Content warning: This chapter includes threats of sexual violence and graphic violence that some readers may find distressing.
The machines on the domes' processing floor whirr and crash in syncopated rhythm as we walk back under the main floodlights, and the stench hits me again. Heavy, nauseating, and inescapable. As I walk, clouds of heat and thick steam swirl around me, and I fight to keep down my chicken stew.
Keep calm, I tell myself, anchoring my thoughts. Elise has just warned me about the one man I trust. Or the one man I have trusted, either way. It's key to avoid the sense of panic that stems from being overwhelmed in the aftermath.
Be the eye in the storm.
Still, questions about Manni aren't needed. Not now. But they still persist, twisting my nerves like a barb left trailing through my gut.
And there is anger, too, because why is everything about me so damn vague and hard to hold? From my memories to my friends? Even my skills, or my own proprioception and sense of self?
I keep thinking back to Janine, that self-satisfied expression of hers as she looked back at me.
Because I don't feel like an asset, and I don't feel one step ahead. Body and mind are forever playing catch-up, although at times I also wonder if that is part of the plan.
I try to distract myself with thoughts of Manni and his visit. He promised to attend this shift at some point, and so that thought sustains me as we file ourselves back in.
It's about time.
And then my thoughts are diverted once more.
'Whose drone is that?'
It is Syrix talking.
One of our spider drones has malfunctioned, sending slabs of meat into the air. The crew around us either ducks or flails around haplessly as they try to get it to power down.
'Kill it at the core,' I shout at Mayhew, who is the closest one trying to make it safe.
'Not responding,' he cries back. 'The algorithm has gone rogue.'
It is a similar model to what Varis or Preacherman used in the banana domes, but a smaller, pack-sized version that most of my colleagues have not seen before. It's also crimson, not sapphire blue, and it is also a MEMREX, which means it runs on firmware I'm familiar with.
Perhaps the most pertinent difference concerns its accessories. Instead of pickers and vacuum suction cups, this model has surgical blades housed under its main gimbal, which it then uses as cutting implements attached to its many moving limbs.
Naturally, getting close to one in action is lethal, so they come with many overrides. And more than most people think.
I gaze at the droid as its serrated blades and nipping scissors make short work of the synthesised meat. Usually, they work in graceful choreography, leaving neat, diced pieces on the conveyor belt from where they are then inspected and passed to the next stage of processing.
However, for whatever reason, this model has become confused and can't judge the distance between the end of its limbs and what it sees in front of it. It cuts too deep into the meat, then over-corrects and misses entirely, sending random cuts everywhere. I duck as a thick slab misses my head, landing on the belt, sliding off, leaving what looks like a slug trail in its wake.
My colleagues all look confused as I instinctively drive my eye into my top-right socket. Using the ocular's residual overlay in my headface, I enter a quick string of commands into its diagnostics port, rerouting its motion routines through an auxiliary processing hub.
The spider twitches, resets its limbs with a hiss of pressurised gel, and resumes picking up blocks like nothing happened.
'Good job, man,' says Mayhew, and there is genuine relief in his voice. We are close to falling behind the waypoint target, and a few more guys pat me on the shoulder as if to drive the point home.
It's strange. What is this? I am basking in this warm sense of relief and appreciation. Possibly even kudos.
But before I can straighten up, a dark presence clouds over me.
Varis and Syrix.
Like before in the cafeteria, my thoughts pall when either of them walks by.
'Do you think that kind of thing is impressive?' Syrix asks.
Immediately, I shake my head. 'No,' I mutter, blindly falling into line, adding, 'Really, it should never have happened in the first place.'
I don't even bother to give Varis or Syrix eye contact as I try to play dead and get free.
'Who was that lady friend,' Varis says, as I hear Syrix burst out laughing, 'that we saw you with earlier?'
Now I look up at him. He's toying with me.
'I don't know,' I say. 'Honestly. I asked her how she got here and the nature of her business, but…' I shrug.
Again, Syrix is laughing. As if the idea of me speaking to a woman is hilarious.
'Like her, do you?' asks Varis. He breaks into cold laughter and waits until I look away. 'Interesting. I didn't think women were your type.'
'You don't know anything about me,' I tell him, but they're finally rounding on me, and, weirdly, it no longer feels like me speaking.
Some older intelligence, something more primal and nestled at the base of my cerebellum, is taking over.
'Careful, Syrix, he looks like he's getting angry.'
'And we wouldn't want to make him do that, would we?'
'Oh no,' Varis continues, enjoying himself, 'I hear he transforms into a giant mollusc-man hybrid that beats you to death with his own man-tits.'
Various people break out laughing at that, but I hold my stare and lock eyes with Syrix.
'No,' I say calmly, pretending their words don't matter. 'I'll just report you to HR. Not for harassment, more for, I dunno…' I look Syrix up and down. 'Inappropriate liaisons in the workplace.'
A brief and beautiful look of panic breaks her sneer.
'Now, was there something I could help you kind folk out with? Because if not, I'd really appreciate it if you'd just fuck off and let me carry on with my work.'
'You'll soon be finished,' snarls Varis suddenly as the picker from one of his spider arms knocks me off my feet and pins me down against the composite.
'Urgh,' I say, winded and clawing for breath.
Through blurred eyes, I can see. The floor around me is clearing.
Now Varis is staring down at me again with his mad, cross-eyed glare. 'If you say a word about a thing, you won't make it to the next shift.' The spider arm tightens its grip. 'A rat with your output and background is in no position to make threats, do you understand?'
'You don't know anything about my background,' I say again through clenched teeth, trying not to show how helpless and claustrophobic I really feel.
'You protest too much,' Varis snorts as more arms clamp on, tightening around my limbs like coiled snakes. 'Because my enquiries tell me there is more to this Tilo Mladic than meets the eye. Isn't that right, Rene Esparza.'
'I thought as much,' Syrix says, watching my eyes flinch. 'He's hiding something.'
'He is indeed,' Varis says, as I try to kick out and squirm. He uses his spider to turn me upside down. 'Which means he'll need interrogating and reporting to Control.'
I kick out, but it's futile.
Those mad, squinty eyes. Only upside down now.
'Oh, this is going to be glorious.'
'Varis, wait,' says Syrix as Varis rights me up again but keeps me under control. 'I think I have an idea.'
'What kind?' asks Varis.
'Oh, maybe we won't hurt you, Mladic. But your pretty little friend, on the other hand…' Syrix starts laughing, and Varis soon joins her.
'Can this be done?' Varis's voice is deadly calm and clearly serious.
'Getting a trace on her now.' Syrix leans into my face as though she is going to spit in it again, but my wince provides enough satisfaction for now. And then she stands back up and gestures in the air as if she's just been endowed with a monstrously large appendage. 'I'd love to show a piece like that, how it's really done, you know? Woman to woman.' She bangs the table and grinds against the side of my head. 'Tie you up and let you watch.'
A heartbeat.
That's all I need. That's all I feel.
One heartbeat, and that image, planted in my mind like some hellish seed.
'What's the matter?' Syrix asks. 'You can always pretend one of us is your dead wife if you like.'
And now I feel it. Flight has switched to fight. My thoughts, nerves, blood. Everything, seized by a wild rage that burns every pathway.
Now I don't care.
Now I just want one shot, one attempt to bring about their death or downfall. Either will do.
'Sure,' I reply with mock humour as Syrix finishes dry humping me with her crotch. She watches as I take care to wipe the side of my mouth with my napkin, making sure to maintain eye contact. 'But just be aware that if you did, well…'
'Yes?' Syrix's voice hardens.
I smile, a warm and reassuring expression driven mainly by my eyes. 'If you tried that,' I say quietly, bringing my voice down to a whisper, 'I'd use a club to rearrange your face, then take payment from Varis for the face-lift.'
An audible hush descends over the meat hall at that, and everyone, even the old gene hack, looks over ominously from their workstation.
Varis and Syrix look stunned, but for the first time since my arrival, I know what I should be doing.
It may not be written on my mission manifest or contained in a hidden memory. Still, every inch of me is calling out to do what is right, so I don't wait another minute for a second chance.
My eyes retrieve the memory as the other side of my brain initiates the actions.
Immediately, my headface locates the red spider with scissors hands and initiates another backdoor control.
I flick the ocular feed to my retina overlay. The spider drone's diagnostics flicker across my headface display. Armature Lock.
My iris selects the keys. Reroute power. Override safe mode.
The spider twitches, limbs unfolding like crimson knives. It scuttles towards Syrix, blades clattering against the metal floor. She barely has time to turn before it jumps.
Her scream is enough.
Varis's spider arms release their grip.
I fall to the floor, landing on my feet, and immediately launch forward while she is distracted. My flypanel swings into her jaw.
Bone cracks as she staggers back, eyes wide, mouth raw and bloody. But she catches my wrist before I can draw it back.
'What is this?' she says, as Varis uses his own spider to pick mine up, snap its comms gimbal, and toss it aside like a dead crab for his bucker.
CONNECTION LOST flashes across my headface as Varis then yanks me back into the air.
'Enough,' he spits, raising his fist for the final strike.
Hoisted into the glare of his spider's lights, I realise there's nothing left to hack. No code. Only this brute death awaits.
Varis's mad and squinty eyes align on the point of my death.
But then they widen.
Not because of me.
Something is happening behind him.
Manni's huge frame has wrapped around Varis's back like a hydraulic press.
Varis tries to command his spider to use one of its arms to strike Manni off. But before he can fully ascertain what is happening, Manni has already locked an arm around Varis's throat and hauled him upward, out of the spider. Incredibly, so that Varis's feet dangle inches above the spider, and metres above the meat-slick floor.
I can hardly imagine the strength needed to hold him out like that.
Varis thrashes, fingers clawing at Manni's iron forearms, choking out gurgled pleas, but it's no good.
Manni twists. A wet, crunching snap fills the dome as Varis's neck breaks, leaving a limp and lifeless body level and motionless in Manni's astonishing raised lift.
Syrix doesn't last much longer. She staggers toward Manni like a broken crone without her crutches. Manni cocks his head as he watches, considering the matter carefully, before jumping down from the spider and driving her skull into the hard composite where it splits like a melon.
Everyone is crying out.
Blasphemy. Curses, you name it.
But Manni is already calling over the chaplain drone to remove the twitching bodies. Like he hasn't got a care in the world, and it hits me that he's just saved my life. Again.
The floor falls silent except for the hum of conveyor belts and the quiet clicking of the damaged spider drone as it tries to stand again.
Manni chews slowly, surveying the two broken bodies at his feet, and then another thought hits me. Whatever Manni is, or whatever it is that made him, he isn't like the rest of us. He's something far beyond human.
'Sorry, I was a bit later than expected,' he says, and I see he is eating a bar of chocolate. Presumably bought from the vending machine in the cafeteria, and purchased well before he got here. 'Traffic getting here was murder.'
Thanks for checking out Hard Lines. To track the whole story so far, please visit the Serials page on Beyond Colossus. New scenes drop each Wednesday.
Whoa ho. Murderbot
That got intense, haha. Didn't see that coming!