Zion

Chapter 9

They catapult along the scorched remnants of the earth and silence seems to consume the world as Acera reflects on what oos has just done. Those were oos’ own kind back there. Murdering another Perfect is a law above all else. Was it necessary to break?

A sandstorm builds in the distance and the hellish skies which Acera has been examining from afar, these past weeks, is soon going to consume them. Not like a dark, soft blanket as it has appeared, but as a volatile and vacillating superior power, ready to engulf all of the hope and strength oos can rally.

Oos’ mind continues to race. Is murder not what happens to every decommissioned Perfect though; they face being murdered by their own kind, merely because of Self-thinking and daring to have alternate notions or brain functionings. They do not end in a charred demise though, left to rot out in the desert sun. Acera almost wishes for the unanimity of the Web, but only for a moment.

Nothing seems certain at this time. There is a wall of danger ahead of them and the looming threat of their pursuers being back on their trail. The better option would be to find some kind of shelter and wait out the storm at this point, but Acera reasons it best to tackle death head-on if it is coming, rather than allowing it to sneak up from behind and ensnare them.

“Are you ready for this?” Lucile chimes in over the Caliber’s comms.

Acera nods and says, “Yes,” but offers nothing more in regard to how the ensuing death cloud fairs with oos’ mental or emotional state. They are two streaks in the distance that pass in less than the time it takes to blink. Rocketing forward, they meet the storm. The Caliber’s light frames instantly threaten to be swept away with all the other debris which the wind carries. Shrapnel, made of small stones and coarse sand particles, constantly riddle Acera’s Caliber and oos does not know how much longer until the armored plating is torn away, leaving oos sitting in a tin can traversing through a firing range.

Lucile’s voice crackles over the comms and Acera is able to make out the gist of what she says. She feels that if they slow down, they might make it through the storm alright, but then the flipside is that they allow for the chance of the Perfects catching up.

“I say we gun it,” Acera elects glaring at the storm, “this thing can’t go on forever.”

“Roger that,” Lucile says and diverts all available power to her thrusters.

Acera bobs and weaves around the odd rocky outcrops, which materialize seemingly out of thin air. Lucile takes the lead and oos allows for as much distance between the two of them, without losing her on the radar.

Forgoing the trial of the body of the storm, eventually, the sand particles begin to lessen their siege upon the Calibers and Acera indulges in the sense of relief that seeps cautiously through oos’ veins. They decrease their speed and it is a snail’s pace compared to the full capability of the Calibers. They summit a sizeable dune and Lucile comes to a halt.

“Is everything alright?”

“We’re almost there,” she proclaims and points to a mountain range in the distance, “Whatever you do, once we arrive, do not remove your helmet and keep your body covered, unless I tell you that it is safe to do so.”

“Are they that unwelcoming of my kind?” Acera almost jests.

“Let them find out what you are and you’re as good as dead.”

They convene once again at a gorge which is seemingly the only entrance into the mountain. It is a wide cavern-like structure that looks as though it was carved away naturally, but there is a structural nature to it that appears to be manmade or at least supported. Acera glances up and realizes the magnitude of this range. Where they are, the mountainside seems to grow vertically skyward, unceasing. It casts a dark and, considering the outside temperature, cold shadow over what appears to be two bugs admiring a penitentiary wall.

“Alright, follow me and do not be foolish or I might just kill you myself,” Lucile says sternly and pulls forward into the mountain.

The rock has an abnormal reddish tone to it as if stained with blood in generations past. Acera considers what oos will be greeted by once they reach the sector. Are these people truly as barbaric as Zion believes or as volatile as Lucile makes them out to be? The strange thing is that Lucile is one of them and yet she seems to be completely normal. She is alien, true, but seemingly more civil than Acera could have even imagined. Apart from the primitive way of life which she elects to live by she is, in oos’ eyes, someone who would be able to adjust and settle into the ways of Zion. However, there is the case of her age (at least the appearance of it). Perfects would be decommissioned if they ever became as wrinkled and frail, as this would be an obvious genetic malfunction. There is also the issue that, Acera assumes, she would lack the willingness to submit to the order of the day in Zion.

Zion, that place where everything works as it ought to and even dust is swept away before it gets a chance to settle. There is a remarkable amount of dust and dirt in the desert. It is made of it. It would not exist without the grainy sand particles that gather together to create the dunes.

The walls which run along either side of the slow-moving Caliber’s seem to shimmer and move almost unnoticeably, but Acera swears that oos spotted a faint ripple over the rock surface. A face projects in front of them, blocking their path. This is the same sort of barricade which Acera experienced when training with Lucile; there is practically no breaking your way through one. A rough, militant voice transmits through the comms of the Calibers and is matched with the face of a man that is bald, save for a messy beard and a scar across his left eye.

“The Bio-Identify scan distinguishes Lady Lucile, state your business at Perfunctory and reason for the unidentified.”

Lucile responds in a commanding and persuasive manner; her voice sounding rejuvenated by the appearance of this man. Acera studies the levitating face and cannot believe the difference between this Homo sapiens and Lucile. He is of course noticeably younger. His facial structures are stronger and more rigid. The voice is grating and rough. Acera recoils to reality and tunes in to what Lucile says.

“Brondo, always such a pleasure to be greeted by your degenerative self,” she pauses and allows herself an airy laugh, before continuing. “Shall I remind you of what happened the last time you tried to cross me?”

There is a clear trepidation in his speech when he responds, regardless of how much the hardy militant man tries, “I’m simply following general protocol. I need to know why –.”

“You need to know jack s**t. Now shut up and let us pass before I lose my patience and have to complain directly to Cantil about this.”

There is no further discussion. Brondo disappears as quickly as he materialized and the two are able to continue on through the cavernous tunnel.

Further down, Acera spots armed guards patrolling the entrance from a ledge above. They appear more alert than oos would have imagined them to be. Perhaps they got intelligence on the appearance of a group of Perfects not too far from this area, or maybe they have suspicions about Acera. Oos watches as they mumble amongst themselves via their headsets and watch carefully as Lucile and Acera pass by below them.

Word spreads about Lucile’s arrival and her undeclared companion. Inquisitive guards, of which there seems to be a swarm of in the area, try to get eyes on them. Where the tunnel starts to widen and branch off into gated streets, there is a guard post with two snipers. Their weapons are equipped with auto-calibration, so it really is just a matter of aim and fire for these two. They zone in on the approaching Calibers and both lock onto Acera. They have received word of a possible Perfect in transit, but have been given direct orders from Brondo himself, to not fire under any circumstance unless authorized by him.

The tunnel splits three ways. Large transparent, glowing red gates maintain the flow of traffic into each one. The Calibers pull up to the middle gate and Lucile is immediately granted access. The gate changes to an affirmative green and allows them safe passage.

Now in Perfunctory, they travel slowly down the streets as there is no way to speed up due to the large number of people and other obstructions.

High above, there is a roof that overhangs the entire sector, as if the mountain is hollowed out. In reality, there is no peak to the mountain. For the most part, the large natural structure has a projected top that appears to be completely real from both inside and out, but allows sunlight to penetrate. It is also programmed to only allow authorized flying vehicles to breach its surface; any unwanted visitors would meet an untimely demise.

Initially, the buildings are short and stout, eventually growing to roughly five or six stories, but none are much taller. Most are made from traditionally older materials such as bricks, corrugated iron, clay, and wood. Structurally, not many seem to be entirely sound and Acera wonders if any will come crumbling down at any moment. Many windows are non-existent, not even having the more traditional glass filling. They are boarded up with weathered pieces of wood and plastic sheeting.

The traffic moves slowly as most of the vehicles are restricted to terrestrial travel and the occasional car sports the founding trademark: the wheel. Most of the other vehicles are rusted or either faded, causing the pair to stand out far more than oos would like, especially with being in such an alien environment.

Some of the people are unlike Lucile or Brondo. They hustle and bustle about on the sidewalks behaving almost animalistic. Vending stalls are set up along the way, some of which are even manned by actual people. A group dressed in ragged clothes, huddle in a corner by the side of one of the larger buildings, beat some sort of four-legged animal which wails and yelps out in pain. On a balcony above, two people fight and one grabs the other, smashing the head against the railing, before hoisting them over and sending them plummeting to the ground.

Acera does oos’ best to divert oos’ attention from all this, but another aspect which comes into play is the pungent and revolting stenches which manage to seep into even the airtight Caliber cabin and reach Acera’s, highly sensitive nostrils causing oos’ repulsion of this place to skyrocket.

The sector is a hive of decay and neglect, from the infrastructure to the people. Everything seems to be lethargic and purposeless. People meander through the streets with glazed looks upon their eyes; not sure of the exact purpose of their movements and intentions. As Acera and Lucile shift along the streets like two pearls pushing through a sewer, a crazed man with his hair falling out and teeth of a yellow complexion rushes toward Acera and attempts to jump onto the vehicle. The exterior electro-shield delivers a shock through the man’s body and throws him back, but this does not seem to perturb him. He gets up and releases a screech that is heard, even above the confused buzz of the surrounding activities. No one pays him much heed as they simply glance up haphazardly, before continuing with their predominantly pointless tasks. Acera takes extreme notice though and is bewildered by this man who wears little more than a shabby loincloth and a layer of dirt on his emaciated body. Oos watches closely while the man rushes to a pile of rubble on the side of the road and retrieves a rock the size of a tangerine. He raises the rock above his head and screams manically before charging Acera’s Caliber once more. Before reaching the vehicle, he is thrown backwards into the air and crashes to the ground, a stream of blood flows from his blotchy skull. Up in the guard tower, one of the snipers re-centers her crosshairs and confirms the man’s death to her co-worker, by bursting into a guffaw of laughter.

Acera and Lucile continue along to their destination as the man’s limp body lays unattended and unnoticed, save for a scrawny, stray cat that saunters out from a side alley and begins nibbling on the man’s gaunt face.