JUKA SERIAL
Part 4: Exodus

III.

When Kumar and his team penetrated the humid blackness of the Prime Overlord's den, they immediately knew that their prey had anticipated them. The sallow flicker of their spark lantern revealed the enemy's preparations. Instead of the copper pipes and glass canisters they had expected, this creature dwelt under an armored shell. Plates of heavy, discolored steel were riveted around the components of the Prime Overlord's catacombs. In the shrouding gloom the keen edges and corners gave the den a hard, angry mien.

Furtive organic things peered at them through grates and grilles. The shadows concealed their exact nature, though there were hints of flesh and fluids and perhaps an oddly engorged eye.

When one soldier struck the armor with his sword, the blade cracked in half with the loud snap and searing flash of a static charge. The armor had been forged using the same alchemical magic as the greatsword Kumar had just lost, except that its stored energy seemed tenfold greater.

The rebels realized they did not know how to kill the Prime Overlord.

Courage alone convinced them to try. They pressed ahead into the stifling blackness, trusting the Great Mother to guide their path. Blades and shields poised ready, in the event she let them stray.

Not even the sounds of the den were those they associated with Overlords. From under the armor emerged noises like scurrying and tearing and popping, and an odd, organic vocal sound as if a moaning throat were undergoing wormlike compressions and extensions. Taps and vibrations seemed to follow them. Once they imagined a clutch of some voiceless, animate things must be fighting under the riveted plates. The lubricated growl of massive gears saturated the clinging darkness.

Something faraway in the catacombs hissed mechanical breaths. The temperature began to rise.

Then the fumes came. Gouts of opaque mist tumbled over them from cracks between the armor plates. It was the foulest, sharpest smell any of them had experienced. Darhim guessed it to be some hellish brew of a dozen different gaseous poisons. His antidotes performed well enough -- no one died of the fumes -- though the experience of secreting dense antitoxins through the skin was far from pleasant. Violently the rebels coughed up clots of gelled poison.

That was when the acid darkness grew fingers.

Hydraulic digits or hands flew out of the shadows and latched onto their skin and armor and clothes, which had corroded to tatters. It was impossible to tell whether gear-driven creatures reached from beyond the lamplight or the very walls thrust out mechanical arms. They were too numerous to parry.

Kumar felt his halberd yanked from his grip. He lashed at the clutching machines with furious blows from his quickly-drawn longsword. Smoke and sparks danced amid peals of sheared metal. The effort was wasted. He snarled with impotent fury as pneumatic claws found purchase and jerked him into the dark innards of a tight, hungry machine.

Kumar plunged into a horrific, poison-choked labyrinth whose steel-edged walls collapsed atop him and pawed with slithery tongues. He was whisked along like rainwater sucked down a bedrock fissure, passed from metal grip to metal grip in an endlessly groping chain. He felt as if a steely, acid-spittled throat had swallowed him.

Elsewhere in those clockwork bowels, other rebel Juka shrieked with muffled horror.

When he crested the surface he tore a deep breath from the thick, oily air and tried to regain his bearings. His longsword was gone. The gloom was thicker, cut now by a sporadic, artificial, nervously flickering glow whose source he could not locate. The breathing sound was much closer.

He was pinned between flat metal panels. Only his hands, feet and head emerged. The arrangement gave his limbs a small measure of mobility; but when he struggled the two panels squeezed against his body, forced together by the screw-threaded shafts connecting them. The darkness itself seemed to crush breath from his ribs.

Kumar stopped squirming.

After many moments of calming the hammer strokes of his heart, he started to resolve shapes in the sweltering murk. He was trapped on the irregular surface of a wall or incline within a cramped mechanical tunnel. Gears and pistons clanked all around. His fellow soldiers were likewise snared, suspended at random angles of inversion. Few of them made a sound. When one soldier broke into panicked shrieks and thrashes, the metal plates that enfolded him compressed until the sound of his voice was replaced by a sickening parade of cracks.

The Juka tended an exquisite silence after that, respecting the grind and thunder of their mechanical prison.

Narah was trapped a few feet beside Kumar. He could not make out her eyes in the darkness, though she appeared to be alive. He suspected the shape on her far side was Darhim.

Farther away in the gloom, near the random, unreliable glow, objects moved. Kumar guessed they were collections of levers and gears. A more distinct shape lurked in the center of the corridor, nearly filling its volume. The thing suggested a misshapen globe or ovoid of armor plates. Its circumference was half split by a horizontal cleft, which opened and shut like some grotesque mouth. In the oppressive darkness Kumar imagined the machine to be a giant set of clamshell jaws, though the toothy parts were chaotic and animated. The maw was easily large enough to chew a warrior. One or more spits of very pale flame were visible inside. On the back of the thing were two large flapping extensions, though he could not discern whether they were leathery bellows or undersized wings.

The machine gave the bizarre appearance of issuing commands to hydraulic components in a voice made of strewn hisses and clacks and scraping metal.

His team, Kumar decided, had reached its objective. It did not appear they would slay the Prime Overlord, however, now that they had uncovered the legendary being.

"Obden, what's wrong? Why are the pumps still pumping?" Turlogan jogged among the beautiful, high pistons in the ghostly-lit room. The devices churned with steady resolve.

"It's a redundant system! Dammit!" She slammed a handful of tools against the metal floor. "I shut these pistons down, but they're ram pumping from the surface. There must be an underground complex we didn't know about."

"That's not the right answer!" Turlogan bore a stern look upon her, though it showed more dread than anger. "We don't stand a chance on the battlefield unless we can cut off their munitions and healing draughts. What's the next step?"

The engineer tugged black-smudged fingers through her grey hair. Her eyes squeezed shut. When they opened again, they burned hot.

"Get the men together. We're going back to the Behemoth." She crouched to gather her scattered tools. "Let's gamble today, Turlogan."

Kumar breathed in irregular spurts. His body was trying to sort clean air from the wafts of disturbing vapors that seeped through the darkness. Something about the atmosphere haunted him with odd sensations, as if thoughts and feelings and images tickled into his lungs on misty droplets. He focused on tactile awareness of his body, fighting the unsettling effect.

Down the corridor, the enormous mechanical jaws swiveled to face them. Its maw was a deep black gash in the gloom, lit by occasional tendrils of pale flame. It began to crawl nearer. Spindly hydraulic legs propelled it forward in spiderlike fashion, though the legs extended from the walls and not the machine itself. The thing bore down upon them, heating the air in its approach. Kumar heard the gasps and whimpers of his fellow captives.

It stopped a few yards short of the prisoners. In the punctuated light it seemed as much silhouette as solid object. The jaws opened and closed with greasy sounds, as if mouthing words. The wings or bellows on the creature's back forced air across tongues of fire. Orange light flared within. Metal flaps squeaked and clicked along what might pass for steely lips.

The rumbling words were carved from a blast furnace wind: <<I am the mouthpiece of that which you call the Prime Overlord. Attend me.>>

Kumar spoke back, expecting his metal snare to constrict at the noise. It did not.

"You have our attention," he said.

The machine growled with breaths of flame. <<Today I dispense a gift to you. You shall be grafted into immortality. This act is designed to fit within the parameters of the doctrine you call honor.>>

"We don't want that honor."

<<That is irrelevant. You will receive it. You complete the samples in my catalog. Transformation to automaton ensures your durability.>>

"We'd be more honored if you and the rest of the Overlords left the citadel. It would save us all a mountain of trouble."

The large machine clanked and dribbled steam in response. <<In point of fact, we are leaving the citadel.>>

Beside him, Narah's mouth gaped open. "You are?" Kumar felt a thrill of relief that she sounded unhurt.

<<Our Exodus will initiate within the hour. The citadel is no longer relevant to us.>>

She stammered over a few breaths, then turned her face toward him. "Did he just say that we've won?"

The warrior shook his head slowly. "Forgive me if I'm irrationally skeptical."

The giant metal jaws coughed fresh licks of fire in its gullet. <<Our Exodus falls outside the scope of the slave conflict. This world will soon be depleted. I have finished the calculations which will tunnel us to a new home. Once there, we shall have no use for organic slaves.>>

A hot anger tingled Kumar's flesh. His tone sharpened. "That's the best news I've heard all day! So why, by every pock on the Great Mother's body, didn't you just tell us you were leaving? Acres and acres of Juka soldiers would still be alive today!"

<<The slave insurrection is irrelevant to Exodus.>>

Kumar spit into the darkness. "Then it's a coincidence that you're leaving when the city is surrounded by rebels? Your intellect might be unimpeachable, but you lie worse than a stuttering child."

<<The slave revolt impacted my timetable. That is certain. However, I have implemented my designs for more than a decade.>> The enormous jaws inched closer to him by an unseen mechanism. They smelled of charred grease. <<I am able to calculate your motives of pride and dignity. Not all of us have forgotten what it is like to walk on legs of soft tissue. It is clear, however, that your insurrection falls within the tolerance of my designs.>>

Somewhere farther down the corridor, behind a veil of elusive darkness, other machines began to stir and approach. Their pneumatics hissed like serpents.

Lit by the flames in the Overlord's monstrous mouth, Kumar narrowed his eyes. "So why bother to explain it to me? I think you're more upset than you want us to believe."

<<Knowledge alleviates stress. Calmness enhances the balance of humors in your bodies, for simpler grafting.>> The machine seemed to huff several alchemical breaths. <<However, I know your identity. I am aware that my actions upon you intersect the parameters of mortal revenge. This does not displease me.>>

Narah wriggled under the metal plates that pinned her. "Well, at least he's enjoying himself," she muttered, in a timber thin with fear.

Shapeless machines plucked one of the rebel soldiers from his trap and carried him into the blackness. A splash of wet noises suggested he was already beginning his conversion into immortality. The man did not have time to scream.

Several spark lamps painted the Behemoth's central chamber icy blue. Obden squatted in the center of the floor, in the space where the automaton had once lain. The being was gone. The engineer was sorting through tangles of cables and pipes.

Turlogan's immense frame squeezed up through the trap door. "Time to move! Have you figured it out?"

"The legs and neck are straightforward. I'm halfway to activating the levitant agitators."

"No time for that! We can hold back these loyalists, but there's a pair of Juggernauts on the way. If they get in the launching bay we're finished. We'll have to make do walking."

Obden blew out a heavy breath. "This'll be the end of us, you know. But Great Mother willing, we'll leave a deep footprint behind!"

"The Great Mother wills it. I know her."

The room lurched amid deafening metallic shrieks. Turlogan and Obden each held a pair of crooked rods. They turned and flexed the control handles, causing the steel of the Behemoth to shudder and squeak as the legs unfolded. Obden peered into the tip of a jointed copper pipe that once fitted on the automaton's face.

"Okay, we're touching the floor," she confirmed. "Let's walk."

They moved the rods in unison. The moorings of the maintenance stall snapped with loud grumbles and clangs. The room pitched at an angle which forced them to abandon their controls to regain balance. Exchanging a glance and a sigh, they returned to their posts.

With clumsy, ponderous motions, the Behemoth crawled out of the maintenance bay. Riveted walls were left dented in its wake.

Smoke funneled out of its launching bay, surging from an impromptu funeral pyre.

When they reached the vertical shaft leading out of the citadel, they proceeded cautiously. They could not activate the levitant agitators, so they were forced to crawl down the shaft with the gigantic legs braced against the walls. Halfway down, they lost their footing.

Gravity vanished as they started to fall.

"Fold the legs up! Quickly!" yelled Obden. The titanic mass of the machine roared out of the citadel and into the raging storm. The rebels heard a brittle crack as they smashed through large propellers that twirled on the underside of the city. Then they were plummeting freely.

Viewed from a great distance, the Behemoth was a small object dropping out of the giant, glittering Citadel Moonglow. A moment after it appeared the machine's skeletal legs unflexed at multiple joints. Fully extended, the legs reached a third of the distance to the ground. Uncounted thousands of fires lit the surface of the desert below.

The Behemoth's feet slammed into the armies on the ground. The sound of the impact eclipsed thunder.

Inside the machine the floor leapt up and whacked Obden and Turlogan. The pit fighter was the first to his feet. He angled the copper pipe to his eye level, then grabbed two control rods and pushed. The horizon righted itself. The Behemoth groaned as it unbent many knees, which had absorbed the brunt of the fall.

Through the pipe Turlogan watched the battlefield in a tiny, distorted lens. He felt scores of massive gears heave at his touch. His knuckles whitened. "Obden, are you injured?"

The engineer grunted. "Not terminally."

"Good. Let's find that underground pump."

Obden fumbled to her knees. Blood striped her face and arms. "It's got to be under the central anchor point."

The pit fighter smiled. "You mean where General Tallan's troops are? I was hoping you'd say that. I asked the Great Mother for fifty Janissars to fight, and she's given me five hundred!"

By the time the machines converged upon a third rebel soldier, Kumar had worked a flat piece of metal into his hand. The steel plate covering him began to push against his ribs. He had scant seconds to act.

He touched the end of the object to the plate. The sharp edge sputtered embers when he dragged it. Quickly he slashed the steel plate with the shard of Rabak's static greatsword, still oily with Darhim's potion of capacitance. An inferno of sparks blasted loose. The metal trap peeled open. He kicked at the riven plates and leapt free.

The third soldier cried out as she was snatched away into the darkness: "Kumar, go! Get out of here!"

Then Narah's voice vanished in a burst of wet sounds.

Kumar sprang after the mechanical claws that carried her off. A hammer of hot air clipped him in midleap, shoving him against the riveted wall and onto his knees. When he looked up, the colossal jaws of the Prime Overlord rushed at him.

<<You have condemned yourself,>> it said in a calm voice, its maw slavering fire and steam. Kumar grabbed a piston overhead and kicked his feet high, narrowly dodging the crashing bite of the clamshell machine. He scrambled over the searing hot metal of the thing and landed in front of Darhim.

"Close your eyes!" With one fierce stroke of the static shard he cleaved in half the plate that trapped the old priest. The catacombs brightened in the blazing glare.

"Watch out!" shouted Darhim, pointing. Kumar ducked aside and looked behind him. The huge jaws rushed forward again. Kumar hurled the priest out of the path. A fist of fire punched out of the maw, searing Kumar's chest and pounding him against the wall.

The sliver from the static greatsword fell between armor plates in the floor and was gone.

Kumar fought talons of pain in his torso. Finding handholds he scrambled up the textured wall, emitting a train of smoke. At his sides were two short swords. They were the only weapons he had left. He drew them, grabbed a humid breath and pounced on the foul machine. His blades crashed against its thick surface, to no effect.

In front of the creature Darhim likewise wielded a short sword. He scrabbled across the irregular floor to keep away from the fiery jaws, which pivoted to track him. A greasy joint presented itself and the old Juka struck at it. The blow hit hard.

A hundred more like that, though Kumar, and this monstrosity might yield. He flipped off the clamshell mechanism and landed behind it, where two large bellows beat the air. Ferocious swordstrokes gashed the leather. A backdraft spewed flames through the holes, forcing Kumar to tumble away. The jaws spun to face him.

Kumar backed against the wall. The jaws charged at him. He realized he could not escape.

The corridor flashed white when Darhim unleashed his static scourge. The bolt of electricity clawed the machine's armor. Its mouth flung open wide. By the light of its flames Kumar saw an exposed spring and hacked it with his short sword. The steel cracked with a musical note. The jaws gaped and fumbled for an instant, during which Kumar dashed around the creature. His face stung from its radiant heat.

He reached Darhim, who unslung his satchel. The old Juka snatched several vials from the bag and then handed it to Kumar. "Throw this at those flames inside. There's enough volatile potions in there to take down an airship!"

Kumar glanced at the satchel in horror. "That much? Thank you for sparing me that knowledge before now!"

The jaws of the Prime Overlord rotated to greet them. Without hesitation Kumar wheeled the satchel overhead by its strap and launched it inside the giant maw. The mouth clamped down with a clang, as if to swallow.

Kumar and Darhim scrambled into a crook in the wall.

The explosion was nearly volcanic. The machine's jaws gaped open and erupted torrents of scarlet fire. The force of the blast hurled the huge creature like a rocket down the corridor, smashing against sparking armor plates. The din pummeled their ears. Then the holocaust ended, somewhere out of sight. Acrid fumes choked the air.

Darhim glanced up. Besides themselves, eight rebel soldiers had remained trapped. All of them dangled unmoving in their snares. Their panels pressed sickeningly close together.

"Narah! It's taken her!" Kumar climbed to his feet and leapt over scraps of twisted metal. The path was treacherous in the fickle strobes from the unseen source of light.

"Kumar! Stop!" Darhim clambered after him at a much slower pace. "I'm the only one who can help her, if the processing has begun."

"Then I hope you're feeling fit," said Kumar, darting back towards the priest. "Climb on my back and hold on like a cavalryman. I guarantee you've never ridden a steed this angry before!"

The Behemoth struck like a gigantic pickaxe. It gouged a deep trough in the paved desert, flinging boulders and clouds of dirt across the battlefield. Loyalist men and machines toppled in. Others were scooped up in the huge, jagged snout. The colossus gored the earth at the base of the centermost pillar, where the bulk of the defensive forces had staked their ground. Their precision formations suffered.

Wielding the control rod for the war machine's neck, Turlogan roared with glee. "Pray to the Overlords, General Tallan, because the Great Mother fights with us!"

Obden worked two of the Behemoth's legs. She squinted into a second viewing pipe. "I think that's just what they've done."

The fighter swiveled his viewing pipe and let out a growl.

Their war machine dug beside a thin cluster of pipelines that formed the central anchor line. From all sides it was approached by more of its kind.

Four Behemoths against one, and half-abled at that, were not odds of which Obden approved. "We have to pull out of here!" she snapped, her face turning red. "Dammit, we got so close!"

"We're not pulling out." Turlogan bent his knees and clutched the control rod for the neck like it was a melee weapon. "You've got two of our legs. Keep us upright. Leave the giants to me."

"You're a madman," answered the engineer, though her face drew into a rampant smile. "Can you handle four at once?"

"I'm a match for four of anything! Just give me a big enough hammer."

Obden laughed out loud, then loosened her wrists and braced.

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

Back to Catalog