Technotronic City

By Bill Goodrich

An insidious alien entity has invaded earth, toppling all governments, intertwining with the planets geological and ecological infrastructure. Humanity has been reduced to ragtag pockets of survivors huddling amongst the rubble. The super advanced research think tank COLAR must step up to the plate and convert to a military industrial complex as the last bastion of global defense.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Bill Goodrich
• Release date: Aug 31, 2020
• ISBN: 9781005522957

Bill Goodrich

Bill Goodrich is a United States Army veteran, and a long time personal trainer. A lifelong consumer of science fiction, and fantasy, in all of its forms, he finally jumped off the procrastination train, and wrote his first book. The aspiration here is one of igniting future imaginations of readers, just as earlier works had inspired him.The fun is in creating original characters, worlds, and situations, and hoping they become iconic.

Book preview

Chapter One

TECHNOTRONIC CITY

Dristan calculated the proposed square mileage for the new development, while simultaneously crunching the conversion equations for the available Duramaton and the much rarer supplies of Impervion. He programmed the four constructomechs to begin laying the precise interlocking of Duramaton plates as the foundation for the as yet most ambitious project of the post Emoto Wave Symbiote invasion. The Sahara Desert was an ideal location due to the flat land and intense sunlight. The first city constructed by COLAR was Consolidination in the Mojave Desert. While it was a monumental achievement, it’s development was a hasty response to the extreme conditions presented by the alien entity and inherent flaws are evident when reviewed by a practiced eye. Dristan had an affinity for mathematics and engineering that rivaled the Logistician himself. He suspected his subordinates tolerated him only on the basis of his towering intellect. He had never really connected well with those of average intelligence and though he was careful to never deliberately berate them, he feared he was projecting arrogance when frustration manifested in an ill chosen comment from time to time. He would have to talk to Doctor Agesmith about this.

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Here are the additional supply lists you wanted Mr. Dristan, said Harry Drumpis, the construction foreman. Harry was always congenial enough but Dristan sensed the middle-aged man chafed at taking orders from a twenty two year old.

Thank you Harry. Dristan struggled to make small talk but made an attempt. How are your wife and children?

All dead Mr. Dristan. Killed by the space monster. Harrys face distorted to a frown and his fists clenched. Dristan cursed himself silently for not checking the personnel files before blindly parroting a pleasantry he once heard from other people.

I’m terribly sorry Harry. I should have remembered that. My condolences.

I got to get back to work Mr. Dristan. Harry walked swiftly away toward the crowd of several hundred laborers like himself, probably with a less than flattering estimation of Dristan as a person. Well there was naught to be gained in self-recrimination. He was due for a conference call with the great vessels and Consolidination. He sought the shaded comfort of the white reflective porta-shelter he used to coordinate in the field. This was his first off vessel project for COLAR and despite his enormous intellect there remained a vestige of human apprehension in him. He needed the approval of his peers as well as the Logistician who really had no peers.

Brick Sullivan appeared first on the monitor. Brick was the undisputed leader and coordinator, as well as the construction chief for Consolidination. His achievements during the invasion were firmly emblazoned in gold in the archives of COLAR. Hey Dristan. Buzzer Three is bringing in those pressure plates and circuits you requested. Myself and the Wizards Three were amazed at your plans.

Thank you Mr. Sullivan. Dristan paused, not quite sure of his next words. Mr. Sullivan can I ask you something?

Sure Kid.

Do I come across as arrogant?

To be honest Kid, yeah. Sometimes. Not entirely your fault though. Talk to the Logistician, and you should get the same sense from him. Oops, gotta go. Duty calls.

The COLAR net was the only existing telecommunication system now working on Earth. Dristan knew the technological advancement of COLAR to be hundreds of years ahead of the now defunct conventional level achieved by the previous society. The world was no longer viewed as provincial domain, now perceived and measured by grid coordinates. Archival sectors of COLAR would preserve for posterity the history of the old world while constructing the new age of technocracy. The ecological damage wrought by the Emoto Wave Symbiote was extensive. The island of Harborage spearheaded efforts to repair that damage. Dristan now spoke to his fellow prodigy Egbert who headed the resources on Harborage.

Egbert was the poster child for nerd as the running gag throughout COLAR stated. Egbert himself was the first to point that out. Short black hair sat atop a pale, acne scarred face. Thick coke bottle glasses, a pocket protector, and bucktoothed smile completed the ensemble. This only served as further conundrum as to how the stunningly gorgeous blond beach goddess Carly was his absolutely devoted girlfriend. Dristan wished he knew his secret.

All goes well on Harborage, said Egbert. The Duramaton walls are no longer necessary now that the entity is defeated Dristan. We can re-purpose them elsewhere if you need the raw material.

I had not thought of that Egbert. Now that you mention it we can use it for building Technotronic City. Do you have enough technicians there?

I have twenty five technicians and three automatons. We’re fine here.

Hi Dristan, said Carly smiling from behind Egbert. You should visit us sometime now that we aren’t dodging tentacles." Carly radiated optimism, a fact not unappreciated by Dristan. Egberts incredible fortune filled him with hope that someday he would find someone like Carly, although he could not fathom how. He smiled and waved, saying he would visit soon.

Doctor Dreck was a hydrocephalic dwarf with six PHDs and ten eyes, a mutant. Dristan always thought it a double edged sword. Super intellect trapped in a horribly disfigured body. If it bothered Dreck in the slightest, he never let it show. He was all business, all of the time, but optimistically so.

The Cliché Saucer is at one hundred percent, said Dreck. We are currently attempting to repair the Clevis fault with three rotobores and a tractor beam. Tricky work but possible. We have no current needs but we also cannot spare any resources as this project has become all consuming.

Hi Dristan, said Miss Argo, the buxom brunette in charge of COLAR human resources. Hope to see you soon.

Dristan had formerly served as an engineer on the Saucer. He had many fond memories of admiring Miss Argo from afar. The technicians used to urge him to talk to her but he considered her too out of his league. Dristan lapsed into one of those memories but was abruptly brought back to reality as the cybernetically enhanced visage of the Logistician himself.

Mister Dristan I need the quadratic equations of the projected impact drills. I am on the verge of an innovative new process to develop additional Impervion. Your equations are an hour overdue. Explain.

Sorry Sir. I had multiple concerns. Projections being sent now. Dristan was properly chagrined. It was the first time in his COLAR career that he was late with anything. He knew his mind was drifting of late but he could not admit that to the Logistician.

Received Mister Dristan. If you need additional resources inform me.

Dristan decided to delay his often thought about psychological exam with Doctor Agesmith in favor of some hands on contributions to Technotronic City. He headed to the electronics cubicle and immersed himself in the intricate task of building the autonomic situational CPUs. The laborers were well stocked with construction experts and his architectural designs were easy enough to follow. The Constructomechs would handle the big sections of armor plating, while the rest was simply placement of junction boxes, relays, pipes, spot welding, and painting. The four mechanical defenders were Dristans domain alone. He would be the one to put the finishing touches on them. He spent two uninterrupted hours on the CPUs. He double checked his work then proceeded to the enormous cargo tent. Inside he felt a wave of awe wash through him as he viewed his mechanical creations.

ARGUS or Autonomous Reticulated Giant Uber Serpent was a fifty foot long blue and white robotic snake with glowing green ocular sensors for eyes. Even with the bulk of its body coiled, the head rose a towering thirty feet in the air, almost touching the top of the tent. The sensors were also twin plasma cannons capable of vaporizing a tank.

AVAM or Armored Vulture Attack Mechanism was a great golden roc, a twenty foot tall flying war machine with retractable chain guns.

BIC or Bipedal Insectoid Cyclopean was a twelve foot tall, four armed fighting machine with a retractable mandible capable of ejecting highly corrosive acid. Each arm wielded a heavy metal club.

EQWOR or Equine Weapon Of War was a large black horse with blue ocular sensors. Powerful flame throwers emitted through the nostrils, while blows from the thundering hooves could crush armored vehicles.

Dristan installed the custom crafted CPUs in all four of the mechanized defenders, then activated them to position themselves at all four corners of the foundation that would be Technotronic City.

The giant machines elicited gasps from the huddled workers since no one was allowed in the tent other than Dristan. He had long since procured the approval of the Logistician during the invasion itself. Though never used against the Emoto Wave Symbiote they would serve as protectors of this city, as well as an assurance of COLAR superiority over the still at large Red Church fanatics.

Harry Drumpis let out a long slow whistle as he stood beside Dristan. Wow. So that’s what was in that giant tent. You built those all by yourself Mister Dristan?

Dristan saw the look of astonishment on Harrys face and used this as an opportunity to gain favor with his workers. I could never have built them if I didn’t have all of you doing the hard part of building the components of the city.

Happy to do it Mister Dristan. Harry looked up at the machines. I guess the Logistician ain’t the only bonafide genius in COLAR. If we had those against the alien we would’ve won even sooner. Do you have any more surprises waiting?

A few. Tell me Harry, is there anything you and your crew need that I can get? We are all a team after all.

I can’t think of anything right now Mister Dristan but I’ll let you know when I talk to the guys. Harry turned to go but stopped. Ya know Mister Dristan? You’re pretty cool.

Dristan smiled. So are you Harry. So are you.

Sgt. Mantek quickly assessed the situation. A twenty two person pocket community attempted to establish a small farm on a relatively unspoiled plot of land. From the little intel he had managed to gather from his fringe recon position, they were mostly strangers who had lost everything in the wake of the Emoto Wave Symbiote and decided to band together in a small valley in what used to be Southern California. They were quickly overpowered by the five hundred Red Church fanatics. The little settlement consisted of four wooden buildings, shacks really, an old tractor, a wagon full of tools, and a stash of canned goods and potable water. They were now all tied to stakes on the far side of what they had attempted to call home. They were forced to kneel by the way they were fastened to the stakes. The Red Church disciples formed a ring around them, chanting in the arcane language Mantek knew was in homage to the defeated entity.

We don’t dare wait any longer, he said to his field team. We’re outnumbered five hundred to four though. He grinned at the predicted response.

A multitude of sheep can fall prey to four hungry wolves, said Grandmaster Chaven Fow. Chaven was barely five feet tall, eighty eight years old and seemed little more than a silver haired head emerging from the collars of a white kimono. Mantek had witnessed many gangs of thugs who made the mistake of dismissing him as harmless. Today was no exception as the ancient master moved at a speed faster than any human eye could follow. He was a human chainsaw as he kicked, chopped, and choked the first ten fanatics in thirty seconds.

Way to go Pops, said STRAK 10, the superhuman powerhouse who casually used one fanatic as a club to beat his fellows. Tiring of this he simply punched and hurled fanatics to their death. Fifty of the faithful were dead in two minutes and the wild man was just getting warmed up.

Mantek joined the party, wading into the assembled with his m-Tech knife, slitting throats and disemboweling as if it were another day at the office. He was really getting into it after his twentieth kill but a loud thunderclap and chorus of screams signaled the beginning of the end to this mission.

Fourplex was a dapper little man in a blue Armani suit, highly polished Italian shoes, and an English Derby cap. Enormous arcs of electricity vaporized all but two of the disciples as energy crackled from the little mans hands. One of the two swung a steel pipe directly at Fourplex. The pipe impacted with virtually no effect. His forcefield was impenetrable as usual. The disciple dropped to his knees and begged for mercy.

Fourplex generated a powerful electrical arc that flowed between his hands. Tell me repugnant one. Would it be merciful if I place your head in this arc?

Please spare me.

STRAK 10 raised the man in the air with one arm as he gripped him by the neck. All it would take is a flick of my wrist if you’d rather die of a broken neck.

Grandmaster Fow came forward, kicking the second disciple ahead of him as if he were a soccer ball. Evil ones we come not to barter with you but to exterminate you.

Mantek grabbed the second disciple. The only chance you have is to spill the location of your main hoard. Mantek waved his knife in the mans face. Of course I have to resist a really powerful urge to make sure you never reproduce.

Fear was perhaps the ultimate oral lubricant.

Edison made his rounds on the Omnitube to ensure the efficacy of routine functions and ongoing research. The Logistician had sequestered himself in his private chambers for three days now with strict orders to not be disturbed except for the direst of emergencies. Edison suspected some huge revelation concerning the state of the post invasion world but kept his speculations private. Everyone in COLAR trusted the Logistician to steer society in the right direction. Edison amended that thought to omit the masses from that provision. The Great Vessels were staffed by highly trained scientific specialists and as such respected the unprecedented intellect of the Logistician. The thousands of survivors however had balked every inch of the way at many of his stipulations. Edison attributed this not only to the trauma of the world shattering events, but also to the relatively low educational levels of those rescued. Granted there were some very talented individuals to be sure. The Wizards Three came to mind, but to cull a mere two hundred useful artisans and laborers from a survival population of six thousand seemed to Edison a highly disproportionate figure. He sighed. It was what it was. He visited the physics lab first.

Throckmorton was a twelve-year-old prodigy who had worked under Edison since he was eight years old. He was currently engaged in improving the force field technology Edison had developed.

Edison, I’ve doubled a level ten field with fifteen percent less ignition kinetics. This manifests in seventy-five percent increase in coefficient of restitution of any projectile. The expression clearly promises the same in directed energy assaults if my extrapolations are correct. Throckmorton was more of a poster boy for nerd than Edison, Myron, and even Egbert. His genius promised to someday rival that of the Logistician.

I’m certain your extrapolations are on the money Throckmorton. How is our Impervion production coming along?

I’ve doubled the original yield by super compressing Duramaton utilizing a dedicated tractor beam application. The mechanical method seemed too crude so I calculated prudent expenditure from the Fusion core. These figures reflect a peace time expenditure. I have yet to calculate a yield during a conflict scenario, though I suspect less than a seven percent deviance.

Are you sure you’re only twelve, not a three hundred year old midget?

I’ll double check my data and…. Oh, humor. Sorry sir.

Throckmorton I only wish I had a hundred more like you. You have vastly improved every project I’ve assigned you to. Do you require any additional resources?

Perhaps more raw material for my transmutation research. Throckmorton announced this as if he were ordering lunch.

Even the Logistician has been stumped on that one Throckmorton so don’t get your hopes up.

The main shortcoming has been one of proper imaging at the atomic level. My optical replicators have solved that problem. Furthermore gravimetric manipulation techniques utilizing our existing tractor beams have opened new doors in this area. Transmutation of elements is a simple matter of rearranging, compressing, or lengthening molecular bonds. Not very challenging once you can see what you’re doing.

Really? Edison felt a slight shiver run down his spine. He began to wonder just how smart Throckmorton really was. The thought frightened him a bit, giving him pause. Was this how the masses viewed COLAR as a whole? Edison felt this a matter best discussed with Doctor Agesmith.

The Logistician studied the global grid, always computing overlapping events to extrapolate probable outcomes. In the wake of the defeat of the Emoto Wave Symbiote he noticed a trend proliferating at an alarming rate. Admittedly he had been deficient in his broad sociological outlook. He usually deferred matters of psychology and sociology to Doctor Agesmith and Sylvia Washington, along with Doctor Grad. He devoted the bulk of his attention to physics, chemistry, electro mechanical engineering, and biology. As he studied the ever shifting screens depicting all areas of the globe provided by COLAR satellites and drones, the sheer devastation the alien entity inflicted on the planet was not lost upon him. The vast ecological damage was being surveyed by thousands of subterranean drones. Egbert and his team at Harborage would spearhead the work ahead. The trend that disturbed the Logistician was the multitude of random communities that had formed by emerging pockets of survivors, more often than not led by opportunistic individuals whose motives were far short of altruistic. He needed a conference call with Agesmith and Dreck.

This is hardly my field, said Doctor Dreck. I would agree however that the proliferation of these pop up towns could compromise the Technocracy we seek to build.

This is exactly my field, said Agesmith. In the aftermath as devastating as global societal collapse people turn to charismatic individuals who promise to make things better. History is riddled with examples. Unfortunately the leaders are often motivated by the basest of human emotion. Greed, lust, fear, hatred. Those who achieve power tend to stay in power by imposing unreasonable regulations designed to keep the masses from aspiring to higher levels in the existing food chain if you will.

If I did not know better Thaddeus, I would take that as an assessment of my own leadership style.

Not intended as such, but there is a growing movement in Consolidination that alleges you being the mastermind causing the invasion as a segue to building the technocracy. Sylvia Washington has been keeping close tabs on this. Agesmith lowered his glasses to the bridge of his nose, fixing his gaze on the Logistician.Yes, I am well aware of the resentment to my programs. My strict adherence to the controlled procreation regulations seems to be the main concern. My reasoning is twofold. We need to increase our supplies and living spaces to be sure. What I am more concerned with is breeding specifically designed for optimal yield of desirable biological traits, not to mention the virtual elimination of genetic disorders. Unfortunately the vast majority of the citizenry in the Dodecahedron are shockingly deficient in both formal education and the innate ability to coordinate data from multiple components.

Such a statement would hardly endear you to the masses, said Dreck, if they understood it in the first place. Dreck grinned a ghastly smile in his mutated face. The Logistician himself allowed himself to chuckle.

A perfect example of intellectual snobbery, said Agesmith. I think this is something all of us, and I include myself should constantly check.

Perhaps, to a degree, said Dreck. Remember that it was precisely our intellectual prowess that defeated the entity, thus allowing the survivors to grumble and place blame.

My sentiments exactly, said the Logistician. Children cannot possibly be expected to navigate their path in such an unknown world. They need to trust the wisdom of the scientists of COLAR.

Our tasks are already monumental in scope, said Dreck.

They are indeed, said Agesmith. We need to be ever cognizant for dangers on all levels.

The Logistician chose that moment to flood the screens of all involved with scenes of the red mist inhabiting a canyon in grid thirteen. The mist was a thick, impenetrable mass of a substance not lending itself to analysis. It seemed unaffected by wind currents, movement occurring by some as yet unknown means.

I have known of this for three hours, said the Logistician. I have dispatched drones which were not able to discern the precise nature of this phenomena. I am inclined to believe it a manifestation of the Emoto Wave Symbiote.

How can that be? We defeated it, said Agesmith.

There is much about the entity that we still do not know, offered Dreck. Perhaps this is some psychic manifestation of its essence.

There are no detectable pocket communities within a fifty mile radius of the Red Mist, said the logistician. The inability to scan this effect has automatically raised red flags in my view. I am declaring this area off limits to all COLAR operatives.

Perhaps the field team can be dispatched, said Agesmith.

I fear that we are overly reliant on our two most powerful operatives. This is one occasion upon which I counsel extreme caution. I am dispatching four Destructors to maintain a vigilance from a safe distance.

Within minutes four blue cylinders, twenty feet in length hovered one hundred feet over the Valley of Red Mist. The Destructors were all armed with plasma beams and protected by the Logisticians patented force field technology. It was the safest possible choice for vigilance.

The Destructors have analytic sensors of the same quality as the drones. The autonomous mode will enable them to strike if any hostilities result.

Perhaps the Enigmatic and Moonbeam can provide answers, said Agesmith.

I have already informed them, said the Logistician. They are discussing it between themselves and will inform me of any hypothesis.

There have been numerous reports of clandestine meetings of non-registered survivors, said Agesmith. I can only conclude them to be the Red Church fanatics.

Yes, I too have received multiple reports of these same meetings from our world patrolling drones. I must concur with Doctor Agesmith, said Dreck.

Sylvia Washington of the Social Dynamics Center of Consolidination has kept me informed of the growing belief of the entities resurrection, said the logistician. I believe there is sufficient evidence to suggest some truth to these sentiments. This is a matter of highest priority. Keep a dedicated monitor on the Valley of Red Mist at all times. If anything deviates we need to be forewarned.

Chapter Two

FARM DEFENSE

Griff Braxton knew evil when he saw it. The scornful face of Matron Beulah could have been the image next to the word when looked up in the dictionary. She was backed by at least thirty red robed devotees of the Red Church. Griff had never backed down from any threat. Today would be no different.

We demand you join our holy crusade. Your land too shall be ours.

Griff pointed a thumb over his shoulder. I reckon they might have a difference of opinion. Behind him was the entire Braxton clan armed with rifles, shotguns, and the two plasma blasters given to them by Doctor Agesmith during the invasion. I figure your best option is to back on offa my property and never darken my door again.

You pathetic old fool. You are tainted with the blasphemy of the evil in the sky. She gestured, prompting the thirty faithful to storm the clan.

Biff Braxton picked off the first three with a high powered rifle, giving pause to the rest of the robed figures.

Take them, screamed Beulah. "You are the righteous.

Dud Braxton disintegrated the first two to move using the plasma blaster. This elicited screams from the faithful who already feared COLAR technology as evil wizardry. The faithful retreated into the Woodline, leaving Matron Beulah to bellow threats.

I curse thee. Know you this. That which you cherish most shall wither and die. Beulah retreated with her fellows.

Go haunt a house, yelled Clay Braxton, the middle son. The rest of them whooped and hollered in victory.

I reckon we ain’t seen the last of them varmints, said Griff. We’d best get that fence built around this property Boys. My great grandpappy claimed this here land and fought off all comers. We Braxtons don’t cave to nobody.

Them Red Church kooks are nuthin’ compared to giant brutes and tentacles, said Dud.

Don’t forget them big nasty clouds, said Biff.

I ain’t forgettin’ nuthin’, said Griff. Now get movin’, The rest of this day all I wanta see is assholes and elbows. Don’t forget. I want concertina wire along the top of every inch of that fence. Ain’t nobody and nuthin’ getting in here less’n I say so. Now move."

Biff, Clay, and Dud grabbed their tools and got to post hole pounding, link attaching, and razor wire emplacements. They were good boys, hard workers like he raised them to be. The girls got to their chores too but Cinnamon looked like something was on her mind.

What’s troublin’ you Gal? I know that look. Same one your Maw had when somethin’ was amiss.

I was just thinking Paw. There ain’t no towns or cities near us no more. We’re pretty stranded out here. Cinny was a beautiful blond woman now at twenty two, but still one of his little girls.

Don’t you fret none Girly. We ain’t never alone as long as we got family around us. Griff suspected what was really wrong but delayed it as long as possible.

I know Paw. That’s not what I mean. Cinny looked down at the ground and sighed. There ain’t no fellas around for me, Brandi, and Lori.

Heck Fire Gal, I hear tell there’s over six thousand people in Consolidination. We can visit there as soon as we get the farm took care of. Plenty of young bucks there.

Cinny smiled. That’d be great Paw. Before Griff could answer, Granny Gertie came out on the patio looking worried as a hound without a bone.

Griff we got us a problem. Lori’s burnin’ up with the fever. I been puttin’ cold rags on her head but ain’t nuthin’ workin’. We’d best call Doctor Grad.

Griff ran into the house where Lori was laying in bed. He saw the sweat soaked bedsheets and his youngest daughter moaning in agony. Tarnation Granny, when did this start?

Just fifteen minutes ago. We were baking cookies and she felt faint. I thought it was the vapors so I got her to bed.

Griff grit his teeth and raced for the COLAR radio he had been given for emergencies. Well, this sure qualified. Doc Agesmith, we got us a really sick young’un’ and we need help. Can you get Doctor Grad here ASAP?

Mr. Braxton, I have Doctor Grad on the radio. State the symptoms.

Doc Grad, it’s Lori. She’s burnin’ up with fever. Came on real sudden like. We need you down here lickety split.

I am stepping into a Buzzer now. I am told we will arrive in twenty minutes. Keep applying cold rags, even ice. Keep other family members away from her. Obviously you and Granny have already touched her, so stay away from the others. I am bringing a Paramechnic Three Thousand.

Doctor Grad arrived wearing a full hazmat suit, accompanied by the tank treaded red cylinder that had performed so many medical miracles. Griff and Granny led them into Loris bedroom. The girl was pale and listless.

Kin you help her Doc? Griff held his cap to his overall covered chest.

The Paramechnic Three Thousand will perform a complete scan. I may not be in love with these things, but they’re thousands of times faster than I am. While it’s scanning suppose you tell me about events leading up to her illness.

We were all fine, gettin’ set to build our perimeter fence when these Red Church yahoos got in our faces. We had to blast a few they were so bent on takin’ our land. We scared ‘em off and then Lori took sick.

Was there any physical contact?

No. Matron Beulah screamed a curse at us then left.

Well I normally wouldn’t believe in curses but considering all the strange crap we’ve been through I wouldn’t rule it out. The machine turned to render its diagnoses.

Patient is semi-comatose, temperature one hundred and eight. Thermo abatement initiated with cryogenic field. Temperature lowered to ninety eight point six. Peculiar degeneration of endoplasmic reticulum decelerated by ninety seven percent. Nullex injection pending Doctor Grad approval.

Inject you tin quack. Griff knew that Doctor Grad delighted in quarreling with the machines.

The Paramechnic extended a multi articulated tendril with twelve extremely dexterous digits. Twenty CCs of Nullex was injected into Lori.

Nullex is a derivative from the blood of STRAK 10. I’m sure you remember him.

Sure do. Boy whupped ten of them red brutes, beat all of my boys in arm wrasslin’, bent a steel bar for Rory, and left all my girls in a love sick tizzy. Tarnation, he was a doozy.

He still is. Doctor Grad rolled her eyes. His natural immunity to virtually everything is what makes Nullex work. It is a one thirtieth potency of his antibodies, more than enough to cure Lori. Any less of a dilution would kill a normal human.

Patient vitals are now one hundred percent optimal, announced the medical robot.

She’ll be fine now, but I want your entire family checked out to be on the safe side.

Chapter Three

NEW ATHENS

Sgt. Mantek scrutinized the enormous arena in the distance. Someone had gone to great lengths to construct what looked like a fairly accurate replica of the Roman Empire. Pillars of marble dominated the style. The tiered stadium seats could accommodate thousands. Beyond the arena were dozens of marble constructed buildings. Mantek felt as if Julius Caesar himself would pop out and greet them.

Our intel was on the money, said Mantek. I wouldn’t have believed this possible without modern technology. Thousands of laborers must have built this. It’s incredible.

Our point of contact is a woman named Cassandra, said Optidude. She used a COLAR radio and said she was in hiding.

I sense the evil of a great oppression here, said Grandmaster Fow. I urge caution.

Hey Pops, said STRAK 10. There’s nothing to worry about with me along. STRAK flexed his massive biceps and flashed a Hollywood smile. We got this.

Witless Lout. Have my teachings of the last seven years not penetrated your concrete scull? Danger can present from the most unexpected sources.

Sorry Grandmaster. It’s just hard to be warry when you’re me. I mean wow. Just look at me.

How Bohemian, said Fourplex, the Armani suited, Derby hat wearing little dandy that could electrocute a platoon of Marines with a gesture. You need to heed the teachings of the Grandmaster lest your urges continue to be our greatest Bain.

Come on Plex, it was you and I that put the alien monster out of commission. I mean you’re almost as awesome as me.

Before anyone could deliver a snappy retort, a meek voice was heard, and a young woman revealed her presence from behind a massive pillar. You must be from COLAR. I’m the one who called you.

STRAK 10 was the first to greet her. Hey, Babe, your troubles are over. Check out these guns. STRAK did a double biceps pose. Wait ‘till you see the abs. You could grate cheese on them.

Take a cold shower Romeo, said Mantek. Sgt. Mantek and crew from COLAR. I assume you’re Cassandra?

Yes. Thank God you’ve come. There are three hundred people enslaved here by the Emperor Theramin. There are executions, torture, gladiatorial battles, and concubine dens here. He commands an army of six thousand who believe him to be a god. You must help us.

How did he build all of this? Mantek Asked.

It’s like I said. The people believe he is a god. Six thousand people can do a lot in a year. Most of us watched, huddled as the great vessels flew over us, ignoring, or uncaring of our plight. My father smuggled this radio to me the day before he was slaughtered in the arena. He pleaded through this thing for weeks but got no answer.

Optidude, ever the humanitarian was the first, and perhaps best suited to respond. "We are truly sorry for our late response Cassandra. I know this will sound lame