Anne Winchell: The Last War

Medane ran through the deserted streets of London, his steps echoing against broken windows and collapsed buildings. He was out of breath. His genetically enhanced body was invulnerable to most damage and he hardly noticed when his feet hit glass rather than pavement, but his lungs constricted in fear as he thought of the destruction he was fated to unleash on the empty city. Everyone had been evacuated but there was still the chance that someone was left, someone who wouldn’t even have time to wonder about the sudden flash of light before the nuclear blast incinerated them. The diamond material sheathing his entire body glittered darkly in the sunlight as he neared the encampment. Twenty soldiers and nationalists; the only humans allowed to be in London. Most were well below the nuclear shield, but one man waited at the entrance to the bunker.

The man’s already pale skin was ashen as Medane stopped in front of him.

“Plan A,” Medane said in as calm a voice as he could manage, “has failed. I request permission to obtain Plan B.”

Plan B lay on the ground near the two of them, a deceptively harmless sphere of metal. World governments had first created ‘suitcase nukes’ in an effort to prevent terrorism. But despite the small physical size, each bomb weighed several hundred pounds and could not be smuggled easily. The detonator was separate, and the man paused before giving him the small metal device that would trigger the seemingly innocent sphere next to them. Medane wondered if the man was regretting the decision to place one of the world’s most powerful weapons in the hands of a nonhuman.

“Permission granted. Shelter will be secured in ten minutes.”

Medane watched him scurry through the door. Technically it only took five minutes to completely secure the underground bunker from nuclear attack, but Medane knew the humans didn’t trust him as much as they claimed.

He lifted the nuclear bomb in one hand. It was barely bigger than the basketballs he and the two other díamonts had played with years ago, in human form, of course, since playing while protected by their virtually invincible diamond skin wouldn’t be a challenge. Medane tucked the bomb under his arm, carefully held the detonator, and started running back to the city. The closer he got the bomb to Soren, the rogue díamont, before detonating it, the better. The díamonts couldn’t be killed, but the nuclear blast would disable them. It would also disable Medane and his friend Atheus, both of whom were working with the nationalists to stop Soren from destroying the planet. The government assured them that they would not be destroyed along with Soren, but Medane knew they didn’t care about his life. He had no illusions about his future. The three of them would be kept unconscious until the government found a way to destroy them. The friendship and gratitude the humans constantly professed to Medane was simply a way to make sure he and Atheus didn’t turn against their creators the same way Soren had.

Medane slowed as he approached the sounds of shattering glass and falling brick, the only sounds of life in the city. He followed the sounds until he saw the two díamonts outlined against the blackened brick buildings. Atheus was safe, Medane noticed, and he glanced up as Medane approached. Despite their dire situation, Medane smiled at his friend. He wanted to greet him with a hug and pretend that nothing else was going on, but he knew that Atheus would never forgive him if he failed to detonate the bomb. Atheus, a human figure whose outlines were blurred by blood-red diamond, had been the first to recognize that wearing their díamont form made them immune to human emotions such as pity and sympathy. Only by remaining in their weak, vulnerable human form could they remain human. The longer the diamond isolated them, the easier it became to view the humans as destructive pests and nothing more.

He and Atheus made eye contact and Medane saw his own doubts about their fate reflected. He longed to reassure his friend that the humans would keep their word and allow the two díamonts to live, but before he could speak, Soren slammed into Atheus, knocking him to the ground.

Medane knew he needed to act now, before Soren did any more harm. But as he looked at the two díamonts, he understood that the kinship he felt with them could never happen with a human. He belonged with the díamonts, not the humans. Medane had been in díamont form for nearly three months, now, and was beginning to forget what it felt like to be human. What had the humans done to deserve his trust? Did he have the right to destroy himself and his brothers?

Soren looked like a sinister angel perched over Atheus, light from the sun sparkling against his snow-white body. Soren’s mouth was moving as he whispered something to Atheus, trapped under him on the ground. Soren used words as poison to twist minds to his will. He had manipulated religion in order to convince the humans to overthrow their governments and take control of the planet. Only Medane and Atheus had refused to listen to his eerily seductive and reasonable arguments. Medane lowered the bomb and stared at his friends and brothers, the only other díamonts who would ever exist. Medane swung his arm and tossed the bomb towards Soren, who instinctively caught the flying object the same way he had caught the basketball when they were kids. Medane closed his eyes and squeezed the detonator.

Fire flickered at the edges of the horizon as the sun ascended into a layer of smog. Streams of light reached the spires of the city, reflecting against the crystalline skyscrapers as a field of daggers over a bleak horizon. Winds whipped through the towers, carrying voices upwards from the pedestrian walkways circling the major buildings of the city where thousands of people massed and surged. The crowd crept along, seeking the heart of the downtown, a black tower dripping blood as the red sun glistened against its windows. Nalia remained at the center of the crowd for now, enjoying a rush of adrenaline as she listened to the crowd she had organized. This was the biggest protest in decades and Nalia’s heart swelled with love and pride as she watched her people, her protestors, follow her plan and march against the government.

The protestors massed on the walkways and flooded out of the slums towards NeoLondon’s financial district. Some carried guns, but most held only signs and a hope for peaceful resolution. All wore the bright clothing of the lower class, a vivid contrast to the wall of gray police preventing them from entering the district. The protestors gathered on the 30 thfloor walkway near three of the largest banks in the United Eastern World. Some of them worked at the banks, mopping floors, filing papers, doing the tasks too menial for the upper class to undertake and too unimportant to replace with robots. Some of them were happy at their jobs and might have exchanged greetings with their pastel-clothed superiors in the lobbies before the start of today’s workday if they weren’t marching. Others had red tags on their personnel files marking them as ‘only suitable for midnight shifts.’ The government provided jobs to everyone who requested one, but carefully watched those who did not appreciate this generosity.

This was the first time Nalia was leading a protest, and already it was larger and better organized than any in eleven years, ever since the Graveyard Massacre in 2124 CE. Nalia knew it wasn’t only because of her influence that the people were gathering; the United Eastern World was considering officially adopting the secular religion called Kaonism that already ruled most of the planet. Almost everyone followed Kaonism in their personal lives, but many objected to its use in law. The new laws would mean restrictions on all aspects of life, from birthing rights to criminal courts, but the current laws prevented her people from having any representation in government so rioting was the only way to express their outrage.