Machine God: A Post-Apocalyptic Thriller (17 page)

I didn’t want to find out.

The man in charge yelled again.

“Stand in line. Your shift starts now.”

The Fireturtle II APC rolled out its garage. The superior barked at us and told us to enter through the rear.

We we’re ten in total, the perfect load-out for a single armored carrier. Six soldiers of the Bulwark accompanied us. Two drove the APC, the other joined our seats to watch over us. Nathan sat opposite of me and glared into my eyes with enough hatred to launch another war. Couldn’t blame the guy, in a way, I had ruined his life. Promised him food and shelter, and what did he get? A degradation to the lowest position. Maybe out in the Lost Lands, we’d have a break where I could set things right.

But judging from Nathan's glance, he was beyond the talking phase. The superior clapped his hands like a degenerate child when the motors of the mighty APC roared. 

“We’ll arrive at our target destination in T-minus forty-five minutes. To get our juices going, we’re going to sing a little song to praise our glorious Bulwark Cluster. Who’s with me?”

Judging from everyone’s subzero mood, no one. 

But participation was mandatory. 

“I chant the first lines, you follow up. Come on, let’s make this day count.”

He clapped, and so did his soldiers. 

Fully-armored guards of the Bulwark clapping like adolescents, yeah, it looked the way it sounded.

“We dig dig dig dig dig dig dig from early morn' till night

We dig dig dig dig dig dig dig up everything in sight

We dig up artifacts by the score

A thousand times, sometimes more

We dig dig dig dig dig..."

Whoever composed this song deserved a life-sentence of scrubbing toilets. Not even Konforma and her twisted programming could come up with rubbish like this.

Give me a break.

Nope, the superior didn’t. 

He restarted the vowels.

“And one last time.”

"We dig dig dig dig dig dig dig from early morn' till night, we dig dig dig dig dig dig dig up everything in sight."

We all repeated the atrocious lines with the passion of a beaten pig, but the superior didn’t care. As long as we obeyed his command, we were good to go. When the song ended, I rested my head and looked up the hull ceiling of the APC. Closed my eyes and listened to the steady hum of the motors.

Tearing up the desert ground.

Bringing us to the digging site.

During the silent ride, I thought about two folks.

Ceedee.

Who I hoped would survive her grave injury in the medstation. And I thought of the mysterious brunette, Nathan's daughter, ex-scientist and now a researcher in the Bulwark’s R&D branch. Working on secretive projects, none of us low-ranks were supposed to know about.

Gossip claimed she knew the past's secrets. 

Maybe that was the reason why the superiors locked her away from the commoners. With fingers crossed, I prayed for her well-being. Hoped she didn't end up like her father. Also hoped we'd have a chance to talk about the world’s—and maybe my—origin.

51

Finally there.

The hatch opened up, the soldiers pushed us out. We walked inside the ruins of yet another desolated city sector. Up high in the endless azure sky throned the fireball AKA the ever glowing sun. The heat burned up the air and turned it into a thick mass beating our lungs. 

Ten hours of digging under the scorching sun?

This was hotter than hell.

And now the superior roared his lovely voice to remind us.

“Move it. You’re on a schedule.”

The map updated on our commcuffs. Soldiers took the lead, told us to walk in a straight line which they guarded.

I wasn’t a digger, I was a damn prisoner.

Carried the right suit, the gear and soon the same attitude of a downtrodden. Still, this was my first day, and I couldn’t give up hope. My goal was to adapt and see what opportunities arose, if any. As long as the stars were shining on the firmament, I had a reason to go on.

“Hurry.”

“Yes.”

We climbed through an opening in a wall and treaded into a compound next to an industrial-style building. Mountains of rubble, tech trash and other unidentifiable stuff seemed to scratch at the sky. This was some kind of forsaken disposal site, and my instinct had a pretty good idea of what was going to happen next. 

My co-diggers craned their sleepy heads at the superior and waited for his next command, although everyone must have known what we needed to do. The superior stretched his smug grin.

“Yes, you have thought right. For the next nine and a half hours, you’re going to rummage through the trash to find valuable pieces for our beloved Bulwark. You’re allowed to take a break in four hours. Rations and water will be supplied to you.”

A sigh went through the digger audience. 

Ten hours of searching through the rubble while the fireball cooked you up.

Ten hours of sweating your soul out while the stench penetrated your nostrils.

The soldiers carried helmets with full face shields, but nothing protected us diggers from the stench and the sand dust in the air. 

One could assume our lives weren’t worth much.

Go figure. The man in charge yelled again. 

He was seriously trying to beat Orden in the competition for the most nerving voice ever.

“Well, what the hell are you waiting for? You just had a breakfast ration, which should provide you with enough energy for the next hours. Go to work—for the greater good.”

“For the greater good,” the diggers said.

Well, mumbled, to be exact.

I couldn’t find one poor bastard who was looking forward to this, but we had no choice.

Obey or be swayed.

The superior divided us in three little teams.

He added one last thing,

“In case you find something rare, something which you can’t explain, just call me. We take care of everything.”

Whatever. 

I was ordered to pick the trash mountain near the compound wall, finetuned my metal gloves and boots. And started to selectively move pieces away, looking for the goods. Most of the parts came from outdated gear—some equipment pieces from industrial machines of unknown origin. I recognized a couple of vehicle fragments, lots of useless trash from factories and even more concrete and steel pieces eaten away by time and rust. What could possibly lie around here that was useful to the Bulwark Cluster? 

More silly questions that I pushed away.

Five minutes into the ‘work’, I felt the sun frying my gear. My sweat fall wetted the garment underneath the miner suit, sizzling me pretty good. The soldiers patrolled the area and watched us diggers, making sure everyone worked and no one fled. One soldier shot his grapple gun and ascended to the fourth floor of an adjacent building. He carried a similar rifle like Ceedee, so he was probably setting up his sniper spot. To either kill enemies or us, in case we tried to flee.

No one knew.

Except for one thing: danger lurked everywhere. 

Nathan slaved away a few trash hills next to me. Every other load, he sent a hostile glance over to my position. If the sun burned my back, his glance beamed through my flesh like a Technoid pulsar shot. 

So much hatred in his iris.

And I was just trying to do the right thing.

For everyone.

“Hey digger, go back to work.”

A heavy glove grabbed my shoulder. A soldier stood next to me and posed in his impressive desert-colored armor. He must have watched me very closely.

“I was just distracted.”

“Obviously. Now focus on the task. If I catch you pausing again, you won’t receive your ration today.”

“I was—“

I stopped my sentence right there. It was needless to talk to Orden, it was twice as useless to argue with a soldier. 

“Yes, sir.”

The soldier nodded and resumed his patrol.

Hawking other idle diggers.

Marching with pride and showing off in his armor.

With a last glance up the azure sky, I wiped the flood of salty sweat from my forehead and rummaged through the trash mountain. Ripped a piece of cloth apart and stuffed it into my nose to battle the stench. It worked, but now the dust stuck to my sweat and started itching underneath my gear. 

Half an hour had passed since the start of the shift, and I was already complaining and feeling the discomfort. 

Here’s to my new life as a slave.

Could it become any worse?

Oh yes.

52

A few hours into the trash searching, the glorious Bulwark representatives granted us a fifteen minute break. Handed out rations in the form of water, bread and some artificial meat, injected with vitamins to boost our bodies. It tasted like it sounded—bland.

Which fitted the Bulwark philosophy of creating something which looked ugly, but worked, even under terrible conditions. 

We diggers sat around a circle near the trash hills. Nathan maneuvered around the co-workers and landed next to me with enough attitude to flip off a wall.

“Hey, young man. Remember me?”

I decided to play his game.

“Of course. You’re the survivor I saved from the Technoids. I rescued your daughter.”

“You did,” he said while stuffing a piece of bread into his dusty left cheek.

“And you promised us a better life in the Bulwark Cluster.”

“Well, you’re taken care of, aren’t you? You have enough food and shelter for your loved ones.”

Nathan's voice thundered.

“I’m a damn slave thanks to you. In the mall, we had to fear Technoid attacks, but at least we were free people. Now we’re forced to dig up trash for your glorious Bulwark.”

My eyes checked out the round. I noticed at least four other people from the rescue mission. And these survivors didn’t look pleased.

In the slightest.

“Listen, I told you life was going to be tough. Nothing what I said was a lie. And I still think it’s better to work for the Bulwark than to run away from the Technoids. Do you think your life would have been any better under the metal freaks?"

“At least we had a choice. Here, we don’t.”

Couldn’t argue with the old man. I agreed with his view and felt sorry for dragging him into the class system of the cluster. I thought a man with his experience would have been assigned to a better position within the society.

Foolish me.

And now the aggression leveled up in his body. Nathan was close to shouting. The superior and his guards talked in the distance, enjoying first rate rations while ignoring our little quarrel. Some part of me believed it was on purpose. To deescalate the situation, I tried to shift topics.

“What about your daughter? She isn’t a digger, is she?”

“They have taken her to some kind of facility where she apparently works in R&D. But I can’t tell for sure, and do you know why?”

Of course I didn’t.

“Because the officials have prohibited me from contacting her.”

He stood up.

“Picture that—they told me not to talk to my own daughter. All thanks to you.”

“Listen, Nathan. I’m sorry, I really am. I had no idea that this would happen. I just wanted the best for everyone.”

I looked up at him and hoped he would see the sincerity in my eyes. He stared at me with poisonous orbs. 

Burning harder than the fireball in the sky.

Nathan said,

“That’s what you and your kind do, eh? Find gullible survivors in the Lost Lands and persuade them to join your Bulwark as slave workers. Makes you wonder how your kind sleeps at night."

“It’s not my society, Nathan, because if it was, I wouldn’t be a bottom-feeder, digging in the trash like you.”

Sounded like a good argument, but with someone as riled up as Nathan, the statement bounced off his fatherly ego.

“You took my daughter from me.”

“She’s alive. She’s working in a good position. I think.”

“You took her from me.”

Oh boy, this was the Hecto fight all over again. Something in my presence caused certain individuals to lose it.

Only this time, I had to face a senior a few decades older than me.

Thankfully, he had his trusted friends with him. Three jolted from their positions and aimed for my limbs, trying to pin me down while old Nathan launched his dusty fists. 

"Let's not resort to violence. That path never works."

“Hold still so I can hit your fist-friendly face."

“You have to work for it.”

Four digger friends put me in a deadlock while revered Nathan slammed his knuckles into my temple. His gloves doubled the pain. The geezer almost knocked me over and grinned like a mad man whose only joy came from schadenfreude. Meanwhile, the guards and the superior continued to ignore our brawl and enjoyed their premium rations instead. 

This had to be a setup.

A setup with endless pain inside.

Wammo.

Old Nathan blasted my left with another gloved fist. 

My lips tasted first blood—a disgusting mix between iron, sweat, dust and some other trash particles. Even with Nathan's beat-up spree, I tried to talk him out of it.

“Listen, nothing is lost. If you play by the rules, I’m sure the Bulwark committee grants you private time with your daughter.”

“Is that why you’re here? Because you played by the rules?”

Busted.

“I have a problem with authority.”

“So do I.”

Wammo II.

Nathan's fist, meet my face.

Face, meet Nathan's fist.

The introduction of the day.

And still, even with the iron blood accumulating on my tongue, I was talking.

“Beating me up won’t do anything, Nathan.”

“Yes, but it makes me feel better.”

Heard that one before. 

Hecto said the same.

Blame it all on the nameless loner.

The co-diggers who held my arm grinned as well. They enjoyed seeing me suffer, but when another fist punched me, I got peeved.

Everything I did was in vain.

I didn’t deserve to be a digger.

I didn’t deserve to get battered.

So I whispered something unintelligible, which caused old Nathan to move closer to my face.