First Draft

by Cherry Rie

Road Worthy

All the King’s Horses
A Conversion Bureau story.

Chapter Five: Road worthy

Within the sterile meeting room a rotund shadow sat straddling the sole occupied chair, hungrily watching the voluptuous lips commenting upon recent extraordinary events. Oblivious to the nature of her audience, the silent newscaster dominated the otherwise featureless wall. Behind her rose the gently rippling curve of a newly emerged dome, inconsiderately sat on what had once been the northern most face of an Icelandic volcano.

Squinting in the lukewarm light, the man lifted his sausage like arm and swept a lazy arch through the air. With a gentle twitter of acknowledgement the wall screen divided, sliding the inconsequential reporter to the far right and making way for a split image. On one half was a rotating globe, dotted with red marks indicating where the new rifts had opened, the second displayed a satellite map of what used to be the Massachusetts City Factory.

“Lights full.”

Like some aged toad following a pesky fly, the squat man turned his piggy features to regard his associate across the suddenly glaringly lit room.

“Most convenient, wouldn’t you say Doctor?” Spoke the well dressed businessman, dower expression betraying no hint as to his true feelings on the situation.

“Hardly.” Replied the toad man, eyes returning to the glowing wall. “With their main factory gone, Sephisco-Corp will collapse by the end of the day. Pity, their resources would have been quite useful.”

Remaining passive, the elegant man stepped up to observe the newscast “Indeed, but for your purposes? I assume the project is still on course?”

“Naturally,” scoffed the doctor, waving a stubby hand dismissively and sending one of the graphs spinning wildly across the desktop.

“While the subsequent reaction was rather more volatile than predicted, the test was a greater success then I’d ever dared hope.”

With a series of sweeps and gestures that made him look as though he were playing a game of one man table tennis, the doctor retrieved the wayward window and summoned up several other graphs.

“I suppose the only disappointment is that some action is still required on our part.”

“Your part,” Corrected the man coolly, “I am but an advisor after all.”

The doctor chuckled with renewed mirth, “Ha, yes I suppose you are, the ever detached Mr Winsor. However, your ‘advice’ has been most indispensible.”

Another flick of the wrist spun the screen through several other desktops, stopping at an array of blueprints.

“But if this works, you’ll be in the spot light whether you like it or not. We all will. The eyes of the world shall be upon us as we embark on the next age of-”

Coughing in polite interruption, Mr Winsor’s remained carefully deadpan to his client’s ramblings, recognizing the texture of madness showing through the facade of genius.

“Doctor, we have discussed this many times. There is no need to reiterate your... business interests.” Winsor insisted.

With a sigh of theatrical disappointment, the good doctor switched off the wall screen. Had he not been one of the greatest minds of his generation, the doctor was sure his next best place would have been on the stage. He did so love drama, though mostly because Mr Winsor ‘loathed’ it just as much.

“Preparations for the second phase are underway.” He said, turning to Winsor with a smile that stretched the flabby folds of his face most uncomfortably.

Winsor did not return the gesture, “Then you have found a suitable candidate site?”

“The details will be on your desk by morning, I can assure you.” Dismissed the piggy man, approaching the long observation window at the far end of the meeting room.

Below him stretched a factory floor, swept clear of clutter bar the very centre where in rose a web of gold lattice. Dozens of laboratory technicians and engineers, each clad in heavy radiation suits bustled around the complex organic machine. At a command unheard through the toughened glass of the boardroom, all the workers quite suddenly stepped back from the contraption, retreating behind leaden shields at the far side of the room. A soul technician wheeled out a slim red box, unclasped its seals and retrieved the glistening fluted rod from within. With the care of a man handling an unexploded bomb, the armored tech gingerly attached the base of the rod to something within the structure, stepping back post haste as a surge of brilliance flashed across the golden surface.

Though his associate had long since left the room, Doctor Kylner addressed whatever phantoms of history might be listening.

“Everything is perfectly on schedule.”

***

“Well this puts a kink in the schedule!” Simon exasperated, shaking his head at the long collapsed bridge that now impeded their path.

Behind him the four strong caravan had ground to a halt at the side of the road, much irritated mumbling rising from its depths at such an obstacle so close to their destination. The old Craven bridge marked the beginning of the Portland floodplain and the end of any truly uncivilized country. Standing between them and their destination was the wide gouging expanse of the Merrimack, slicked black with industrial waste from the now deceased mega factory.

“Way I see it,” Continued the point man, turning back to the assemble of drivers, “Is we can either backtrack twenty miles and head around Newberry. Or we can wait and see if the dome ends up cutting off the river and make our way ‘through’ the town when the water level drops.”

There was a general grumble through the other travelers, each less sure then the next about their limited options. Finally the eldest of the group broke the murmur with a point of his own.

“Can’t do with backtrackin’.” He announced casually, “Number three’s cells won’t make another five mile after that run we had. We’ be needin’ to hunker down somewhere anyway, why not here?”

Glancing around as if to make his point, the goat bearded man folded his arms as if surveying his hold.

“High ground, plenty of light, I’d give it a day up here and see what happens.”

“Seems sensible enough,” Offered another to the agreement of the group.

At a consensus the drivers returned to their various transports, setting up the large solar panels and spreading the word that they were setting camp for the night.

Simon stepped back onboard the forerunner, an old abandoned city bus that had been salvaged and armored for the one way service to Portland. Rusty seats had been thrown out and replaced by scavenged mattresses and simple belted benches along one wall. What little gear the host of refugees possessed was piled unceremoniously at the back doors, along with barrels of water, supplies and spares enough to see the convoy through.

Other then this array of equipment however, the coach was surprisingly empty. There was space enough for ten people at least, yet now only a handful remained in the leading transport. This was partly due to what had happened to its previous driver, an image which did not easily leave the mind. Mostly though, the carriage’s near abandoned state was down to the three new additions to the convoy, who now regarded the vehicle as bed, guard post and prison respectively.

Kat had turned out to be okay, even now mingling with the other passengers outside. An odd but likeable lass, she had had spent many hours of their journey chatting with just about everyone while deftly avoiding questions into her own past. Her near future included the Bureau, same as most on the convoy, but beyond this tidbit she remained mute as to her own history.

Meanwhile, the quiet one she had called ‘Sarah’ was stood observing from the doorway. Attention divided between the road ahead, Kat and the ex-banger, Sarah had remained on alert since their flight from Salem, watching for any threat against her charge. Luckily, it seemed her brief vendetta against Tristan had been quelled by the logical argument Kat had presented. None the less the unicorn medic, Soothing Salve, was not allowing either of the potentially violent humans too close to one another.

Clearing his throat, Simon tipped his wide brimmed hat to Salve as he ducked past the unblinking woman.

“Looks like we’re making camp here ma’am. Gota’ rest and recharge.”

“Okay Fax,” the unicorn smiled, looking up from a selection of food cubes in her levitation field, “It’s safe outside?”

Ponies had a far more delicate digestive system then the average human, rendering the bland nano-woven blocks small grey tickets to the nearest bathroom. Thankfully the mare had long since perfected a method of making the horrid things fit for Equine consumption. Feats of magic never failed to amaze the young man, even something as simple as preparing dinner became an object of fascination.

Regaining his senses Simon nodded and began sifting through a pile of equipment for an empty backpack. “Should be. We’re smack dab next door to a major mag-tram rout and no chance of cutters running this far out.”

With a suitable container located the point man turned and headed back towards the coach door.
“Okay, I’m headed to scout some of the flooded buildings. Never know what could have been left behind. Keep safe and don’t get between these two if they decide to duke it out.” He added, sparing a cautious glance at the glower criminal and the unreadable android.

This close to Portland, a town with a healthy Pegasus population, much of the usual smog had begun to spread towards the clear skies of the conversion city. Cavernous gaps and lighter patches traversed the cloud cover, revealing light azure sky above. Beyond the fallen bridge, the waterlogged shell of Newberry rose from the languid waters, the decrepit buildings marking where the old riverbanks had once been. That half of the city was almost totally washed out, but hopefully he’d have better luck on this side. Sure enough, from the elevated roadside one or two buildings stood above the waterline, an old ‘leky fuel station and a crumbling apartment block by the look of things.

Carefully picking his way down the embankment, Simon finally reached the level ground that lead towards the flooded township. A spray of pebbles informed the man that someone else was following his progress. Turning back irritably Simon watched as the slight frame of Katrina slid down the scree feet first, jumping every now and again to keep up her momentum. Giggling with childish glee she finally joined the flat at a run, brushing the dust from her chalk coated jeans and practically skipping up beside the bewildered pathfinder.

“Gud-day mate!” the youth greeted, smiling wryly and tipping an invisible hat to Simon, “Hears you’re off on a gander, mind if I tag along?”

“Actually, I gota’ feelin’ your ‘mate’ up there probably would.” He replied, wincing at her forced accent.

“Oh, but you don’t mind,” She said, skipping backwards towards the awaiting abandoned stores, “And that’s what counts.”

Defeated Simon took one last glance at the convoy before setting out after her. At the very least it was an extra pair of hands, even if they were scrawny.

***

Accepting little else then food cubes from the other travelers, the unspoken prisoner had been quite withdrawn and mostly unresponsive since joining the convoy.

Salve seemed to believe that the ‘poor man’ was likely in shock from seeing his home destroyed, but no one else was buying this naive point of view. Inside, Tristan was seething. Angry that he’d been clocked by a slight of a lass. Furious that these damnedable animals were not only invading his world, but had allowed to destroy his city and obliterate everything he knew. More than anything though, he was ashamed at his own weakness of having to take refuge with the very people he had helped attack.

Without the intervention of that bloody great hole in the sky, half of them would likely be chopped liver by now; their organs traded to wealthy corps wanting a shot at immortality, implants sold for scrap and the convoy picked over for parts. Yet here he was, trapped in the middle of nowhere, relying on those he would have gladly led to the slaughter.

Even if his jailer would have allowed him to leave, he would not last long without medical attention. Slender though those fingers appeared, they were solid carbon-nanoweave beneath faux flesh. Had the others not intervened their servos would have driven each through his neck like butter. As it was he had escaped with a fractured vertebra and bruised muscles, which, while not immediately fatal, had left him struggling to breathe ever since. Lucky for him, the freak traveling with them had once been a doctor on the equestrian frontier, and had used her ‘juju’ to keep his airway from ceasing up entirely. Apparently she couldn’t just fix him though, some crap about cooking his brain steam.

Right now the unicorn was ministering to him once again, swapping over the bandages around his head and soothing the pain in the rapidly mending bone. With magic normally fatal to humans in high doses, balancing harm with good was turning out to be a useful special talent on Salve’s part. For the entire session the jade eyes of the thing known as Sarah hadn’t left his.

Noticing her patient’s discomfort, Salve turned her long neck to scowl at the watching bodyguard.

“Take a picture dear, it’ll last longer.”

Tristan snorted “Don’t bother, it probably can’t understand you. Even if it can, it won’t respond.”

Looking back to her charge the mare cocked an ear quizzically, “Whatever do you mean, it? She’s spoken to Katrina many a time.”

“Not she,” reiterated the ganger, not removing his gaze from the android, “It. Can’t be classified as human anymore, or even technically sentient.”

Braking his staring contest with the impassive machine, Tristan turned his attention to the medic’s exaggerated features, chuckling coldly at her expression of motherly scorn. Brow furrowed and lips pursed, it was quite clear the unicorn was taking offence even if the effendi remained quite unfazed.

“You honestly don’t know what ‘it’ is, do you?” asked the man, genuinely amused by the pony’s naiveté.

Salve wrinkled her nose, “She is probably a guard that got hurt… badly. Isn’t that what humans do? Replace parts when their too badly injured?”

Tristan no longer cared if this got him in deep lumber or not, such an opportunity for fun could not simply be passed up.

“We don’t rebuild people when they're hurt, only the rich and elite can afford that sort of treatment. Cheaper to let commoners die when there’s a hundred more like them out there.”

Yes, there was a wince. A slight one, she wasn’t so unaccustomed to earth as to be shocked by its surprising lack of humanity. Time to play a different card.

“Tell you what. I bet you’ve got some interesting juju from your line of work. You so sure ‘she’s’ human? Take a closer look and find out.”

Unsure at first, Salve glanced between the two, eventually taking the bait. Clopping up the isle of benches and mattresses, she stopped in front of the stick figure, a small twinkle of light growing at the tip of her horn.

“If you don’t mind dear, I’d like to prove this man wrong.”

With no response from the stoic woman the unicorn gently closed her eyes and concentrated, the glow of her horn spreading as a spell began to weave itself. As her magic reached out and started to probe the insubstantial figure, her eyes shot wide open, pupils shrinking to black dots in an ocean of horror. Straining against her own spell, Salve attempted to break away, yet like a bystander witnessing a slow motion train wreck, she simply could not avert her inner senses from the abhorrent void she was feeling.

A snap of energy flashed as the spell ended. Salve backed up gradually, sliding into her own sleeping bunk at the far back of the cabin. Eyes still riveted to the specter that stood between her and the only way out, the spooked pony crouched against the far corner of her den and hid behind her forelegs.

“Well?” Enquired the smirking man.

At first it seemed as though the mare wouldn’t reply. From the outside world the sounds of ordinary people setting up their temporary home filtered in, filling the gaping silence that now gripped the drafty coach. After a long pause, a tiny voice whispered from beneath the protective hooves.

“…she’s dead.”

Comments

[Cherry Rie]

12:41 and FINALY submitted

[Cloudhammer]

I had been wondering if something like this would happen. Though it does raise the point well of just how ephemeral a thing it is that separates a human from an AI (if it exists at all, or is simply something that we believe is there but can't actually perceive)

An excellent chapter Cherry, keep em coming

[Chatoyance]

“We don’t rebuild people when their hurt" one error I caught, just a little one, I do that all the time.

I love playing with identity and sapience. I look forward to the next chapter.

[Midnightshadow]

169388
This made me laugh far more than it should have

Also, I'm finding "Sarah" really interesting. What is she? Why is she?

...and what the flank is that big macguffin they're building with all the wires and the lights and things?

[Da Bunnana King]

Saw an Australian, Five star and favroted. And once again a nice chapter.

[darkmatterbutterflies]

Mmm, don't know how I feel about the first section of this chapter. Not that I don't trust your storytelling abilities, but something, I don't know, something about how it's presented. A sort of modern equivalent to the hooded figures in a candlelit room mumbling to each other things like "blah blah dahkness blah blah the ritual blah blah". I'm not at my most eloquent tonight, I fear.

Just one more chapter, then I sleep.