By Sergio Palumbo
Edited by Michele Dutcher
WORDLESSLY, RICHARD ADVANCED, assault rifle raised, moving ahead step by step, slowly. In the distance nothingness took form. A dry and barren plain stretched as far as his eyes could see. Above it, the dusty sky was pale grey, ruling over a place where nothing lived, and nothing could. Deserts like this had looked empty in the past, but this hadn’t meant they were uninhabited. During the middle of the day, when the sun was still high in the sky, animals sheltered from unbearably hot temperatures. But you might have seen animals around dusk and dawn, when they came out to look for food. There had been a few plants and shrubs on the surface, and more life-forms below the harsh ground. But not now, not anymore. That time had long gone.
Things had been very different at first, many years ago, when he and his family had been transported here, to this Earth in an alternate-reality. Damn those ancient stones in the woods, whatever had been activated unwillingly by them. In the morning they had woken up lying on the ground in a very different place, and time, from the world they knew that seemed to have gone forever.
A hopeless aridity that could never have resulted from a low average rainfall. The absence of life was the consequence of something else, much worse than the lack of rain. He couldn’t believe that deserts had once covered one-fifth of the planet’s surface. This had happened in ancient times, the few surviving people said, when only a few regions had been characterised by a severe lack of water. Today, every landmass looked like a desert and that thin sand kept spreading.
The devastation had left this Earth a wasteland of ashes and dust. Even in the colder northern lands there were few living creatures, small animals and insects that crossed the empty expanses when the pale sun shone through the heavy clouds, or under cover of darkness. But there were always huge things—tall alien structures—which moved on hundreds of wheels and enormous well-articulated legs, whose mechanical movements made them look almost alive, although there was no human on board, and never had been.
Humans had not built those enormous objects, and they were not at the service of the Earthlings. The few Earthlings of this Earth who still survived… Such ‘Walking Facilities’ looked like massive robotised platforms built with one specific purpose, with their own intelligence, that freely and continually roamed the world, to wherever the resources they sought were, whether fixed on the surface or hidden underground. Walking structures like those could even interconnect to form larger ‘walking factories’ when required, then disperse as soon as their concentrated power was no longer necessary.
Individual platforms were movable, meandering wherever their alien masters wanted or when unknown plans dictated. There was almost nowhere they were couldn’t go, or nothing they couldn’t get past, except tall mountains that such mechanisms could not climb. In such cases, other alien structures, specially built, worked there: mining, carefully searching and probing, digging and taking away metals along with valuable minerals from the top of the steepest and sharpest peaks.
According to limited first-hand reports, some of them could meet up around a larger treatment plant, linking to form larger and different structure, before segmenting or separating and returning to individual duties on the ground.
Clearly, as those mechanisms were fully robotic, there was no room on board for support personnel, nor food stores, or an assembling point or a recreation venue. All ‘Walking Facilities’ comprised several sections, each one composed of smaller units fixed to an immense hull containing engine rooms, storage hangars, and secondary platforms on different levels where excavated materials were refined and contained. There were also containers where captured vehicles and old human devices were dismantled.
There were no signs of roughness on their alien surfaces, as if the unknown high-density alloy they were made of didn’t suffer over the course of the time despite extreme weather. They never needed maintenance or re-painting. No wear and tear, oil leakage or smears. Other than that, there was neither rust nor patching. Also, the text and the unknown symbols that appeared on the long sides always seemed untouched and unalterable.
They resembled soulless mechanisms, uninterested in the ground around them, though they unceasingly changed and transformed it day by day, turning the whole scenery into something drier and more depressing. Through their unending work, the whole of that terrain would be ingested and swallowed, leaving behind only ashes, dust and lifeless corpuscles. The machines only left substances that lacked any useful resources that might be exploited by the residual Earthling population.
Behind the hard, sand-coloured surface of the wide face bar, fitted to give the wearer protection to the mouth and the head, he looked around in silence. There was not much Richard could say. Once his helmet had been a combination of three pieces: the top, the reinforced sides, and the visor. It was equipped with cameras to send images to his superiors, and headphones could transmit messages, but that time had long gone, as no high-ranking officers remained. There was no military anymore, and the few humans of this world—like him—equipped themselves with salvaged equipment, using it to fight for survival and protect their families.
Richard Trhaeln had been an experienced trooper in his twenties, at least on his Earth, and he remembered that, as a former soldier, he had turned what he had into weapons on many occasions.
He looked more like a leftover of a beaten infantry than a military fighter of old, especially in his battered outfit. The ear protectors of his helmet were more useful for defending his rare-to-find earpieces from wind-swept sand than for softening the noises that surrounded him. The reinforced chest armour was battle-worn. And his rifle, endowed with digital sights, sent data to no computer system or smartwatch-style device other than himself, given the small visual displays on its surface that, most times, were defective.
How deeply he regretted that such powerful aliens had come to Earth and defeated this version of Mankind when humans were unprepared. The armies of Earth had not been technologically prepared, nor capable of opposing their actions because of an ignorance of the newcomers’ weapon systems and also because of the human’s outdated missile/gun/military artillery: too slow, too old and of no use at all against the attackers.
Time was not on his side so he had to hurry. The visibility was good enough for him to continue his plan, although such conditions didn’t ensure that he would be successful. Too many variables and too many unknowns could go wrong or could turn out implausible, or plain deadly.
However, he had to go forward, and he had to go now!
So, Richard started worming his way across the sand, his rifle securely fastened on his back. And he moved, inch by inch, under the pale sun, heading for the huge alien mechanised object in the distance. Given the machine’s sluggish movements, if he was fast enough he would get to it before its activity was completed. He had to be certain not to miss that opportunity, as he might never have a chance like this one again.
Nineteen hours ago that robotised thing had collected the materials where it had stood, and Richard knew that it would only take another two to three hours before it had sucked up and stored everything in its side receptacles. In these containers objects were dismantled, refined and transformed into metal particles, new fuel, or energy to be stored elsewhere in the machine. This process happened constantly, according to what people knew. The humans of this Earth-like world knew little about the alien facilities, but enough for his plan.
If it was true, he had little time to do what he had on his mind. The plan he had devised to take back what was his wasn’t too complicated, but it required him to be quick though very cautious, very attentive and ready. What Richard knew about the mechanism should be enough for him to reach it, get onboard and find what he was looking for. If he was lucky… On the other hand, if the information proved to be incorrect, his attempt would be lethal—especially if he made mistakes or took a wrong turn.
Time passed slowly on the deserted plain over the next two hours, though the same couldn’t be said about the man’s thoughts—as every step brought him nearer and nearer, and the moment of truth drew close at hand. At a certain point, the noises from the hundreds of elevated wheels and enormous legs was almost overpowering. Those machines didn’t operate silently and their clamour didn’t need to be softened to make it easier for humans. Men’s needs weren’t considered, the same as men’s interests and well-being. Those machines operated as if Mankind didn’t matter at all. And they behaved as if they were the real masters of the planet. Which wasn’t far from reality.
Other than that, those constant mechanical movements made them almost look alive, though there was no living being on board, as nobody was ever meant to pilot them. So he had to pay attention once he got up there, because not a single robotised mechanism would stop or change its course because of a human in its way. It was the same way the windshield of a vehicle from a time gone by wouldn’t have changed direction to save the life of a bug that might hit its surface. When the time came, with beads of sweat dripping down his bald head, Richard readied the retractable grapnel and gave the shot that attached it to the lower surface of the lowest of the platforms of that huge machine. He saw that they were apparently not unlike the floors of a ship cutaway displayed to the viewer. Then, fastening his grapnel to the reinforced belt at his waist, so he wouldn’t fall to the ground thirty feet below him—in case he lost his grip later—he stood up and started climbing the tall leg he had reached.
The ascent was slow, bristly and difficult, requiring all of his strength while his muscles struggled and his body suffered because of the strain. But he made it, though he deeply wished he could stay and rest for a while when he reached his first destination. Unfortunately, he knew he couldn’t give himself that luxury.
Once he had put his all-terrain military reinforced waders on the metallic railing that delimited the first platform, his eyes grew wary. From that point on, everything, and he really meant everything, might be deadly to a human like him.
Richard allowed his powerful weapon to lead his sight as he moved on. He saw what looked like stairs shaped in such a way that he might easily climb, though he couldn’t ascertain what lay at their top.
Cautiously, though as quickly as possible, he reached the third platform after many challenges, looking around as soon as he put his feet on the floor. He was searching for the containers where the materials were stored before transformation.
He noticed a few small metal towers, huge turbine-like and generator-like workings, fully-robotised control systems and some empty spaces separating different sections whose use was unknown.
He found those long side containers without tops, like open settling tanks, bordering the huge machine he was on now. He didn’t waste time but ran to the nearest one. Inside many different things were half-hidden under the dust, many of them already fallen to pieces because of their long decay. A finely fabric chair that was vacant of course, some old dresses in the corner and a collection of glasses without anything to pour into them. This assortment harboured the remains of a civilization long gone, a polity of the humans like him, coming from a time when they still ruled over Earth. All of these were now artifacts of a time before this world of humans became theirs no longer, before it fell into the hands of others that had arrived here from space.
They were just dusty leftovers, no different from the cities whose silent streets now lay empty and abandoned, as there were not enough soldiers or armed civilians to reclaim them.
As he left behind him the first two long containers that, clearly, didn’t included what he was searching for, he approached the next two. He walked forward with his rifle still raised, searching the floor, which was made of a strange, unearthly alloy, for any sign of something either out of place, or simply dangerous. The level remained strangely still as the man stepped over it, not that he was expecting it to creak, but some hidden defensive contraptions might be activated by his presence and then he would be in serious trouble.
The second containers didn’t satisfy him and he started feeling dejected. At least, no danger was presently in sight. ‘This level is clear,’ he whispered to himself, before going on to access the platforms above this one, where other containers were situated.
The first one proved to be much more interesting. The stink he now encountered was disgusting, but he had expected that. There was no hope of finding delicious food smells down there… The entire storage area below, as far ahead as he could see, was a huge collection of rubbish, old supply cases, parts of run-down vehicles and worn-out clothes that hadn’t been washed for years. He recognised some things among all those objects, like the upper portion of a street-lamp he was sure he knew, or an old bike he had already seen, and this made him more hopeful. Then he saw something else.. ‘I found it!’ he said in a whisper. Now that he had, the problem was how he could retrieve it.
His equipment was made up of ropes, wires and grapnels much shorter than the one he had used while climbing the leg of the huge machine. There had to be something else. Then he reminded himself of the magnetic bar and he looked at the metallic label on the object, lying in the settling-tank. This might prove useful!
So he threw the rope down and whipped it around so that the magnetic bar reached the target. It took him some time, as sweat bathed his face and the thick hair on his arms, but he was able to latch onto the object and pull it up. He took the object and put it in his knapsack before running.
At another intersection he levelled his rifle at the spot where danger might appear. Some long moments, at least in his mind, went by until something happened. How he had wished that it would never occur, that the noises he had inadvertently made wouldn’t be noticed. But his baseless hopes were of no use now. The large shape turned the corner, and he saw its metallic surface.
The dark-almond moving machine wasn’t bipedal and didn’t look like any human who still lived on Earth, for sure. A doubtful Richard had previously wondered if such mechanisms had been built to reflect the real shape of their alien masters, or if they just appeared in that way to better attend the many duties they had been appointed to on these ‘Walking Facilities’.
Only its large arms seemed to have a wide range of movements, while the wide, triangular base left its posture absolutely straight. Some bulbs and areas on its surface were brilliantly illuminated, and became even more radiant as it drew nearer.
The man eyed it guardedly. The robotised mechanism moved towards him purposefully and didn’t stop, nor did it slow down. It didn’t matter to that machine that it was going to stumble into a living being and seriously harm or kill the man that stood on its path—after all it had been built and activated just for that bloody end. Its main duty was to keep the structures on that level clear of every obstacle that wasn’t supposed to be there, getting rid of it immediately.
It was only for a moment that Richard turned at once to his right, as if expecting to see a known face there, ready to comply with his gesture and follow him into battle. But doing so he remembered that looking for backup wouldn’t help him now. In times past, while in battle on his Earth, he would have found his new friend, David—a native of this alternate-world he had known for long—beside him fighting against such alien things.
Unfortunately, David had died five years ago, killed in action when he had tried to stop the advance of those unstoppable machines that were eating—in a very real sense—a small village. This was during the time when the military still believed that soldiers like them had a chance to win , and take back this world that once was theirs…
But long ago these Earthlings had figured out that they were making no headway by fighting a war they could never effectively win. It seemed foolish to stand around with their assault rifles or sit in the tanks and jets left from the old days—vehicles that did nothing against their enemies.
Such mistakes, like thinking he could have some cover from his dead friend or even relying on equipment of his that didn’t work anymore, might prove to be deadly to him, Richard considered, if he couldn’t keep focused. He was alone here, and no help or reinforcements would come. David was long gone, only present in his recollections of previous years, therefore he had to turn to his skills and his experience if he wanted to get out alive…
So he didn’t waste time and shot. The robotised mechanism was encased in a brilliant flash of blue-white fire, in a hopeful attempt by the human to cut it in half. However, the metallic surface that protected the machine didn’t let his weapon penetrate its surface. The almost alloy-orange surface of the machine just started glowing, as if it had become a little warmer, and that was all. Richard knew it might happen, there were only a few alien workings that could be pierced or destroyed by means of their old-fashioned energy firearms, and this wasn’t one of those. But this was all the outdated human technology of war was capable of doing…
He knew he had to recharge his weapon and try again, maybe a lucky shot from his gun would hit some secondary contraption somewhere that could slow the damn robotised mechanism down, at least for a while. But it was too late. It looked unstoppable, and its speed increased soon.
And its course continued, stumbling into him as if there was nothing before it except thin air. Such mechanisms were programmed that way: no need for them to fire back, all they had to do was get rid of any unwanted obstacle on their way, and nothing more. It was not much different from a cleaning appliance duly removing dust. Poor Richard was thrown back, over the railing, down to the platform he was previously on.
He fell, fell, fell, as if falling through unending space, yet partially borne up by invisible hands. The sensation of being sustained and protected suddenly ended as his back hit the metallic platform and everything went dark. Then the pain flowed throughout his body, bringing him back to reality. With a coarse cough, he got his lungs working again. Blood was still spurting out of the wounds on his legs. ‘Can I save myself?’ he asked. He stood up at once trying to be prepared for whatever he might have to face next.
There was no time to make use of his small half-empty medpack, no other means to diagnose the problems inside, no computerised system to check how deep his bruises were. He walked across the whole level; then, having almost reached the other side, he thought he might lose consciousness. But he couldn’t give up, not yet… freedom still lay three platforms down, and it would be not easy to get there in his present condition. What other way could he try?
From somewhere in the distance came a fearful clattering, other mechanisms like the one he had faced were approaching… Looking back at the new intersection he thought he’d better retreat, there was no way to survive another confrontation. It was the persistent, angry noise, bringing his attention back to his possible imminent death, which seemed to come from the incoming robotised machine—he could undoubtedly hear it—which made him start.
He knew this was probably the right time to use the small explosives he had as his last hope, but he had only two of them and he wasn’t sure they would make any difference. Something worse might occur to you when you made use of such things, and ending up wounded while the target remained almost completely unaffected wasn’t what he hoped for…
As he distanced himself, he searched for protection that could shield him, at least for a few moments. Then he saw another stair-like structures that might let him descend to a safer level below and he headed for it.
It was at that moment that he also heard the deafening noise of the hundreds of wheels and enormous well-articulated legs below his feet. Quickly, very quickly. ‘Damn, damn!’ he cried out. The thing was alive now, he had probably lost track of time and hadn’t noticed that he had dawdled for too long. He had to hurry up, the sooner he jumped, the better. If he had tried to get to the ground while the whole mechanical thing was moving at full speed, he would be seriously hurt or wounded.
Richard decided to make use of something he had, though he had never imagined he would turn to it for such a peculiar task. Maybe activating it in the middle of a fierce battle, or using it in order to save other humans would have been more appropriate. But this was it, and now was the time. Reaching for the controls at his belt, he activated the display and switched on the double-jetpack. He knew it was very old and that it hadn’t been properly maintained. How could it be different? No one built such things anymore, anywhere. Moreover, the fuel inside it might only be enough for a single use. If everything went well… But it was his last resource and nothing else could bring him down fast enough… except free jumping with no way of saving himself.
As the flames suddenly erupted, it lifted him up in spectacular fashion, the force waves throwing him off the metallic platform where he had been standing. He saw the warm sand becoming nearer and nearer as he approached the ground at a very high rate of speed. This was before the engines of the jetpack itself ceased operating, and he fell for the last fourteen feet, or maybe more. His back and legs felt the powerful blow as he hit the ground.
Standing up, having found that his arms and feet were still in one piece, he looked at the towering wheels inexorably approaching him. He started running, forcibly distancing himself from that place, because staying for a single minute more would mean certain death.
Only when he thought he had gone far enough and was safe did he stop. His laughter lurked in his helmet like a deafening noise in a small closed box. He had made it, he had escaped alive!
Drawing a breath and feeling the great tiredness pervading his body, he forced himself to open his knapsack and take out the important object he had retrieved from the settling-tank on that huge alien machine. He removed his damaged gloves, and touched the object gently.
Its softness of feel made him remember why it was called ‘plush’. Certainly, it looked dirty and its surface, sewn from a fur-like textile, was worn-out and damaged, but what was left was clearly a soft toy that resembled a grey-coated dog. The important thing was that it was his son’s. Once there had been many handcrafted objects like that, made in many different forms and sold everywhere, in the shape of other animals, legendary creatures or movie characters, used as comfort objects, for display or collecting, and given as gifts. On his Earth his family might have bought them in stores. Today nobody who made them, not on this alternate world.
The super-soft small plush German shepherd had once been premium quality with realistic features, colourful fur and airbrushed details, approximately seven inches high, and suitable for all ages. There had been malls whose main windows were full of such gifts, though they had become a rarity when shops started disappearing along with industries, men and children in every country of the planet following the coming of the powerful and almost indestructible alien machines.
Although the toy was normal-sized, no larger than the man’s hand and much fluffier than he remembered, Richard knew his son was very attached to it. A sense of desperation had filled him when the boy discovered it had been lost, possibly ending up with other trash, personal belongings and various things left behind while trying to escape those huge ‘Walking Facilities’ that had come to their territory, along with the complete destruction they brought.
Though it was dirty and damaged, it was his seven-year-old son’s only plush and he didn’t want anything else. And, as Richard’s boy was very ill and would probably not live much longer, he deserved to have it at his side, to play with it again until his last day on this devastated Earth. When Richard’s wife went, too, years ago, he knew he had to look at his best after his son, and please his needs, as he had nobody else in his family here…
Looking at the furry object, and considering his wounds and the tiredness he still felt inside, Richard thought about the dangers he had faced, and how he might have met a cruel death today. But the result of his daring lay in his hands now, ready to be delivered to his son. Blood, sweat and pain: he had undergone all of that, and had barely survived the insidious levels of that alien robotised mechanism. Luck had also played its part. But the toy he held was one of the few objects that made him still feel human.
He was going to give it to his son as soon as he was back in the caves they inhabited, and he had to live long enough to bring it home. Richard could not be certain that his boy would still be alive by the time he got back, but this could also be said about him.
He only regretted that he had but one life to give for his son…
