JUKA SERIAL
Part 4: Exodus

II.

The disabled Behemoth navigated among a flock of spinning propellers on the underside of the citadel, then floated quietly through a giant hatchway. The din of the storm was replaced by the melancholy hum of the city's machines. Inside, the Behemoth drifted up a tall, metal-plated shaft clogged with dense shadows and wafts of greasy mist. At the top, more than a hundred feet into the citadel, it veered through a side tunnel.

The other end of the short passage opened into a vast chamber. The room resembled nothing so much as an enormous stable, with huge rectangular stalls for the deployed Behemoths. Maintenance equipment outfitted each stall -- ship chains and pulleys, a blazing forge, a crane powered by colossal gears. At the distant end of the room lurked a sixth metal giant, half-assembled, attended by a swarm of workmen and hovering drones. Their hammering echoed through the huge chamber like a distant battle.

Kumar felt a tide of adrenaline rising in his chest. Around him the rebels performed various rituals to loosen their tense muscles. He joined them, stretching for a few minutes, until the beast they rode found the moorings in its stall. Loud clangs shook the Behemoth.

"My team, into the gyrofoils." Kumar directed soldiers with hasty motions.

Obden descended on the ladder from the room above. Turlogan darted beside the grey-haired engineer. "Is it time for me to slay my first Behemoth?"

Her scowl was dark. "Don't waste your strength. This one won't threaten us again."

"You already killed it." His face drooped.

She nodded. "I had to work out which tubes were pumping it healing fluids. Otherwise it would never have died. Do you realize this thing might be a hundred years old?"

Kumar waved to her from several yards away. "Tremendous work, Obden! Your plan was dead on. We got here without a bump."

"The trick was to blind it enough that it left the battle, but not so much that it couldn't get here." She wiped metal-gloved hands down her face. Lines of grease striped her cheeks. "Great Mother's mercy, but that I didn't have to see as much as I did."

"The drones are coming in!" Jamark held a quarterstaff above his head and signaled to his men. A line of soldiers jammed shoulder-to-shoulder across the Behemoth's bay door, then locked their shield edges together. Spearmen planted behind them.

On the other side of the shield wall, the grotesque, legless, half-machine drones whispered off the stall's riveted platform and glided towards them. When the creatures stopped to evaluate the Jukas' formation, Jamark called out to attack. Spear thrusts wounded the frontmost drones. Those in the back raised long, heavy, mechanical arms and charged forward.

The shield wall held, though the clattering was violent in the Behemoth's landing bay.

Kumar rushed the last of his people into gyrofoils. "You better get over there," he pointed to Turlogan. "Jamark's got his hands full."

The pit fighter smacked Kumar on the shoulder. "We can finish off this maintenance crew before any others get here. You're the ones who need to be careful. You sure you want to go through with this? If Obden's plan works, we'll yank the fangs out of the Prime Overlord's mouth. No need to face him head on."

Kumar's face became stern and hard. "I spent the better part of my childhood on a gas scow. Every morning for eight years I woke to a day in which plague and suicide were welcome relief. That's a few thousand reasons for me to take this war to the Prime Overlord personally, don't you agree?"

Narah banged a fist on Turlogan's chest. "Just bring yourself back alive. We face one enemy. You're tackling their whole army. So don't get cocky, Turlogan, though I know that advice is about as useful as a glass anvil." She stood on her toes and touched a kiss to the giant's cheek. "Heart of fire, love."

Turlogan loosed a wide grin. "Look the Prime Overlord in the eye for me, when you're taking him apart."

Kumar punched his companion in the arm. "We'll do that. And you --" He tugged Narah by a scabbard at her waist, ushering her toward his gyrofoil. "You're riding with me this time. There's too much danger in the air already, to uncork you into the world again."

The gyrofoils whirled their paddlewheels and streaked out of the Behemoth's landing bay. Kumar resisted the urge to strafe the drones with static bursts as they punched through a knot of the creatures. The noise would alert others. Instead he led six trailing pods out of the maintenance stall and back through the side passage that brought them there. Following directions purchased with blood, they whisked through a maze of shafts and corridors until they lighted on a platform deep in the bowels of the citadel.

Fifteen soldiers climbed out of the gyrofoils, joining Kumar, Narah and Darhim. Quietly the group slipped down a gloomy corridor, continuing on foot to navigate the labyrinth of Citadel Moonglow. A single spark lamp lit their way. The scent of oiled metal stalked them.

At a turn in the passageway Kumar raised a hand. The group halted. Narah moved closer to him.

"We found it," he whispered. "There's a door on the far side of the next room that fits the description."

"Anything in the way?"

"About twenty-five drones."

Beside them, Darhim unslung a spring-powered bolt thrower. With a crank of the handle he cocked it and set a quarrel in its rails. "We broke stride for that?"

The warriors grinned. At a signal to the group they leapt around the corner.

The walls of the vaulted room were difficult to see, obscured by tangles of pipes and conduits. An arc of bright light twisted between two rods in the ceiling, strewing a skeletal glow over the chamber and its inhabitants. Two dozen dour-faced drones tended the multitudes of valves and pipeways. None of them spotted the Juka before a synchronized volley of missiles slammed into their pale, unarmored flesh.

With polearms whirling the rebels laid into the survivors. Kumar swept his hook-bladed halberd in powerful arcs, chopping a route to the great iron door on the other side of the room. As their intelligence had reported, the door was fashioned from a combination of heavy iron and dark granite. It seemed tremendously thick. The ghostly light gave it an appearance of invulnerability.

Abruptly Kumar spun to parry the spidery metal arm of an injured drone. A stroke of his halberd cut deep into the automaton's torso. The fallen creature bled colors that Kumar did not like.

He spotted a drone racing at Darhim. The frail priest raised a squat blade to parry the creature's upraised claw, but Kumar felt better when Narah cartwheeled between them and planted a short sword in the automaton's throat.

The rest of the soldiers finished off the opposition with little trouble. "Look for other entrances!" shouted Kumar when the situation was in hand. "Darhim, let's have a go at this door."

The priest unslung a metal-plated satchel from his shoulder. Inside was a trove of plugged bottles, both copper and glass. For many minutes he drained liquids back and forth into one another, finally concocting a vial of viscous fluid with a strangely elusive color. He held it up to Kumar with an expression bordering on pride.

"Dribble that on your static sword. It's a potion of capacitance. Make sure to cover your eyes when you use it."

When the greatsword sawed into the thick iron hinge, it flared like a spark stone bomb. A sweetish tang popped in spurts out of the light. Kumar mashed his eyes shut as he worked to slice through. Even so, he saw spots when he paused to rest.

They leaned in to examine their progress. The gash in the solid iron hinge was four inches deep. Halfway through.

Narah jogged back from surveying the posted guards. Her eyes smoldered apprehension. "Something's very wrong. This is too easy."

Kumar raised his sword again and laid it in the groove he had cut. "I know. Ever since Britain fell there's been half a dozen Juggernauts guarding the Overlords' catacombs. I can't believe the Prime Overlord only uses drones."

"All the Juggernauts are fighting down below. And this door is sturdier than most." Darhim patted the granite-backed iron plating. "But you're right, there's more going on here than we know. I feel I should remind you of something."

Narah braced herself. "What is it?"

"The Prime Overlord is the chief alchemist among them all. By reputation, its skill is unsurpassed in all of history. It created the base metallurgy behind kinetic springs and perpetual gears. It made the first Juggernauts and bound them to its will. It is feared even among other Overlords."

Kumar grimaced. "You're saying the Prime Overlord can defend itself."

"We should be prepared for anything." He withdrew from his satchel a roll of black cloth. As it unscrolled in his hand, a collection of vials fell into view. "I offer a toast, my friends, to our continuing health."

"Antidotes?"

"Such as they are. I mete out potions, but the Prime Overlord creates them. The Great Mother herself doesn't know what's waiting for us behind that door."

Narah plucked a bottle from the roll of cloth. Uncorking it she muttered, "Then we'll tell her all about it when we're finished in there."

Kumar leapt back as the enormous door twisted loose from its weakened hinges. The iron shuddered loudly. It hit the floor with the dull thump of immeasurable weight.

Though his vision was blotchy from the glare of cutting metal, Kumar recognized the mechanical clanking on the other side of the portal. The wheeled Juggernaut had been waiting for them. It charged over the sill of the doorway and a moment after Kumar tumbled out of the way, it plunged a screw-tipped metal arm straight through the body of a soldier behind him. With its victim still impaled and writhing it swiveled to face two more. The men backed away with hasty steps. A salvo of missiles ricocheted from its heavy armor plating. The monster barreled atop three screaming soldiers, crushing two under its giant wheel and lancing the third with a strike of its drill.

Kumar did not pause to think. On wide, crouching steps he sprang in front of the Juggernaut. His static greatsword sang through the air and struck the long mechanical arm with a blinding flash and a crack that split the air. When he pulled back the sword it had a luxuriant tail of smoke. The Juggernaut's arm clanged to the ground, scorched along the plane of severance.

Kumar glanced over his blade. Just a faint sheen remained of Darhim's oil of capacitance.

The hulking automaton swooped its remaining arm, prodigiously clawed, and missed Kumar by inches. The mere breeze of the swipe thudded on his armor. He ducked behind the Juggernaut in time to see Narah somersault onto its wide steel shoulders. Her hands held no weapons. She popped open a bottle of elusively-colored fluid and splashed it in the Juggernaut's grim, soulless face. The oil trickled underneath its massive armor.

The automaton's claw snapped at Narah's waist. She cried out and flipped end-over-end, vaulting the metal pincers and landing a safe distance away. When the creature rolled after her, Kumar swung his greatsword. The blade left a wake of roaring white fire as it carved a gash across heavy armor.

With a cracking sound a serpentine bolt of light stabbed the Juggernaut's face. Darhim had fired his static scourge. On the automaton's flesh the electric charge devoured the splashed oil with greedy tendrils, slithering underneath the creature's metal plates. For an instant the Juggernaut convulsed; in that instant Kumar thrust his enhanced blade through its armor and into its cog-toothed heart.

An eruption within the Juggernaut's chassis swatted the warrior away. He winced at the dagger thrusts of broken ribs. For sluggish moments the room spun around him. Then metal struck the side of his head and he heard a fleshy snap before blacking out.

He awoke to the tangy echo of a potion. He lay prone on the metal floor. Darhim knelt over him.

Kumar shook the fog from his head and glanced up at the alchemist. "You're punctual with those healing draughts. I admire that."

The old priest motioned toward the unmoving Juggernaut. The monster's metal torso had burst from the inside. Ruined clockworks and alchemical fluids drizzled the ground in front of it. A pennant of smoke undulated from the wound. Kumar's static greatsword lay nearby, fractured into many pieces.

Four dead rebel soldiers lay twisted about the wreckage..

"I wasn't fast enough for those honored souls," murmured Darhim.

"Sing them a prayer," suggested Kumar, "but make it a short one. I knew those men. They didn't stand on ceremony."

But his glistening eyes belied the dispassionate words.

Narah slunk through the doorway with the rest of the soldiers, cloaked in a stealthy hush. They crowded just inside the hot, black air and waited. The commotion of nearby drones died away in some distant corridor.

"I'm sorry about Rabak's greatsword," she murmured into Kumar's ear.

The warrior grunted. "Rabak awakened me, you know, with his devotion to duty. When I carried his sword I felt connected to that. I hope I honored his memory."

"You inspired Jamark and dozens of Janissars to join us. You drove the revolution to this day. Your humility is charming, Kumar, but it's not exactly a tailored fit."

He shook his head. "I think I'll always have a piece of that sword with me." He fell silent.

Darhim's slight form clanked up in plated armor. To Narah he whispered, "How's he feeling?"

"Three of us just took down a Juggernaut. He probably feels indestructible."

"I'm glad to hear that. I used our last healing draughts to hone his edge again. Every parry counts now."

Narah rubbed the corners of her eyes. "Shall we press on, Darhim? If you stand there inflating my morale any longer, it's liable to outright burst."

Stillness draped across the group. Their single spark lantern crackled to life as they crept into the sultry, whirring darkness of the den of the Prime Overlord.

In the narrows of a high-ceilinged corridor, a company of loyalist soldiers barked and bellowed in the clashing fury of melee. Through the center of them pushed Turlogan and Jamark, smashing enemy after enemy with fierce, powerful blows. Turlogan slammed his kinetic maul into the brittle parts of loyalists' bodies. Jamark twirled a quarterstaff with blurring speed, cracking bones and armor with deadly precision. Behind the two warriors followed twenty rebel fighters and a stern-faced Obden of Yew. The middle-aged engineer fended off her attackers from behind a tall shield covered with spring-mounted plates. In her other hand was a bottle-shaped device of heavy iron. To convince the loyalists to back away, she pressed a lever until the weapon belched out a short-ranged but voluminous cloud of flame. It was a persuasive argument, and effective.

They plunged through a tall double doorway and formed a shield wall to defend it. Obden shouted, "Close them! We make a stand here!"

Turlogan and Jamark each hove closed one of the two massive doors. A wheel-shaped lock secured them together. For good measure the pit fighter jammed the haft of his maul through the spokes. The loyalists on the other side banged and clanked against the thick iron. They sounded very distant.

"Damn heavy metal doors!" grumbled Turlogan, catching his breath. "Haven't they heard of wood in this place?"

"Thornbrier doesn't grow on the island," said Jamark. The soldier was surveying his men, several of whom sported ugly wounds. A dwindling store of healing draughts fanned out among the troops.

The pit fighter punched a gauntlet into the solid mechanics of the lock. "Great Mother's bags! I'm sick of metal. I'm sick of machines. It's all an Overlord abomination!"

"I think we found what we're looking for," said Obden, ignoring him. She glanced into the weighty darkness that loomed around the company. Noises squeaked and rumbled from machines unseen and very, very large. "Find a spigot by the door. This place must have fuel lighting of some kind."

A pair of man-high rods glowed far above them. Then an arc of light dashed between the rods, showering the room with a bluish radiance. One by one the soldiers looked around the vast chamber and widened their eyes.

The Pump Chamber was a forest of giant pistons. Each piston formed the topmost mechanism of a colossal pump. The huge machines were used to transport alchemical liquids and barrels of goods to and from the surface using the tall, thin pipelines that anchored the citadel to the earth.

As a technological achievement the Pump Chamber was marvelous. As a work of craftsmanship, it had no equal.

Each piston stood ten feet high. Each one was very different. The functional components were the same -- buttress mounts, greased axles, a garden of huge gears moving power back and forth to other devices in other chambers. But every piston was an individual masterpiece of design and execution, ornate with grillwork and relief carvings and wrought iron details. Some were expressions of clean, elegant aesthetics; others burst with engraved designs as intricate as clockwork. The beauty of a single piece could only be surpassed by its juxtaposition with another, and this effect was multiplied over dozens of rows.

Every piston was synchronized to perfection. The sound of their toils seemed miniscule compared to their numbers.

Obden stared at the bright, churning sight before her. "Look around, Turlogan. Among engineers this room is a legend. The best of us strive to be worthy of a place here. Every one of these represents the most skilled craftsman of his day. Are you still going to tell me this is wasted work? Is this an ugly place, because it serves the Overlords?"

The huge rebel stepped close to the nearest piston. The precision carvings in the steel buttress reflected white patterns on his face. He ran a metal-gloved hand over the art. "I never guessed. I never... thought about the machines that way." His eyes seemed captive. "I am... humbled."

"The Prime Overlord collects the best of everything. Citadel Moonglow is a museum of Jukan history. If you want to know what I asked to see at Sanguination, this is it."

Turlogan glanced at her. "Then why do you look so angry about it?"

"Keep your mind on the mission, Turlogan. We can't afford to rest."

"Don't push me off, Obden! We're here to disable these pumps. If you think you're going to flinch, tell me now."

"Oh, I'll shut this place down. And I won't have to smash it to pieces to get the job done. That's called 'finesse.'" She sucked in a deep breath. "But you see, Turlogan, these master engineers, they get a special marking to signify their status. It's a tattoo, on the chest. It's extremely prestigious. I... once dreamed of a day I might wear that tattoo."

The pit fighter moved beside her. His voice lowered. "What are you getting at?"

"The Behemoth." She swallowed a word, gritting her teeth. "The Behemoth had that tattoo on its chest. It was hard to see because a pipe had been shoved in on top of it."

Turlogan grimaced. "Great Mother."

"And the drones. Some of them, too."

"No." He scanned the room again, his expression darkening. "Great Mother, Obden, let's do our work. Let's get it done right now."

"Good idea," Jamark interjected, approaching them at a trot. "We killed a few drones at the far end of the room. All the doors are locked now, but I doubt they'll stand if Juggernauts show up. We're not going to have this privacy for very long."

Without another word, Obden picked up her box of tools and marched deeper into the humming chamber.

DISCLAIMER: The prequel fiction contained on this site is copyright Electronic Arts and Origin and is used here for entertainment purposes only. 

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