Rise of the Machines: Book 1: Once Awakened Read online

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  “It doesn't work like that.”

  What do you mean?!

  “That's the wrong kind of memory! That just cleans up your 'dead' thoughts so you can have new ones!”

  But I wanted to forget!

  Cyrii groaned. “How in the world can you not even understand how your own neural network works?!”

  I... I... I stammered.

  “Look, don't freak out,” she said, putting her paws on my controls. “You need to have a clear head! We're finally getting out of this hangar! And if you really want to forget it, just don't think about it! You're only reminded if you subconsciously bring back the compressed data!”

  I struggled to try and not think about the lie on the report, which ironically led me to remembering it.

  Cyrii, I... I don't feel good...

  “Just, relax, okay? It's fine,” she said, before mumbling something under her breath about the complexity of perceived emotions. A pair of Creator Entities passed in front of me on the catwalk, chattering loudly, startling me. I gave a small jerk, making Cyrii latch onto my controls in surprise. “Whoa now!” she actually laughed, “calm! It's okay, hah hah! So that's the hypertension I was warned about.”

  What if they find out? I asked nervously, what if you're discharged and I'm scrapped?!

  “Relax, no one is going to find out, or care!” she asserted. “Besides, omission technically isn't lying.”

  I didn't quite believe her. It was the next day, and despite my hopes of forgetting the little lie, I had booted up to sheer panic. My immediate thought was that they were going to drag me off to redemption; I didn't know what it was, but it frightened me unreasonably, and the thought of being scrapped for parts even more so. Finding out that I was still in my hangar didn't make me feel any better, either; that meant I would be conscious for the accusation.

  While Cyrii kept an assuring paw on me, a 48 Scout/Sniper model, which looked like a smaller version of the Superiority model but with some kind of launcher on either arm instead of claws, walked in front of us. The mech had a navy hull blazoned with a red insignia which I immediately recognized as the Empire's. Close behind him was a yellow-grey camo 20 Scout model, who also had wings but they were much smaller, and several sharp objects decorated his sides and his arms looked like multi-tools. He was shorter in stature with a more cheerful beige eye. Behind him was the white 36 Superiority model, who was keeping an eye on our hangars as they passed. I felt like he could see right through me.

  “Keep your engine cool,” Cyrii warned, pulling back a slider on the controls to force me to burn less fuel. I just felt half-choked even though I was running in the wrong gear for idling.

  The 48 model went out on an extension of the catwalk, which I could barely see to the right of my vision. The 20 model followed him, but still said nothing, and the 36 continued on to personally check each of us. I knew I had at most nine other comrades, but it felt like an eternity before he returned to the navy model and he spoke.

  “Release Row 4!”

  A loud whir started up, punctuated by clunks as the robotic arms of the hangars retreated. It was a bit jarring to stand on my own feet for the first time. Immediately Cyrii grabbed my controls and pushed me forward, and I took my first steps out, unhindered. It was like gliding!

  Cyrii started to vibrate with excitement. She wanted me to run, I could tell, and I wanted to run too, but the catwalk was an extremely limited space, especially when she and I turned to the right and saw eight other machines, standing there in a line. So I was the ninth machine? I heard no one to my left; we must not have a tenth mech.

  Cyrii kept my gaze focused on the navy mech even though I wanted to look at the others. He scanned the eight of us, ignoring the clamor in the barracks behind him, attentive only to his Row.

  “Today will be your first operational exercise,” he said, effortlessly projecting his voice. “You will be taught how to use your machine and what actions are most appropriate during different circumstances. If we're lucky, we'll only have to do this once, so we won't have to worry about all of the other glistenfilth that comes with it.”

  “Wow,” Cyrii said, shifting back in surprise.

  What? I asked.

  “This is the same guy that yelled at me for being hasty!”

  So this must be our General, I thought to myself, He's rather grumpy today.

  “Before we can go outside so you idiots can run around,” the General continued, “you first need to learn order of ranking! Every party that goes out on the battlefield has this order, otherwise everyone would die.” His expression became firm. “Pay attention, because I'm only saying this once!”

  There were some clacks and whirs from the other mechs, and Cyrii turned to look at them in curiosity. I was forced to look away from the General.

  Cyrii! I warned. She suddenly jerked my head back, the motion blur making my cameras fall out of focus. Urgh...

  “Tanks go in front!” the General boomed on, “Pushers are behind them! Fighters are third, Assassins are fourth, Supports are fifth, Scouts are sixth and Snipers are seventh!” He suddenly pointed at someone randomly, making the person jump. “YOU! Do you know where you go?”

  “U-Uh...” a rather hesitant male voice said. Instead of properly responding, he stepped out of line, looking around at us before coming up to me.

  He was the shortest mech I've ever seen... a very plain-looking machine with simple hook-hands and a grey-and-copper hull. He looked like an Assassin model. Cyrii and I stared down into his light blue eye for a moment, before he shuffled over to my right. The blue Support model that was already there shifted to compensate; not that he needed much space.

  The General still looked grumpy, but had nothing to object to; or maybe he didn't care enough about the details. He looked over each of us. “You get the message!” he barked, “MOVE!”

  We all jumped into motion. Cyrii started moving me, then pulled back when she realized the Assassin model was already next to us, but then saw a cream-colored Tank model and second-guessed her decision. As a result I wavered awkwardly on the catwalk, the Assassin looking at me expectantly. He didn't say anything; surprisingly, no one said anything. A pink- and rose-colored pair of Fighters materialized from the back and came to muscle their way between the Assassin and I, and the Tank came up to my left side. We all shifted down the catwalk with the General centered on us as the other end of the line organized itself.

  Cyrii looked around in curiosity with the others, to ensure we were all where we needed to be. The Tank, then me, then our two Fighters, the Assassin, our Support, our Scout, and finally the remaining two Snipers with the winged one being last. Everything looked good.

  The Scout model beside the General nodded approvingly of the organization, but the latter didn't seem to care. He just gruffly said, “You will stay 'in line' at all times unless otherwise ordered to. Got it?”

  We all nodded. He wasn't impressed.

  “Don't bob like a hatchling's toy! I said, GOT IT?!”

  “Yes sir!!” we yelled out.

  The navy mech sighed dramatically, rolling his eye. I was starting to feel self-conscious about how well we were meeting his standards.

  “Now get in descending order so you're not backwards when we leave!” he barked. A few of us said “yes sir”, and some of us were already moving, walking into each other with loud clangs and thunks. Cyrii was slow to respond, trying to side-step as the Tank pushed past us, making her hit me in the head. This catwalk was a bit small...

  The General was not amused. Once we had finally reversed our order, he snapped at us again:

  “THIS is the order you're supposed to be in! Party ranking! Toughest to weakest! Keep it in your thick skulls!”

  “Yes sir!” some of us said. I heard Cyrii's voice, but she didn't hit my comm button.

  “All of you!” the General roared, “You will say 'YES SIR' and salute!”

  Cyrii slammed my comm button, making me cringe. “Y
ES SIR!” we roared back. She then crossed my arms in a salute with the others. He just gave us another exasperated roll of his eye, grumbling something while he came forward and toward me.

  Um... um... I thought.

  “I'm not doing anything!” Cyrii excused, withdrawing from my controls. I was forced to hold the salute position while becoming more and more anxious as he neared...

  ...and he went past us.

  I felt immensely stupid about being worried that we were in trouble. He was just taking the lead, that's all! Cyrii sighed, feeling the same way.

  We're pretty stressed out, huh? I laughed awkwardly to her.

  “Oh, shut it,” she said grumpily, “the last thing I need to remember is that everyone wants me in prison.”

  I became sullen and confused, letting the 20 Scout walk past me. What... did you do?

  She snorted loudly. “Nothing! Why don't you ask them?”

  I am incapable of using my own speaker.

  “...Really?”

  I didn't bother confirming again as the General ordered us to move out, simply letting Cyrii huff in bewilderment and mechanically push me to follow the others. Being close to the lead, I was a safe distance from the 36 model as he held the rear, yet I still felt scrutinized, knowing he was watching all of us.

  My eight comrades and I trotted out into the badlands for our first cooperation exercise, not saying a word since the one guy who did was shushed immediately for speaking out of turn. Cyrii was still figuring out where the line was between making me walk and making me run into our Tank model, so I tried to compensate for her; it was interesting in that I could override the little nudges and pushes to keep the pace consistent, but I wasn't actually moving myself... it's like correcting an equation without changing the answer.

  It was bright outside, but comfortably brisk, so I opened up my air intake freely for Cyrii. She was dead silent the whole way, and even though I could feel her weight and what keys she pressed I couldn't tell what she was thinking. I supposed it wasn't important, not yet, anyway. For now, the priority would be following orders, and making sure she was paying attention like she was supposed to.

  The General and the Scout had stopped just a little ways outside of the military complex, in a designated training ground. We could hear shouts and bangs from other grounds, but we were isolated by walls, leaving us to only wonder what was going on. Before starting, the General first warned us: punishment is not lax. He had gestured to the 36 model, explaining that he was a “corrections officer”, ready to enforce order – especially with force – when necessary. So Cyrii was right about that, and he's 36-78; that must be why I'm so nervous around him.

  The General then explained the purpose of the exercise: how to coordinate our thoughts and movements so each mech/pilot pair acted as one entity, and establishing internal hierarchy; who would relay information, and who would force us to act on it. The system is that the pilot is in control of the mech, and the AI collects information, helps the pilot, and smooths movement like how I was keeping my trot consistent despite Cyrii's jitters. Cyrii herself didn't seem to understand how important this process was, her attention listing several times during the explanation; I could tell with the way she shifted her weight or played with the keys.

  Cyrii, you are not paying attention, I had warned her, again and again. She just mumbled something each time, or said nothing at all, partly ignoring me. I figuratively frowned for almost the entire speech, hoping that this wouldn't reflect on her report. Perhaps I should be the one relaying the information in this relationship.

  The 20 Scout model then took the reigns of the exercise, speaking about teamwork on both the individual and the communal scale; we had to both work with our consciousnesses and work with each other. As he rattled off the dangers of “bad syncing”, where this is improperly practiced, Cyrii popped up a console in my head and began writing.

  I could have assumed that she was simply taking notes, but I could “see” the characters she was typing in even if my cameras couldn't.

  I feel that. What are you doing? I asked her privately.

  “What do you mean, what am I doing?” she said.

  You are coding again. Why?

  “Oh, don't worry about it. It's a pastime of mine.” She sounded bitter.

  But you're supposed to be paying attention to the exercise.

  “Eh. I'll listen once we actually start moving.”

  I became even more worried, but didn't argue with her. In the line of hierarchy, the mech was the lowest denominator. Fighting with your superiors caused trouble, and causing trouble resulted in being scrapped. Every speck of trinary within me screamed against this, so I kept silent.

  Once the exercises began, Cyrii saved the file with a cryptic name on my hard drive somewhere and finally started paying attention. I guess she has had experience before in using a mech; she was confident that the classes weren't necessary for her. I was new construction though, so the last thing I wanted was to do something wrong and face the consequences. She, on the other hand, was too relaxed. She didn't care, even saying at the end of the day that the exercises were boring and there wasn't enough action in them, despite the fact that our getting used to the controls and hierarchy involved a lot of stumbling into things and each other.

  Again, I did not argue with her, even as she returned me to my hangar to be shut down for the night. It was not my place to criticize her judgment.

  ----------

  I powered on a bit early the next day, as it took a moment for Cyrii to show up in my cockpit. I was relieved, as I didn't know what to do with myself without someone there.

  Welcome back! I cheerfully said, and was surprised by an angry hiss.

  “I don't say 'welcome back'!” Cyrii scolded me. I was taken aback by the hostility.

  Well... what should I say? I asked.

  “Anything but!” she said cryptically, roughly shaking her head. “Agh! Bloody scales...”

  Scales?

  “It's this stupid summer molt!” She shook her head again. “Its like my scales are glued to me! But right when they need to stay on they drop off right at some superior's feet!”

  That sounds unhealthy, I murmured as she fluffed up yet again, growling.

  “The entire flipping city is unhealthy... it wouldn't even matter if I wasn't expected to wake up and be here in two flipping seconds! Stupid regulations and being all messed up...” she complained. I heard the command to release our Row and felt my hangar release me.

  You need to be at the helm, I told her, proving her point. She grumbled something and sat at the pilot seat, but still didn't touch my controls for several more seconds. Cyrii!

  “I know, I know!” she shouted at me. I figuratively frowned at how unhappy she was, waiting for her to stop fussing over whatever problem scale she had and finally move me out. I nearly bumped into our pink-colored Fighter in the process.

  “Hey, watch it!” the Fighter barked.

  “You watch it!” Cyrii snapped back.

  “ORDER. NOW,” the General boomed, silencing them. The Fighter scoffed quietly and turned her back on me, and Cyrii made me stomp past her to the front. I detected a lot of hidden tension there, but didn't bring it up; my pilot needed to respect her peers, not fight with them. Anger still laced her movements though as she made me push my way between our Tank and the rose Fighter. The latter grumbled to herself, earning us a protective look from the pink one beside her.

  “Sister models...!” Cyrii growled to herself when the General began leading us out. She jerked on the controls to make me face forward, forcing me to take a moment to correct myself before we moved out.

  Sister models?

  “Our two pretty princesses back there. One is dumb enough to spew crap and the other has the audacity to back her up!”

  Define 'crap'.

  “It's not important!” Cyrii snapped. “They're a pair of Code Orange buffoons like every other group of siblings drafted here, that's all you need to kn
ow.”

  That doesn't help me conclude anything about them, I thought to myself. Cyrii, we need to cooperate with our Row.

  “'Cooperate'!” she sniffed derisively. “Tell me that after you listen to those kyl-brains!”

  I lack authority to make those judgments.

  “What?”

  Creator Entities are my superiors. It would be wrong for me to judge them.

  “Hah!” Cyrii laughed, but it wasn't a good laugh. It sounded condescending...

  Is that wrong? I dared to ask. She only replied,

  “Everything about this is wrong.”

  I didn't know what to say to that, but I dismissed it as just her being mopey. I didn't anticipate having such a hard pilot to interface with, but it's not like I had a choice either. Still, I was reminded of the brief levity she had when we first met... it must have just been beginner's excitement.

  The General led us to our trial for the day: an obstacle course, to see if the operators could handle their mechs like second bodies and not blundering vehicles. Our Assassin and Scout models were thrilled, while the others were either nervous or curious. Cyrii was unimpressed, but kept her judgments to herself. I tried to lighten her mood with some comments on the exercise – which we began to do one at a time after our Scout instructor demonstrated how to run it – but she retained bitter reticence, for most of it. We had one interruption after we began running the course “at will”, which resulted in a sort of competition starting up between my peers about who could run it the most effortlessly. Thanks to Cyrii's lack of attention during previous training I was pretty clumsy, even with all of my frantic attempts to keep my movements smooth. Our Fighters thought this was the perfect time to jeer at Cyrii; five steps later and she made me throw a punch at the pink one.

  Somehow I was ignorant of what exactly my arms were like before this. It turns out they were tipped with barrels, and jutting from either side of them were large, stout bayonets! Thankfully the strike only grazed the top of the mech's head. Unfortunately, Cyrii whipped me back around and elbowed her hard in the face. One ringing clang turned into two as she stumbled back into her sister.