Barrenlands: An Odyssey (Old Work)

Chapter Twenty-Two.

1

WITH her fingers drifting over the wires within Little Girls forearm, she finally felt the last of them click as she returned it into its rightful socket – or at least, which she presumed to be the correct one. Taking a last look at her makeshift work, she couldn't help but feel a small tinge of self-pride that her work was so neat and relatively clean. Letting the tips of her fingers curl around the rectangle cover just like her own, she slid it back into place and smoothed the skin over so the crevice was gone – disappeared and betraying no signs that she, too, was part cyborg. Hoping that her work would hold up to the odds stacked against her favour, the Engineer circled behind the bed of Little Girl and palmed away at the screen once more, jabbing her palm at the 'On' button which glowed a mocking green. Watching the monitor display a myriad of symbols, she crossed her fingers by instinct and good faith behind her back and prayed – prayed that this would do its job and that Little Girl was not disrupted internally, and that all was not too late.

Reeling in lightning speed her way to the front of the bed, she turned on her heel and looked back at the still body of her once-companion. Had she been too late? Feeling the little hope she had dwindle, she began to fall to her knees in resignation as the seconds continue to tick on.

And then Little Girls eyelids fluttered opened.

2

"We've found an outpost of survivors."

Within a darkened tactical room, the words resonated in the man's ears as an intense storm of hatred and contempt began to brew deep down in his body. Out of pure rage – or was it spite? The man didn't know – he drew a micro-pulse gun from his belt and shot it at the technician. Instantly, the bringer of bad news slumped out of the chair and onto the control sector panel that was his position. As if nothing had ever happened, he sheathed the gun back into his belt and watched at the giant screens that were in front of him. One of his Scouts was in the field and beamed back images of just exactly what they were facing. Massive fortified walls of sandstone with sharpened tools jutting from the top every so often like a barbed gate, torn pieces of material flying in the breeze like flags that were mounted to posts. But most importantly, there would be survivors inside. Feeling his hands shake in disgust, he readjusted the mouthpiece and spoke into the small microphone.

"Return back to base. We can armour up here and deal with them at full force." And then he ripped the mouthpiece away, so it now dangled loosely around his neck. He was peeved – pissed off – that there was a flaw with the pulse. A fatal flaw at that. It wasn't as potent as his engineers had claimed it to be with some parts of the network lacking power, and someone sure as hell was going to pay. Agitated, he looked back at the lifeless body of the technician and clicked his fingers. "Someone chuck him on the heap. We could probably use some of his parts. And I mean TODAY!"

Immediately, two of the technicians sitting next to the disabled cyborg scurried to the feet and dragged the body across the floor towards the room. As the pair struggled to get a grip around the bodies wrists to pull him, the man give a solid kick to the head out of frustration and left a small indent on the side of its head. Used to this sort of behaviour, the technicians didn't flinch nor jump at the outburst of hostility. Keeping quiet and their heads bowed, they continued with their demeaning task of carting the deceased of one of their own.

"Fucking useless scum," the man seethed underneath his breath. "Monov! Tell me who worked on the amplification team now." Frightened at what was to come, a technician halfway across the room looked up from his post, his face struck with fear.

"Sir?" he asked, his voice wavering. Taking a glance at the man's livid face which was visibly red even through the darkness, the technician clicked a couple of buttons and the screen in front of him spat out two lines. "It's Dimitri and Talas, sir."

The leader gave a sinister smile, before bowing his head ever so slightly. "Thank-you Molov. But didn't I tell you not to rat out your own companions? You all just don't listen to me, do you?" Lightning quick movements were all that was needed to withdraw the gun. A second later the technician slumped to the side, and out of the chair. Sick of the malfunctions within the system, the man turned to exit the room. He still had the matter of the Engineer to deal with – this would be fun. He gave a last bark as he left the hallway, his voice harsh and controlling: "Clean that up!"