Lavie Tidhar - The Apex Book of World SF 2

“Stop it, Fritz!”

The ventilation system had been down for more than two weeks now, so the steam had already turned into a muddy cloud made of smoke, dirt and blood. The troops behind the trucks broke up and ran away. Two soldiers trying to hide behind the blockade were torn apart by the hellish gun.

“Stop it, Fritz! This thing’s gonna blow!”

He was thrown out from the machine by Ernest and another militiaman he didn’t recognise. All three hit their backs to the ground, their voices screaming all right, all right, it’s okay, I got him . The tin soldier just stared at the city sprawling over him, failing to see any human beings walking the streets at the sphere’s opposite half. It seemed there was no-one at the casino’s tower, too.

They both woke up to the sound of the locomocycle roaring inside the hotel’s garage. They’d ended up falling asleep after a night-long procedure and were still bound together by wires, sensors and robotic hands. They could sense the smell of ozone and boiling chemicals in the air, and heard the sound of a thousand processing clicks from the analytical engine. Both had guns under their pillows.

“It was supposed to be my turn,” Fritz said, partly asking and partly answering. “I just turned off. Sorry.”

“No problem.” Chaya smiled. The only thing still beautiful in this godless world. “It’s all right.”

The door blasted open and they both pointed their guns at whoever was coming in. Emilio raised his free hand, the organic one, making sure the non-human couple could see his face and recognise him. “Thought you heard me coming,” the doctor said.

“The power of habit,” Chaya said, uncocking her Luger. “How’s the city going?”

“Empty. Except for militiamen, not many people are willing to walk the streets these days. Those who have food at home have no reason to go out. Those who don’t, won’t find any outside.” Emilio closed the door behind him with some difficulty. He had a small wooden box in his mechanical hand.

Fritz rested his gun on the improvised stretcher and tried to stand up. His joints creaked loudly. His body was all twisted and warped on the left side, especially his knee, though his right shoulder also cracked. “Any news from the front? How are the men doing?” Four days ago he’d been promoted to captain. Not that it meant anything, since the militiamen followed whoever they thought worth following rather than those with military rank. They’d been close to lots of bombs in the past few days, he and his friends, but maybe because he’d got used to the mortars or maybe because of the nature of the explosives, none of these had hurt him any more than the first one on the Chanteclair had. Actually, it still hurt. “Did they retake the casino?”

Emilio lowered his head and crossed the laboratory towards a tarp-covered table. The sound of boiling water came from it. Only when he walked past Fritz, did Emilio notice how injured his friend was. Gunshots, scraps, deep cuts. Were he human, he’d be dead by now. “No. No, I don’t. No news,” he said, pointing to the hidden table. “Last thing I heard was that the Committee issued some kind of edict saying the militias are now illegal.” The doctor looked over his shoulder. “They’ll find us. Sooner or later, they’ll take the neighbourhood. It’s over. Then they’ll make an agreement with the Consortium and life will be as it used to be before the strike. Or even worse. And I think you two should pack your things and go back to Earth now. An aethership will leave in about three hours. You’ve nothing to do with this war.”

“And you do?” The automaton was craving for an argument.

“Fritz, dear, I think Emilio might be right,” Chaya said. She tried to find some comfort on the stretcher, but the wires wouldn’t let her.

Fritz shook his head. He had his revolver back in his trembling hand. The bomb might’ve loosened some pulley in his shoulder. “We’re so close now. You said that. Besides, there’s nothing for us down there, on Earth. Nothing.”

Emilio and Chaya stared at him. The tick-tock in him seemed to have vanished, or at least couldn’t be noticed above the noises in the lab.

Dr Cavalcante sighed. “So, if we’re to finish this experiment, we better get back to work.” He pulled the covered table and brought it to the space between the couple. The myriad of cables, tubes and wires on the floor got stuck between the table’s rusty wheels. Emilio took the brown tarp off it, uncovering two once-green cylinders and a series of transparent alchemical glass vials the size of pressure pans. The vials were mounted like a ziggurat and were full of boiling liquids, each one of a different colour. The yellows were on the edge of the table and the blacks were actually extremely dense reds. There were also some transparent ones and others reflecting light in gold and silver patterns. At the top of the glass pile, there was a bigger, double-sized vial. It was completely empty and uncapped. “Okay, we’ve been through this before, but just to make sure you got it right,” Emilio said donning his waistcoat and the stenograph. “I’ll plug the drains into you and then attach it to the uterus up there and, and then I’ll link it to the aetheric fusion tank down here, as well. If we’re able to produce enough sephirotic reaction, well, we’ll proceed to surgery. Ready?”

They exchanged nervous glances and smiled, confirming their willingness to move on.

The occultist connected the suspended cables to the wires inside the non-human veins. He activated the apparatus by pressing a switch next to the control panel. Immediately, the prone bodies became stiff, as if they were being electrocuted. He ran to the aether cylinders and turned the valves only slightly to release a tiny amount of aetherfoam. The substance flowed through the tubes until it filled the fusion tank. He returned to the edge of the table and faced the control panel. It was diamond-shaped and over it was a gematria board, a stone abacus and a green phosphorus screen displaying the Tree of Life. Everything was connected by dozens of wires and cables leading to the analytical engine. Opposite him, the tank blending the non-humans’ essences span faster and faster.

“Come on. Come on.” They always failed in the first step. Calculations were correct and there was an obvious resonance between the two lovers. But in all attempts throughout the weeks, the tank had worked as a centrifuge, not mixing, but separating the essences from the aether.

The first two sephirotic houses shone in the monitor when a pale light started to emanate from the tank.

“Yes.” Emilio jumped and punched the air and, when he looked again, the third house was alight. “No, no, no. Too fast.” He found the controls for the mechanical arms under the table and quickly attached them to his own clockwork arm. Now he was like a puppeteer whose fingers moved spider-legs over his marionettes. The organic hand calibrated the analytical engine, moving the stones in the abacus. He lowered the robotic arms over Fritz and Chaya and, with his feet, he pressed a pedal to activate their drills and scalpels.

The vibration was felt, not heard.

Then a thundering noise hit the street several metres above. The blast almost tore the equipment away from the ceiling.

“No,” Emilio moaned and stopped to listen, “not now, please.” A second later another blast was followed by another quake and then machine-gun shots.

“Don’t. Even. Consider. Stopping.” Fritz had his arm raised, his gun triggered, and was pointing at the door. “Move on,” he said, knowing the doctor hadn’t considered stopping. He knew his friend craved paternity, too.

Fritz saw, right above him, a robotic arm handling a bright blowtorch and, on the table next to him, the shining scalpel hovering over Chaya. He tried to turn his sensors off, but it was too late. He felt the pain and the heat of the torch opening a big triangle in his belly, while his wife had a vibrating blade carving a doorway to her womb. Gunshots were closer now and already they could hear screams coming from Hotel Florida’s garage. The doctor, abacus forgotten, now held a pistol, too, aimed at the door. The face and mind of the now-captain motolang convulsed with pain, while Emilio tried to find the correct gear inside him with his spidery arms. At the same time, the doctor looked for a specific root in Chaya.