for the night, quickly.

Hide? Why?

They launch the drones at dusk.

She headed for the closest intact buildings, found a suitable one, and led Sebastian to the top floor and into a dark room. In the last rays of light, she found a lantern and set it glowing. They looked around. The room was well stocked with cans of food bearing faded labels, and containers of liquid.

A red velvet drape hung over a small window. Sebastian pulled it to one side and caught the last of the sun’s rays as they disappeared below the horizon, leaving a faint orange aura. Gazing out the window at the wreckage of the buildings below reminded him of his hometown in Australia after the cyborgs had destroyed most of it. He wondered if a destroyed house was still a home. Or was it the people that made it?

The cyborgs, those part humans, part machines, had combed the land ruthlessly looking for him, driven on by Iris, the merciless artificial intelligence that he had created in some way unknown to him.

In the bizarre recesses of what passed for Iris’s mind, it believed that everything it did was for the betterment of mankind because it was progress. Iris had ripped ordinary human beings apart as though they were nothing more than toys, and replaced body parts with improved versions: new arms and new legs. Not satisfied with improving otherwise sound people, Iris had disposed of the disabled in massive substructures that had turned them into mechanical dragons.

And the people of his homeland Australia had taken it because Iris’s rules rolled over them in such small increments that they hardly noticed what was happening. Bit by bit, technology had sapped their sentience until they had become little more than techno-zombies—slaves to the machine.

Then, Sebastian had come along. Ironically, if the cyborgs had left him alone, they would have survived. But, in finding him, they had