Tom Aston - The Machine

It seemed quicker this time. He’d only just arrived at the incline and the electrical humming was quite loud already. There was the familiar freezing mist on the slope already. Something wasn’t right. It was like the Machine had been moved nearer to the shaft.

Stone edged up the side of the incline, stooping, hugging the ironstone side of the tunnel, feel the bubbles and nobbles in the meteorite rock. The freezing mist, vapour wisps of liquid nitrogen flicked his skin, like an arrogant icy finger drawn down the nape of his neck. He hadn’t had this earlier, not on the slope. Now it was as if the clouds and tendrils of vapour were tumbling slowly downwards to enfold him, to surround him and suck him in. It was deathly cold once more.

Sheeeeeeee-Hshaaaaawww.

Stone heard his own breathing in the mask. Slowing down. His heart was a slow steady bass line. Stone’s subconscious mind was readying him for action once more. Probably nothing again, like the telephone.

Then a short, sharp, slithering sound a few metres away — the thick power cable, as thick as a man’s arm, sliding across the ground. Followed by a lurching sound. Someone was moving the Machine — toward the slope. Stone slipped faster up the side of the slope. He’d get up there, get level with it. But he must stay hidden in the mist.

Sheeeeeeee-Hshaaaaawww.

The buzzing was louder, and the blue lights were there on the Machine, but still shrouded in mist. It hadn’t been powered down. Whoever was moving it must be dragging the heavy power cable too. Stone edged forward, almost abreast of the Machine. He could make out the shape of the cylinder, and the fragments of ironstone covering it. There was something else stuck to the side. He leaned forward slightly into the mist.

Sheeeeeeee-Hshaaaaawww.

Thump! On the back of the helmet. A roundhouse kick had just removed his hard hat. He knew what was next, and crouched forward and down. Two lightning high kicks went over his head, swirling the mist into tiny eddies. But Stone was low. The dark figure emerged, as Stone pushed from his haunches and hit him in the midriff to put him on his back.

It didn’t work out. The man had crashed backwards into something, and managed to regain his footing.

Stone stayed low and wrenched off the breathing mask. The man had grabbed Stone’s hair and was trying to dash his head against a bony knee, but he’d have to do better than that.

‘Surprised to see me, Ethan Stone?’ Stone knew those high kicks, and that lean, hard midriff. The voice confirmed it. Ekstrom.

‘You’re losing your touch Ekstrom,’ said Stone. ‘What’s the matter? Don’t like surprises?’ Stone again used his legs. Grabbed Ekstrom by the thighs and pushed up, hoisting him into the air, crashing his head into the rock of the ceiling. Rocky flakes came away and thwacked onto the side of the Machine. Ekstrom crashed down onto the cylinder, knocking it backwards. It fell onto the low-loading platform of its transporter truck. Rolled forwards, but then stuck in place.

‘That’ll be your gun, Ekstrom, stuck to the side of the thing, stopping it rolling away. There. You knew it would come in useful.’

‘Not my weapon, Stone. Do you think I'd use that Chinese piece of shit,’ replied Ekstrom. Cool, in spite of everything.

Stone was above Ekstrom. He still had hold of him. Had him on his back. He was close to Ekstrom’s face, holding his arms back. It was close-in wrestling, ju-jitsu style. Ekstrom couldn’t strike, could barely move. Stone couldn’t strike either, but most opponents panic in this situation. They try to break out, or strike back. Usually they move their arms or twist their heads. It opens the neck to a choke position where they can be subdued. Even an attempt to get up would show the back of Ekstrom’s neck to Stone, and invite an arm bar across the throat.

But Ekstrom was not usual. He was no panicker. He talked. He liked to talk, Ekstrom. Usually about himself.

‘I heard the whole thing, Stone. Back in the hangar on the island, when I was helping Semyonov into those plastic underpants. I got your whole story about the Machine. It’s quite an invention isn’t it?’ he said with his accented English. ‘See what you can get by being nice to people? Zhang sent me in there to tend to the sick. Very useful being on Semyonov’s medical team.’

‘You got to wear a mask and a hairnet. You’d like that.’

Ekstrom was talking for a reason, not just to taunt. What was he up to? ‘Amazing what you get to hear, when you’re tending to Mr Semyonov. Quite an invention, that Machine,’ said Ekstrom with some relish. ‘How much do you think it will fetch to the highest bidder? America, China, Russia — they’ll all be ready to talk.’

What was he doing, spouting this bullshit? They were face-to-face, breath-to-breath, Stone with his arms pinning Ekstrom’s to his sides and his elbow poised over Ekstrom’s throat for when his chance came.

‘The Machine’s locked, Ekstrom. You won’t get a thing out of it.’

‘Of course. But the key is sitting in a wheelchair right above us. He’s an interesting man, Semyonov. Very motivated by one thing. He’ll do anything to see that his invention doesn’t go to waste. He’s already defected once. I don’t think loyalty is his strong point, Stone. Do you?’

Stone saw too late what Ekstrom was doing. He was distracting Stone while he edged into a stronger position. Stone tried to pull him back, but Ekstrom edged his shoulders over once more. He was almost there. Stone tried to pull Ekstrom’s whole body over with his knee, but he was too late. He was a good fighter, Ekstrom. Intelligent, completely cool. And a nice use of distraction. Ekstrom was nudging his shoulder under the cylinder of the Machine, lying on its side. Its weight of a hundred kilos was jammed only against Ekstrom’s gun. If the cylinder bumped over the gun it would roll away. Ekstrom’s shoulder nudged again. Stone’s arms were on Ekstrom’s. He was powerless to stop it. There it went. A hundred kilograms of cylinder rolled over the gun, and jumped off the end of the transporter, gathering speed, bumping over the gun as it rolled. The power cable ran after it and then — slam !

Pain screamed through Stone’s ankle as the transformer fell forward onto it, yanked over by the power cable. The ankle was broken for sure.

Ekstrom was out, standing right above Stone, half-visible in the freezing mist. Stone turned onto his back. It was a poor option, but the only option. Ekstrom had no weapon, and he would find it tough to engage a man lying horizontal. Broken ankle or not.

If he bent to try and throttle him, Stone would drag him back into the ju-jitsu, and Ekstrom had already lost out on that one. If Ekstrom tried to kick, Stone could grab him or throw him.

The Swede prowled around above him. ‘If you won’t fight, I guess I leave you here. I think I’ll win the race back to the shaft,’ he said. Which was true. It’s exactly what Ekstrom ought to do.

‘Without the Machine? OK. Good luck,’ said Stone. ‘Think about it Ekstrom. You need to power it down. Otherwise how do you get it in the cage? Or out? The magnets are too strong.’ Ekstrom said nothing. That only happened when he was nervous. ‘And forgive me for stating the obvious, but the power line ain’t gonna reach all the way to the surface. You need to power down, and you need t he sequence from me.’

‘OK,’ said Ekstrom, tensely. ‘A deal. You tell me how to power down, and I let you live.’

‘Come on, Ekstrom. That’s lame even for you.’ said Stone, smiling into the swelling, piercing pain of his ankle. He wondered if it was dislocated. ‘You’ll have to send me up in the cage. Then I’ll tell you how to do it by phone. After all, I’m not much use with this ankle.’