Extinction Level Event

It seems long ago since my uncle, Rear Admiral Jonty Price Williams, came bounding into his study where my step-aunt and myself were trying to cool down. The summer of '21 was utterly oppressive. The windows were flung open, but that only allowed the hot sticky air to sidle in and ooze down our necks. My uncle, who was a portly man, was perspiring tremendously.
"I say, you two," he said, bustling over to the chaise lounges and looking down at the pair of us. My aunt, Lady Fairweather, waved her fan at him desultorily and sniffed. "How would you like to escape out of this torpor and have a jolly old adventure?"
Though the heat was almost stupefying, I found myself interested immediately. You see, my uncle was renowned for undertaking the most marvelous, altogether spiffing adventures and I'd been begging to join him forever.
While Lady Fairweather tutted, Uncle Jonty sat on the edge of the divan. He began regaling me with visions of soaring dunes, craggy mountains, dangerous animals, and really everything a girl of thirteen could dream of.
We would be gathering species for the National Museum, he told me. In light of our planet's rapid warming, and subsequent mass extinction, they had charged my uncle with the important task of saving those unlucky species whose time had run out.
My head filled with fantastic visions and soon my trunks were packed, along with my nets and traps and other accouterments of the exploring trade. After saying goodbye to my aunt, we jumbled down to the quay where uncle's old steamer, the Albatross, awaited.
I had a whale of a time, throughout our journey, spotting belugas and bluefin and mighty Balaenoptera musculus. We watched stingrays swim through luminescent blue algae, and electric-blue krill glowed at night.
As soon as we touched land, we bundled into a procession of old Land Rovers fully kitted out for adventuring along with a dozen or so hired men and drove our way across the entire continent in thirteen days to the base of some mountains on the northern edge of a desert.
We approached the mountains from the west, Uncle Jonty and I in the foremost Land Rover. He drove, and I leaned forward in my seat, craning to look up the sheer-sided cliffs that jutted ahead out of the desert.
A few hundred feet up, the cliffs disappeared in thick clouds. Their underbellies were dark and heavy, and the air was dry and electric. Uncle Jonty called a halt, declaring that we'd make camp before ascending the mountains the following day.
While the hired hands set about fixing up tents and campfires, I wandered away, following the wall for a few hundred yards. A few scrub bushes, like the gorse of back home, grew wildly out of the rock.
I thought I heard something and approached the cliff. Yes, I could, in fact, hear a certain rhythm, as if pounding. I put my cheek against the rock and jumped back. It was hot! I leaned in again and heard unmistakable pounding as if of a heartbeat.
The rhythm was quick, far faster than my own heart. As I listened, the beating grew quicker and quicker until all of a sudden, it stopped. Silence returned so quickly that I couldn't be sure if I hadn't imagined the whole thing.
When I told my uncle after dinner, sitting alone by our fire, he took a drink from his hip flask and looked into the fire a long while before answering.
“There's something in there,” he said.
And he proceeded to tell me the real reason for our journey. This mountain was part of a chain of mountains stretching around in an enormous, and altogether complete, circle. An impenetrable wall of rock enclosed sixty thousand hectares of untouched wilderness.
Jungles, rivers, lakes, and forests lay just on the other side of these peaks, representing the last untouched piece of land on the planet. Not only that but our government, using observation balloons and low-flying planes under the guise of the National Museum had ascertained that an entire race of people, previously undiscovered and uncontacted existed peacefully in this walled garden.
It was this fact which spurred them to contact my uncle. This land, which we were about to discover, represented one of the most valuable finds of the century. Who knew how many new species of flora and fauna existed within reach? Our country's government was not ready to let such a precious discovery go unexploited.
And so, early the next morning, my uncle and his men unloaded crates from the Land Rovers. Soon, huge silk sacks were slowly inflating in the cool morning air, and half a dozen hot air balloons stood to attention.
I climbed into one of the baskets with my uncle. It was filled with stores, equipment, and traps. A few rifle muzzles protruded from a canvas roll. I could feel myself trembling with excitement as the gas jets flared. I felt the basket lift off the desert, and we rose into the air.
Soon we were in the glowering clouds and visibility reduced to practically nothing. It grew cold and I started to shiver and my uncle wrapped me in a thick blanket. He had to keep working to stop the ice building up on the controls. He waved a flaming blowtorch back and forth over the control panel.
Suddenly there was a bright flash of lightning. Thunder cracked. I heard my uncle yell and he pointed and we watched a balloon careen through the sky to our left, misshapen, deflating, and smash into the wall. I heard men's cries as the basket turned over and a couple of human figures fell reluctantly out.
Lightning flashed again. Thunder deafened us. It was continuous and the balloon rocked wildly, crazily tilting to where my stomach lurched and I was sure that I too would fall to my death.
And then, as suddenly as it all began, we lifted out of the storm. There was golden sunshine and a bright blue sky and a cool, gentle breeze as the balloon lifted peacefully above the top of the mountains. Below, you could see the land we were about to exploit: emerald forests, aquamarine rivers, and turquoise lakes. A giant flock of birds, the color of rubies, flew beneath us.
I heard a hissing noise. The battered balloon was leaking from a dozen or so holes and we began losing altitude. Looking around, we ascertained to our horror that we were the only balloon in sight.
As we approached the jungle canopy, my uncle pointed. There, in a clearing, we could see three animals side by side. They were the size of ants from where we were, but I could see they were jaguars sitting back on their haunches. Then, remarkably, three humans walked into the clearing and stood next to the cats, looking up at our plummeting machine.
When we were skimming the treetops, my uncle opened the valve and the protesting motor made one final attempt and gave up the ghost. We dropped the last few meters and, with an almighty crash, smashed into the branches. I was thrown clear and that's all I remembered.
The next thing I knew, I found myself propped up in bed being tended to by three of the most remarkable women I'd ever seen. They were very tall and ethereal and they moved around me with such grace that they appeared to be floating. They spoke to each other in twittering, birdlike phrases that sounded like laughter.
I was still very much dazed and confused and I hardly knew where I was. The women served me sweet-smelling tinctures in fine wooden bowls and pungent but not unpleasant tea and I began feeling better.
I wondered where my uncle was and as soon as I could speak, I asked my guardians. The women replied in laughter and left the room. In a moment, they returned with a procession of men, similarly tall and ethereal. Two of them carried a throne, upon which sat my uncle, wearing a cast on his arm and a very bemused look upon his face.
From then on, well, what can I say? It was all very much a wonderful blur. Riding aloft in hand-carved thrones, my uncle and I were carried out of the hut and into their city. And yet, the word city hardly does their utopia justice.
The people's homes were built in and as part of the trees. Rope ladders and walkways wove through the jungle, like arteries in a vast circulatory system. Thatched huts swayed gently here and there, suspended by twisted vines. Inhabitants laughed and waved as we paraded by.
High in the branches of the biggest tree, rather like a fig tree, perched the chief's abode. There, with seemingly the whole village peering in at the windows and doorways, the chief, for lack of a better word, surrendered her village unto us.
Bowing low to the floor, the old woman took off her headdress made of colorful flowers and feathers and offered it to my uncle, who, in the ensuing silence felt inclined to place it on his head.
For the next few weeks, we were treated like kings, nay, may I say it, like gods. Every day the entire village proceeded before us as we sat on our thrones in the chieftain's hut. They surrendered all their possession, their animals, and lands. The chief served us as if we were her masters!
The most delectable infusions, the sweetest ambrosia, the finest garments were plied upon us. Neither myself nor my uncle could believe the luxurious stupor in which we found ourselves. The rich dishes and extravagant wines left us reeling in our seats for hours and days on end.
In between feasts, we were shown the village, riding in thrones atop two villager's shoulders. Never before had I seen such precision, such detail, such architectural wonders and feats of structural engineering.
The villagers jabbered in their wonderful, singsong language while showing us how they lived entirely sustainably with the earth. Amazingly, they had managed to find equilibrium. By taking no more than they needed and returning as much as they took, these benevolent, beautiful people lived alongside Mother Earth in complete symbiosis.
My uncle and I stayed up late at night, alone in the chief's hut, surrounded by gifts, discussing the world-changing discovery we'd made. My uncle was beside himself and grew impatient about our departure.
One day, after treating us to the most fabulous feast thus far, everyone around us grew silent. Something was different and I sensed a change in the air. Drummers entered the cabin and the villagers all began chanting.
From then on, this splendid paradise turned into a veritable nightmare. We were grabbed from behind. Our arms and legs were tied tight. Hoisted aloft again, this time bound and gagged, we were carried to the base of the old fig tree.
There, in the roots, a passage led down into the darkness like an opening mouth. We entered and descended for what felt like miles underground. It grew hotter and hotter and there was a rumbling sound. The drummers increased their pace and the chanting grew louder.
Up ahead, the tunnel opened and we were brought into a vast chamber. Orange and red lights danced on the walls and the heat was intense. It smelled like rotten eggs and I saw great volcanic pits boiling and erupting in the center of the chamber.
Great spurts of lava jerked through the air. Little red and gold gobbets rained down, pelting the black rock, splashing and sizzling. Smoke and sulfurous clouds billowed around us as our captors approached the fiery pits.
My uncle was ahead of me. I could see him struggling against his restraints. His eyes were wide and his face was like a mask beneath the wild headdress. The drummers drummed faster. The villagers' shrieks reverberated off the stone walls and ceiling.
In this hallucinatory scene, I found myself praying, praying to a God I didn't believe in, praying to Mother Earth and to Science; I prayed to whoever might listen. For a second, I thought my prayers were answered. All at once, our captors stopped chanting.
But no, this pause was to wait and watch my uncle as he was carried up the side of the fiery pit, hoisted aloft and, with a great shout from the villagers, thrown in. Then they turned and reached back for me.

Children of the Revolution

The beeping sound was reassuringly consistent as the robot moved the ultrasound probe back and forth across the pregnant woman's belly. On its chest-mounted display screen, the humans could see the pulse rate of both mother and baby, as well as a live-streaming sonogram. The engineer looked at the data. Nothing abnormal. Mother's pulse rate normal, fetal pulse rate one twenty. Not too low, but she'd be keeping an eye on.

“Everything looks good, sir,” Terry said to the bald man wearing a military uniform emblazoned with medals, standing on the other side of the bed. A cloth eyepatch covered the General's left eye. His right eye narrowed and scowled at her and said nothing.

She turned her attention back to the young pregnant woman on the bed. For the last eight and months, Maria had barely said two words to Terry or the medibots on their weekly check-ups. She looked out at the world from two large brown eyes and she kept her lips tight shut, never complaining, answering the robots' questions with one-word answers. She sat there, silently brooding as one of the robots went to work between her legs while the other wiped the ultrasound gel off her belly.

“How much longer will all this take?” said the General. His good eye flicked to the door.

“We'll be out of here in five minutes,” said Terry.

“Come see me before you go,” he said, turned walked briskly over to an intricately carved wooden door which led to his office and disappeared through it, shutting it with a snap.

“Can we get you anything before we go?” said one of the robots to Maria. She just stared ahead of her, saying nothing. The robot whirred over to the side table.

“I've put some painkillers here and some tea to help you relax,” it said, patting and smoothing the bedclothes with its carbon gripper. Maria looked away and the robots reversed over to the elevator door on the far side of the room.

“Wait for me outside,” said Terry and she went and knocked on the beautiful wooden door.

#

The General's office was spacious and austere. A streamlined desk and hoverchair were the only furniture. The far wall was a full-length window with a sliding door opening out onto a balcony. There the General stood, framed by the yellow sky, with his back to the engineer.

On her way across the room, Terry glanced at his desk. Moving images of wanted terrorists covered the smart screen surface. Some of the faces, Terry saw, had red Xs drawn over them. There were men and women, young and old. She could tell by their weather-worn skin they were all Civvies and they seemed to look at her accusingly from their digital frames. The face at the top of the pile was that of a handsome young man with black hair, a black beard and black twinkling eyes. The corners of his mouth showed just a hint of a smile.

She heard the General clear his throat and saw that he was waiting for her. Deep frown lines creased between his eye and the eyepatch and he stood tapping his polished boot, arms folded. As she stepped outside, the temperature increased by about fifty degrees and the humidity shot up to a hundred. Prickles of sweat immediately sprung up between her shoulder blades.

The jungle-clad skyscrapers of the city looked like a living jungle canopy below them. From their vantage point atop Skyscraper 1, the green pillars of the other eleven towers were dwarfed beneath the dome of dirty yellow sky above them. Terry could see a slight shimmer where the artificial biosphere separated the city from outside, the biological wall keeping the Cities safe from the Civvies, high up inside their walled garden.

Down below, she could see helibots flying between the skyscrapers. You could hear their engines whirring and see their flashing lights illuminate the green fronds of the jungle. Brightly-coloured birds flew alongside the bots, squawking to one another. It was almost beautiful up here. You could almost imagine that the world wasn't in chaos. The General remained silent. Terry was about to say something when he growled.

“We're winning this war,” he said, gripping the guardrail without looking at her. She wasn't sure if he was speaking to himself or to her. “We're winning, dammit. We have control over ninety percent of the population. Within nine months, we will have conditioned everyone. The entire project will have taken less than a decade.”

“Yes, sir,” said Terry. She wondered where he was going with this.

“Do you know how we've made such good progress?” he asked. Without even waiting for a reply, he answered his own question. “It's by plugging any gaps in the system as soon as they appear. Every revolution has permutations, outliers and mutations. In that way, you can think of our work like evolution itself. Evolution succeeds by adapting to the world in real-time.”

The General turned to look at her. His steely blue eye gazed down at her. Even though they were the same height, Terry felt as if the man towered above her.

“So,” he said, his face almost purple with rage, “when I hear about individual units not doing their jobs, it means I am forced to react, to adapt, to evolve. Now, what do you think evolution does with genes that don't do their job? It eliminates them from the field.”

Even though the air outside was oppressively hot, Terry suddenly felt cold, as if an icy finger drew down her neck. Her mouth was dry. He knew. She was frozen with fear. She tried not to look away from that cruel blue eye.

“There were thirty-two illegal births last month in the Civvy population, according to my sources. This represents a serious leak in your department.”

Terry had heard the stories about the General's infamous anger. She'd heard about the spies he'd uncovered and executed with his bare hands. Suddenly, she realised how very alone the two of them were. On top of the tallest tower left in the city, no one could possibly see them. She took an involuntary step back. But the General grabbed the railing again. His knuckles were white.

“I want you to find the leak and bring them to me. You have one week.”

She tried not to choke on the words and she managed a “Sir, yes, sir.”

#

The next day at daybreak, Terry left the city by the south gate along with two medibots who hovered a few inches above the ground. Together, they travelled along the hardpack dirt road that led through the Civvy slums to the old hospital, St. Xavier's, up on a rise about a half-mile away.

Terry's mask filtered, cooled, and purified the air, but she could still taste and smell it. The shantytown stank of garbage and animal sweat. Terry wrinkled her nose behind her mask and winced. The weekly visits to the hospital were a walking nightmare and she went quickly, hoping the day wouldn't prove too brutal.

The patchwork hovels had been pieced together with pallets, sheet metal and plastic tarps. Everything was bleached and worn out from the brutal sun, and the world seemed almost black-and-white compared to the lush colours of the jungle city. She could barely imagine what it would be like to have to live out here your whole life.

Up ahead, on the corner, Terry saw two Civvies squatting in the darkness of a doorway. As she approached, the lights from the bots reflected in their eyes. There were two pairs of flashing red lights in the darkness, then they disappeared as the shadows recoiled from the bots and uniformed City Engineer. She wanted to say something, to reach out to them with some sort of reassurance. But the robots would pick up any audio, so instead, she stared forward at the familiar route.

Soon enough, she was climbing the crumbling concrete stairs of the hospital's south stairwell. Bullet holes dotted the walls and the steps were completely chewed up. Every now and then, she had to jump a missing step. The robots floated up ahead of her and they made their way to the third floor – the maternity ward.

It had been almost ten years since the laws came in, making it illegal for any Civvy to bear children. That year, mass sterilizations had begun. Now, any Civvy found giving birth was cleansed from the system and any information leading to the discovery of a pregnant Civvy was rewarded generously by the State.

The two doctors at St. Xavier's were good at their jobs, so good in fact, that they were now the last two doctors left in the slum. Any Civvy in need of medical attention had to suffer their inspection. The doctors, evil twins, were equal in their inward malevolence yet opposite in their outward appearances. Together, the brother and sister rooted around the Civvy population, searching out valuable pregnancies like two swine searching for truffles.

When Terry stepped onto the ward, she saw them bending over an occupied bed in the corner, wearing their dirty, bloodstained, once-white coats. She was very tall, he very short. They turned as one as Terry and the robots approached. The short one smiled ingratiatingly. His little eyes were wet behind a pair of handmade glasses.

“Friends,” he said obsequiously. “It is so good to see you.”

Terry didn't say anything. She felt her lips curling behind her mask, glad that it hid most of her face.

“Report,” said one of the robots.

“A very fine specimen,” said the taller twin, stepping forward, licking her lips. “Sixteen-year-old. Camp 17. First fertilization. Four months and three days. Dilate and evac, I believe.”

“Thirty-five credits,” said the short one. The sunlight reflected off his glasses, making it look like he had no eyes.

The engineer turned away and looked instead at the beautiful young Civvy lying on the dirty hospital bed. She was draped in a ragged sheet, but her clean, shiny belly protruded from the dirty folds. Terry saw fear and hatred in the girl's dark eyes.

She felt sick. There was nothing she could do to when a mother was this far along. If she'd got to her sooner, she could have switched out her mifepristone for sugar pills. There were no sugar pills to replace an evac.

The girl moaned a little as the robots set to work. The chemical restraints kept her mostly immobile but Terry could sense her distress. The engineer took hold of the girl's left hand. Her fingers were cold and Terry wrapped the delicate hand in both of her own. A terrible sound started up from one of the robot's tubes and the engineer tightened her grip.

Suddenly there was a crash behind them and they all turned to see. The two doctors were yelling, flapping their sleeves. Terry saw a group of Civvies burst onto the ward. The leader of the group shoved the short doctor away. His spectacles went spinning across the floor. The robots stopped performing and wheeled round. The lead Civvy was nearly on them.

“Halt,” said one robot, rotating through its appendages, looking for its AI wand.

“Get away from her!” yelled the Civvy. Terry could see his wide eyes, his bared teeth. He held a long metal pipe and was preparing to strike.

“Wait!” cried a loud booming voice. Terry saw another Civvy leap forward. She saw long black hair, a black beard, and grabbed the pole in the other man's hands. He twisted and threw it away in a long arc across the ward. It bounced with a clang on the concrete floor and rolled to a stop in the silence.

Terry and the robots faced the gang of intruders. They were dressed in the Civvy uniform of grey rags, and they were all panting heavily, warily eyeing the bots. The two robots stood, tall like sentinels now, covering the men with an assortment of weaponry. Terry stood behind the tall robots, still holding the girl's cold hand. As she looked, the anguished man leaped at the robots, trying to get through to the girl.

“Leave them,” yelled the black-haired man, grabbing the bereft father and pulling him back. Terry froze as she saw him clearly now. She recognized him from the portrait on the General's desk. It was Solomon, the leader of the Civvy revolution.

“Civilian, you are under arrest,” said the robot, addressing the struggling man who was trying in vain to free himself from Solomon's grip.

“You are all under arrest,” said the second robot.

“We're leaving,” said Solomon, smiling. “Don't get your wires twisted. Why don't you drones get back to work.”

“Halt! Get down on the ground. Show us your hands,” said the robot but Solomon had turned and was pulling the weeping man away. The rest of the group turned to follow.

“Civilian, freeze!”

There was a zap and a smoking scorch mark appeared in the floor to Solomon's left. Smoke rose from the small crater and he stopped. When he turned, both his hands were in view and he was smiling.

“You know, it wasn't supposed to go down like this,” he said and looked through the robots at Terry.

There was a terrific noise like a rocket blasting off and the ward's crumbling ceiling fell in. Dust and smoke blinded Terry and choked her and the noise and confusion concussed her. She found herself lying on the floor in a pile of rubble nowhere near the hospital bed. The short male doctor was lying not far away with his head turned away and a slab of concrete lying over his bottom half. Terry tried to raise herself but it felt like her arms were made of lead.

Shadows appeared out of the dust and she was turned over. There were people in masks leaning over her. She tried to push them away. One was leaning down. She felt a jab in her arm and she looked down to see a hypodermic needle being pulled out of her shoulder. She couldn't speak. Her jaw was slack. A warm cushion of darkness rose to meet her and she lifted up into the black.

#

When Terry came to, she was sitting on a chair in a low empty tunnel. The arched stone ceiling ran away from her and disappeared into the gloom. A dry, hot wind blew down the tunnel and Terry could smell sulphur like rotten eggs. She realised her mask was gone.

She was sitting uncomfortably on a hardback chair. Her hands and wrists were tied behind her. She winced, circling her jaw. It felt like she'd been hit by a train. She tried to remember what had happened. Amidst the noise and confusion, she remembered the father's anguished yells, the dying mother's cold hand, and the ironic smile on Solomon's lips.

She heard footsteps behind her and Solomon strode into view, wearing a dirty sheet like a toga. The leader of the revolution turned to her, wearing his most generous smile.

“Well, hello there,” he said, clapping his hands and stepping closer. “You've rejoined the land of the living. Only a few bumps and scrapes. Nothing permanent, at least. How are you feeling?”

Terry said nothing. Three men came and stood beside him. They all held guns across their chests, not the AI wands the robots used, but old-style, mechanical assault rifles. Terry looked at them.

“They're not for you,” said Solomon, noticing her gaze. “No, you're the last person we want to kill, Theresa.”

He laughed at her expression then reached into the fold of his robe and pulled out a cigar, which he lit using an old mechanical lighter. He seemed to take inordinate pleasure in the process, sucking and puffing out his cheeks so the flame danced high on the tip of the cigar. Terry could smell the pungent sweet-smelling smoke. The flame danced in his eyes as he looked at her down the length of the cigar.

“That's right,” he said, grinning and breathing out a mouthful of smoke. “We know who you are. We know what you've been doing. We've been monitoring your actions for the last ten years. We know everything there is to know, all the sugar pill replacements, all the doctored paperwork, all the files that happen to go missing. You might have evaded Cyclops, but you cannot hide from me. I see the whole world.”

Solomon was pacing in front of her, but he stopped and came over and stood just behind her. She flinched as she felt him touch her wrist but then relaxed as he pulled off the manacles and her arms were free. She rubbed her wrists in her lap and he continued to speak in between puffs on the cigar.

“You see, we want the same thing, you and I. Nothing different. You may think we have nothing in common, but in fact, we both want the humans to survive. Cyclops, on the other hand, has made a deal with the devil. His pact with the robots only takes us one route. Can't you see it's only a matter of time until all us humans are dead! Either by starvation, sterilization, or all-out warfare, our time has come to an end.”

He stood in front of her now, gripping the arms of the chair, leaning within a few inches of her face. Terry stared directly into his black eyes. She could see fire burning deep within them. Terry didn't look away. He laughed and shook his head then went back to pacing, waving his cigar around as he spoke.

“When I was a kid during the first coup, my mother hid me every day from the patrols. She hid me in a hole in the floor under the table and I'd stay in there for days until it was safe to come out. I hated that hole. It was pitch black and roasting hot and the air smelled terrible and I'd cry and cry but she'd tell me to hush.

“One day, a little girl arrived at our neighbour's house after her parents were executed and they put her in my hole with me and from then on we both had to hide together. But from then on, it was easy. We told each other stories and made the pain go away.

“We grew up and our stories turned to love and we survived our childhood where so many others were killed. The sacrifice of others saved both of our lives. For a time, the future, as poor as it may seem to you, seemed wonderfully bright hopeful.

“Then tragedy struck and the General descended and plucked my beloved out of my arms and killed my whole family and burned my home to the ground. I was in the mines and when I came home that night, I heard my neighbours crying my name and I saw the attack drones flying back to the city.

“The General, Cyclops, took my beloved from me and from that moment I vowed to take my revenge. But not for myself. I have transcended the self. No, it is for my people the I fight. Our people. The people. The time has come for the people to rise up and take back control, Theresa. The revolution is happening. The revolution is here.”

Terry looked at him. The cigar stopped waving. He pointed it at her chest.

“We need you, Terry. We need you. We need you to do one thing to save the human race from utter annihilation. When the time comes, you need to save the mother and child.”

Behind her, Terry heard something in the tunnel, a far off sound of an engine. Solomon looked past her and straightened.

“Now go,” he said. “Back to the city, back the General and perform your duty. The future of humanity is in your hands.”

He walked past her. She stood up and started to follow him. Lights glinted far off down the tunnel. One of the guards came up behind her and touched her on the shoulder. When she looked at him, he motioned with the barrel of his machine gun towards the platform. It was time for her to go.

The rumbling sound of the engine grew louder and louder as she climbed onto the platform and began walking towards the exit. She looked back as a train appeared from out of the tunnel. An old steam train chugged in, filling the platform with steam. Solomon had climbed onto the engine and she could see him, surrounded by clouds of steam. The brakes squealed and the train slowed to a halt.

Terry saw dozens of people disembarking from the carriages, hundreds of people clad in black uniforms with black balaclavas, black gloves and boots. Many of them carried mechanical firearms. They began lining up along the platform.

The rebel poked the barrel of his gun into her lower back. She started climbing the stairs back to the surface. She glanced back one last time. Solomon was striding up the column of guerrillas. She could see the cigar tip glowing as he waved it through the air and she heard his words, “Take back control!”

#

The next morning before dawn, feeling battered and bruised, Terry stood beside the hospital bed in the General's private apartment. Two medibots, identical to the ones she'd seen assassinated the day before, were starting to perform their duty. Terry looked down at the girl – Maria. She was perspiring and breathing hard. There were worry lines around her eyes. Terry wanted to say something, but the robots were standing right there; one was taking her pulse, the other was setting out instruments.

Instead, Terry said, “How are you feeling?”

Maria ignored her.

Terry wanted to say to her, “You know, just because it feels like you're alone in this world, doesn't mean that you are. When I was growing up in the Hive, I spent all my days alone, plugged into the AI by myself.

“It was easy to feel like I was completely alone, not hearing any other human voice, not feeling anyone's touch. But it always helped me to imagine there was someone else out there, thinking about me. I know how you feel, Maria. You and I aren't so different.”

Instead of saying these words, Terry just squeezed the girl's hand. There were tears in the young girl's eyes. The robots moved between her legs.

The door flew open and the General stormed in, purple-faced. The medals on his chest danced on his chest as he stamped over, his boot heels resounding on the hardwood floor. His one good eye drilled into Terry.

“You!” he cried and his hands shot up as if to strangle her right there and then. She turned to the side, her head and her chin down, one arm raised in defence. But the General stopped and lowered his hands, bringing his violence under control. Terry could see a vein popping out of his purple forehead.

“As soon as my baby is born, I'm going to kill you,” he snarled then grabbed at the bed as the floor shifted under their feet. There was the sound of explosions and the air and the floor trembled around them.

“Hear that, traitor? Your comrades are attacking the city.”

“I- I- I,” Terry stammered. Maria wailed behind her. “Sir,” Terry motioned to the bed, “your wife.”

“Robots,” he said, looking past Terry. His one eye widened “I don't need you.”

He unholstered his AI wand and levelled it at her head. A massive shockwave passed under their feet followed by a series of terrific explosions. All the lights went out. Terry could see the General's features starkly in the low yellow light. She saw him grimace and pull the trigger.

Nothing happened. The tip of the wand was no longer pulsing. They both looked at the robots. They were down too, powered down and resting on the floor. For a second the two humans looked at each other then the whole side of the building fell away with an ear-splitting roar.

#

The hot wind whipped the breath from Terry's lungs. She gasped. There was a rushing sound and she was looking out over the burning city. Columns of smoke rose from all the skyscrapers. Fresh explosions lit up the jungle-clad walls. Colourful birds flew about, squawking in panic.

Suddenly, like huge spiders, a dozen people climbed into the room, clad in black, holding guns. Terry looked quickly at the robots, but they remained unlit and grounded.

The General stood still for a second beside her then rushed towards the foremost guerilla. He threw his useless wand in their face, yelling, 'Come on, you bastard! I'll take you with my bare hands!”

He went forward but the guerilla ducked under his lunge, came up beside him and threw him over his hip to the ground. He yanked hard on the General's wrist, twisting the old man over onto his belly. The General shrieked as his arm wrenched around in the socket.

“This is for my mother,” said the guerilla and dropped his knee onto the General's elbow. Terry heard the snapping sound where she stood. The General roared like a wounded lion. The girl on the bed screamed and Terry tore her gaze away from the carnage and went to her.

The guerilla appeared beside her. He tore off his mask – it was Solomon. He helped Terry push the two dead robots out of the way and she looked between the mother's legs and saw the baby was very much crowning.

She thought back to those days as a girl when she'd been plugged into the machine, learning all about everything, day in, day out. She tried to remember the lessons on childbirth but couldn't withdraw any information. Delivering humans had been the robots' job long before Terry had even been born.

Instinctively, Terry stepped in front of Solomon, reached forward and applied gentle pressure on the top of the baby's head. The woman in the bed howled and writhed. Her hair was slick down her face.

Terry felt another hard push as Maria let out a scream and the baby's whole head was out, covered in slime, then one shoulder then the other. After that, the rest of the body came smoothly and a warm, wet baby boy was there in her hands and it felt like the whole world stopped spinning around her.

#

But the world didn't stop and in an instant, Terry was back and the wind was howling around her. Solomon helped her clamp the umbilical cord and they wrapped the baby in his jacket. She was just about to hand him the infant when she heard commotion and yelling and a few gunshots behind her.

Turning, she saw the General, staggering, grasping a machine gun. Two of the guards lay dead on the floor. Solomon sprang to his left just as the general, holding the gun in his one useful arm, sprayed wildly.

The guerillas yelled. Guns thundered all round. Terry crouched, pulling the infant into her body, protecting him with her back. There were a few more shots then the firing stopped. She heard someone moaning and peered out.

Bodies lay everywhere. She saw Solomon writhing in agony. She saw the General, lying there with his eyepatch blown off. There was a dry, fleshy hole where his left eye should have been. His other eye was closed. Terry tore her gaze away from the monstrous face and saw there, in bed, Maria lay dead.

“No!” she heard Solomon's cry and he hobbled over to the bed, he'd been shot in the leg, and threw herself across her. “Maria!” His shoulders heaved as he howled into the dead woman's hair.

“You fool,” said the General. He was pushing himself up from the floor. Blood ran down his chin and neck, staining the green collar of his uniform. He laughed and spat out a mouthful of blood. “Fool. You cannot resist the inevitable. You and me, all of us, are on the losing side of history.”

“Why won't you die!” cried the rebel and lunged off the bed towards the General. There was a bang and the rebel fell back, his arms outstretched, across his beloved in bed.

“Now give me my child,” said the general, pointing the gun at Terry. She didn't move.

“I said, give me my-”

As the General stepped towards her, another shot rang out. He recoiled, grabbing at the medals over his heart. With his one eye wide and his mouth in an O, he reared back then fell forward on his face in the dust.

Terry turned and saw Maria, leaning up on one elbow in bed. A smoking gun slipped from her grip and it fell to the floor. She slumped forward across Solomon's body and Terry heard a long painful sigh.

Terry stood there, alone in the rubble. Not entirely alone. The baby boy moved against her, whimpering a little. She pulled him close and cooed to him gently. The sun rose over the edge of the earth as a new dawn spread over the city.

Mean Mr. Businessman

The man ran breathlessly down the road away from the gunshots, gasping like a pug. He was stupendous, like a porterhouse steak. Sweat drizzled down his forehead and glazed cheeks like icing. He left a trail of slime behind him on the pavement.

Two gangly peace officers gangled behind him with their six-shooters raised, banging and spanging bullets off lampposts and railings, everything but their target. Passers-by fell like flies. Cars exploded. Houses fell over.

But the stampeding man stampeded on. Over the crest of the hill he ran, through the gates to the city observatory. There, on a palatial lawn, mint green in the sunlight, the shadow of a helicopter stretched out from under a whirring machine.

The rotors scythed the air. The door slid open. Mean Mr. Businessman, for that was his name, grinned and barrelled over. Cop cars wailed into view, their windscreens glaring. Mr. Businessman found two Uzis under the seat and, as the chopper began rising, he turned and sprayed lead at the blue uniforms below.