2 – Grind Below
Modun kicked at a bit of burnt slag - what passed for ambiance in the Barrier Lands. "Hoi, what’s taking the cranked thing so long?"
Janks spat in the direction of the gaping black tunnel in the gnarled, craggy cliff face. The Barrier itself shimmered just a few feet inside, like oil on a puddle. "Cranky piece a’ work’s fallin’ apart. Bosses don’t give a shit. You know that."
Far off to the left and right, the Barrier field emerged from the cliff, arcing gradually into a dome over the entire massive Complex. The shimmering energy shield blunted the howling, frozen winds, trapping in enough industrial waste heat to keep the Complex above freezing, warm enough for bio-robot Units like Modun to operate.
Modun shoved his hands in his coveralls and dropped his rump onto his leviplat. The levitating disc sank a hand-span under his weight, then rose. Behind him a couple of gargantuan Big Lifters sat in the dirt, scratching. One nudged the other, and it shoved the first one back. The opening blows of a tussle set the ground shaking. Modun tapped the prod button on his leviplat’s panel, which zapped his Big Lifter, Stumptooth, right in what passed for its brain. It whimpered a little - a wheezing, high sound for something so big, coming from the peg-toothed maw below an otherwise featureless chrome dome.
"How do the Bosses think we’ll make these cranked Q’s they keep raising, when we gotta keep waiting for this broken old ore-worm to start our shift?"
"You keep asking questions like that," said Janks, scratching his filthy, dredded beard, "implyin’ that th’ Bosses give two hot sparks about us. Why dontcha clamp it and wait like a proper Grimer, huh?"
Modun sighed and kicked his feet, spinning his leviplat like a top. He let it twirl a couple of times, just watching the scenery go by - grey, grey, black, grey, grey, black... Then he planted his feet with his back to the tunnel mouth, staring back at the Complex. It was a forest of Columns, each sprouting from their own little mountain – half buried fusion reactors and force field generators. Conduits, pipelines and rails unraveled from the bottom of each Column, snaking down and out to weave into the fabric of industry that was the Complex. They shrank in diameter as they rose to only a couple dozen feet, tightly bundled and never moving as they shot up into the Deck. Up where the Lords lived. No Lords down in the Complex. Not never. Just foundries, smelters, factories, blazing-bright hydroponic stacks, and Unit settlements wherever they could squeeze them in. There were smoke stacks that never stopped belching flame. The grinding clacks and roars of the shuttlevators never stopped, as the big cars raced empty down the flanks of the great Columns, then chugged their way back up, full, up and up and up to the Lords above the Deck.
A sound broke the doldrums, but not the earthshaking rattle of an approaching ore-worm. It was a low, tonal moan, a steady wwwooooo increasing in frequency. A sound all Units knew, and hoped never to hear come that close. Modun whirled around, looking for the source. Janks pointed upward for him, at the oncoming Hunter.
The chrome machine, bulky and tapering like a horseshoe crab, fifteen feet wide from one packed-up segmented blister pod to the other, dropped toward them. It came to a stop between them and the tunnel mouth, silent and menacing. Modun and Janks kept still, trying not to react, though they both wanted to run. They kept their faces up and their hands showing. Appendages unfurled from the central sensory blister, looking them over and scanning them deep. The crude implant in the side of Modun’s head buzzed uncomfortably as the Hunter accessed his biometric readings.
"Grimer Units 5799275JK033 and 1960423MD970," it said. "Report the whereabouts of Greener Unit 1260092AD657."
"Please clarify. Grimer Unit memory systems do not efficiently recall identity codes." said Modun. Stalling. He kept his voice as even as he could.
"Records indicate Greener Unit responds to ’Addie.’"
Modun fought to keep blank, as memories shot through his brain. “They’ll tear her apart,” Old Onetooth had said, her hoarse whisper like steel claws, carving her words deep into Modun’s memory. “They catch that swell on her, they’ll rend her right there. Bits and pieces. Back to the vats.”
Modun didn’t move, didn’t say a word to Janks. He wanted to signal, to do something. Janks had never really committed himself one way or another, but Modun knew Janks had an idea what was going on. The Hunter would catch any motion, any signal, so he didn’t try. Hunters were very good at reading Unit gestures and postures and deducing intentions. He didn’t think about what his biometrics were showing the robot – worrying about them would only make them worse.
The older, burly Grimer just shook his head. "Location unknown."
The Hunter turned to Modun. He kept his eyes low. "Location unknown."
"Grimer Unit 1960423MD970. You are known to co-habitate with 1260092AD657."
"Correct. Location of Unit Addie is unknown," said Modun.
The Hunter hovered there, staring them down, processing, scanning their biometrics. Modun’s guts tied themselves into knots.
“Biometrics indicators are escalating, indicating anxiety response. Explain.”
Modun forced his hands to unclench. “Um... Proximity of a Hunter unit causes alarm response in bio-based worker Units.” He paused. “Likely an intrinsic flaw of biomechanical design.”
A deep rumble filled the air. Stones and rubble jumped and danced around their feet. Modun looked into the mouth of the tunnel, gladder than he ever had been to hear the Ore Worm coming.
The Hunter rose a little, turned to scan the tunnel, and then turned back to them. "Resume your duties, Grimer Units. Work is your function."
With nothing more than that, the Hunter rose and sped off for the Complex.
Modun let out a breath. "Thanks, Janks. I really--"
"Shh!" The veteran Grimer turned to mount his leviplat.
Modun reached for his shoulder. "What? It can’t hear us over that racket."
Janks shrugged away from him, his Deck-colored eyes flashing. He spoke softly, so soft Modun could barely hear his low voice. "Hunters have long ears. Don’t presume what they can and cannot hear. Get to work, Grimer."
Modun gritted his teeth. Old tight-crank.
He checked the sentiment and let out a breath. He had no place thinking bad about Janks. The Grimer had just saved Modun’s skin, when he would have been better off turning him over to the Hunter.
*****
The Ore Worm was a vast old robot, forty feet across and thousands of feet long. Long ago the Lords had sent its kind out to burrow deep into their dead old world, scouring veins of vital materials to build their kingdom.
The monstrous machine rose out of the steep tunnel, cresting the slope, its gnarled, jagged bore-head motionless for now. It crawled from the tunnel, passing through the Barrier, pushing itself on articulated treads. Its jointed appendages, used for lifting and re-directing the drill-face, were tucked along the length of its body. Behind the bore-head, lesser bores and collectors made up the front-end. The rest of its length held rudimentary smelters, refineries and automated facilities. The machine pushed itself onto the blasted plain before the cliff-face, lurching and groaning toward its usual resting spot at the Big Lifters’ feet.
The machine stopped, leaving the unshielded reactors of its tail safe inside the tunnel. It was still and silent for long, boring minutes, its cluttered old brain getting its tasks in order. Modun slipped his hands into the waldo mitts on his leviplat, taking over Stumptooth’s own burly hamfists, and crossed his arms. Stumptooth mimicked the posture, and the Big Lifter’s fingers drummed on its upper arm in a thundering staccato.
Brrumm brrumm brrumm!
"Stop that!" said Janks. He got his own Big Lifter, Spiderpaw, on its feet and ready to work.
Finally, the Ore Worm let out a peal, heaved its bore-head up and out of the way, like the nose-cone of an ancient cargo plane, and began disgorging bars of semi-refined metals into a pile.
"Hmm. Looks like the same old slag."
Modun shook his head. "Ever wonder what the Lords do with all the crap we build?"
Janks scoffed. "Don’t bother asking. We got Q’s to meet, so heave ho!"
Big Lifters were biomechanical constructs - machines with created organic components, like many machines down in the complex. Biomechanical design was just like any other kind of mechanical design, as far as Units like Modun were concerned. After all, he’d been purpose-grown in a jar himself. The Big lifters had robotic superstructures for incredible power, with organic bodies grafted onto them. They had the power of machines, but the greater physical intelligence, cheaper fuel and self-repair capabilities of biological design. They had some sense, and could be trusted with small decisions and repetitive tasks, but the Big Lifters needed handlers to control their finer tasks.
Modun never could figure why the Bosses never just made Big Lifters with sense enough to do their own work. When he had asked Janks, all the old-timer had said was “You wanna talk yourself outta a easy job, scrapper? Rather work in a factory, one wrong step from a molten pour, a severed limb, a toxic spill?”
Lesson one from Janks; don’t wonder, just work.
Modun and Janks activated their leviplats, which automatically flitted them up to their anchor-points: above and behind the Big Lifters’ low, chrome-domed heads. The waldo mitts on the control board let Modun take over his charge’s hands directly and he led the delicate task of separating out and stacking the rods that needed to make the first shipment; bars of pure iron, aluminum and copper, a foot across and thirty long. When he had a good sized stack ready, he locked straps around the bundle, gave control back to the dumb brute, and told it to pick the load up.
Hundreds of tons of raw material, packed up and loaded in minutes. The Big Lifters settled their loads in their arms like firewood and stood, waiting for instruction.
Behind them, the Ore Worm inched back into its tunnel, disgorging heaps of semi-processed materials of all sorts; gold, uranium, silicon, coal, gems, magnesium... everything the Lords wanted stripped from the Earth was found and delivered. Far down the face of the cliff a similar creature, a Fuel Worm, heaved up tanks of crude oil and natural gas. The Worms traveled far, and dug deep, hollowing out the world.
Janks checked the clock implanted in his forearm, then bobbed over next to Modun. "We’re behind Q."
"Yeah, I told you. Stupid Worm."
Janks growled. "Bosses don’t care about why. All they care about is Q. Ten minutes behind, and we got the only Big Lifters in these parts in any shape to work. We’re gonna have to--"
"We’re gonna have to stop scumbling and haul, Old Crank!" With a whoop, Modun leaned hard on the controls, spurring Stumptooth into a loping run. His leviplat tugged after it, pulled by the invisible leash-beam.
"Hoi!" shouted Janks. "Take it easy!"
Modun keyed the mike on his console. "Keep up, or fall behind, but you ain’t slowin’ me down!"
Stumptooth ran on, a steel-and-flesh giant, carrying tons of raw material in its arms. The earth rumbled as its big, steel-shod feet crunched down the slag and scree of the gentle grade that fell from the cliff-face of the Barrier Lands down to the shallow bowl of the Complex. The Columns loomed large, soaring overhead as he made for the forge. The Lords were precious protective of their Columns, which was why they didn’t let simple-minded titans like the Ore-Worms come close. Big Lifters were the biggest things in the workforce down here where the Lords’ trinkets were made; big enough to haul, strong enough to work the huge machinery, hardy enough to survive the environment.
And dumb enough to enjoy the food.
Stumptooth skidded past a ’ponic stack, a wild-bright thirty-story agricultural facility. It barreled between buildings, stepping high over smaller vehicles and worker Units moving about on foot, scaring the hell out of everyone, while Modun leaned hard on the throttle.
"Gangway!" he cried through the loudspeakers on Stumptooth’s shoulders. "Comin’ through! Makin’ Q!"
Stumptooth skirted a Unit settlement that had grown up against the wall of a towering foundry, built there by Grimers trying to capitalize on the excess heat of the facility. One thing’s guaranteed for sure under the Deck; cold. Forges and refineries burned day and night, but outside their walls there was only the cold, and the dark. Units found warmth where they could.
Modun heard a familiar whump whump and checked over his shoulder. Sure enough, Janks was hot on his tail, Spiderpaw racing full-tilt. The two Big Lifters ran together, zigging and zagging, skrooonking at each other, big dumb grins wagging open.
"Hot sparks! Good on ya geezer! I knew you still had it in ya!"
"That, and some to spare, scrapper! I ain’t done schoolin’ ya yet!"
Janks pushed his Big Lifter harder, passing Modun, flipping a rude gesture as he did. He rushed for a gap between mammoth ore bins, connected by walkways which were chest-level for a Big Lifter. Modun shouted, as choked by fear as those on the walkway. Had Janks lost his mind? He was going to plow right through!
At the last minute, though, he somehow goaded his charge to dive and roll. Curled around its armload, the biomech giant rolled along the line of its spine, a steel-and-flesh boulder twenty feet high, clearing the bridge with room to spare, and came up on its feet, still running. Some of the Grimers on the walkway screamed. Most cheered.
Modun had never seen a Big Lifter move like that!
“Hoi Freshling!” said Janks over the radio. “I do still got it. And don’t you forget it!”
*****
"It’s all about timing," said Janks, as he watched over Spiderpaw. Their big lifters were taking turns feeding beams of ore into a foundry’s intake port. "You hold your mitts up high, so they heft their load up higher. Then, as they’re running, you tell them to jump. Soon as they leave the ground, you drop your arms. They’ll do the same, cuz they have to. But Big Lifters got enough sense to know that they shouldn’t drop their load. So they hunch down, chasing their hands, curling their bodies around the load to hold it tight. If you time it right, they’ll land on their shoulders, head tucked in tight. Their own sense will keep them balanced, rolling forward, not fighting the motion. It ain’t easy getting the timing right, but after that their own shreds of sense will take care of you."
Modun shook his head. "I’d never heard of that. You gotta teach me!"
Janks raised his hands. "Later, later. Some time when the Qs are light, maybe you can practice out in the Barrier Lands. But not for a while, not with so many Big Lifters down and the Bosses looking so close.”
Janks checked over his shoulder. A Boss- smaller and sleeker than a Hunter- hovered nearby. There’d been one around all night, ever since they got back from the Barrier Lands.
The Big Lifters settled the last of their load onto a conveyor, which pulled the ore into a metalworks facility to be melted, sifted, purified, mixed and molded into shapes the Lords desired.
As soon as they finished their work, the watching Boss whisked over to them. "Grimer Units, report to the loading zone for pallet duty."
Janks scowled and said, "Should these Units not retrieve the final load from the Barrier Lands?"
The Boss did not move. "Report to the loading zone."
Modun bridled. "Delivery quotas assigned to these Units will be delayed. These Units cannot meet routine quotas with additional duties added. Are additional Big Lifters returning to work?"
Janks shot him a warning look.
The Boss levitated a handspan higher. "Additional Biomechanoid Multi-role Manipulator units will resume work when repairs are complete. To return to work before repairs are complete results in logic error."
Modun shook his head, knowing he should back down, but refusing to anyway. "Logic error is apparent in continued increase in quotas, when current workloads already result in torn tendons and other damages to Big Lifter Units." Janks gestured, tried to get him to back down. Modun ignored him. “You’re working us too crankin’ hard, without enough support!”
The Boss moved an inch closer, rose three inches higher. "Aberrant behavior logged. Report to the Loading Zone. You will prepare the shipment, then complete deliveries from the Barrier Lands. Then your shift will be over."
"That’s lifter-shit!"
Janks’ eyes widened. “Modun!”
The Boss opened one of its little blister-pods, displaying a crackling, energized prod. "That is your work. Work is your function. Comply, Unit."
Modun backed off, terror running down his spine and pooling in his belly like chilled slime. He couldn’t take his eyes form the blue ark snapping between the prongs of the prod, inches from his face. "Com... Compliance acknowledged." He’d never seen a Boss crack open one of its blister-pods, never seen what it hid in there. He backed away, steered Stumptooth toward the loading zone like a whipped dog, sick with shame at the fear he’d felt and the way the Boss had controlled him with it.
There were usually Big Lifters working all night at the loading zone, stacking panels, crates and machinery segments onto massive pallets and securing them for the miles-long ride up into the sky. The place was cluttered with backlog since the usual night-shift crew was down; contoured hull-plates, girders, electronic components, food shipments, engine parts, and the like crowded the shuttlevator platform. Big Lifters took a lot longer to grow than regular Units, and their brawn was needed to pack and load the massive components. Being down by so many was hurting production quotas all across the Complex.
The Boss hovered over Modun and Janks as they scrambled through the mess. They dug and hauled out priority items the Boss indicated, heaving them forward and locking them down to huge pallets. The shuttlevator roared down the trunk of the Column before they were finished packing. It was just before dawn, far behind schedule, when they finally sent the shuttlevator on its way.
Modun rubbed his eyes; it should be quitting time, but wasn’t today. The elongated-teardrop-shaped Boss turned on its point to face toward the Barrier Lands. “Proceed with your deliveries, Units. You are behind Quota.”
With a sigh, Modun turned Stumptooth to the next job. The giant responded sluggishly; it was getting tired too, and cranky. They kept a moderate pace, caught between cautious awareness of their fatigue and the pressure of making their quota.
They reached the cliff-face. The pile of materials at the bore-hole was actually smaller than he expected. "Hoi, Janks! Look at this! Ore Worm didn’t have much to cough up, huh? Piece of cake!" He started stacking half the pile into a manageable bundle.
When Janks didn’t respond, Modun glanced across the pile of materials. Spiderpaw squatted there, staring dumbly at the pile. Janks wasn’t. Modun keyed his radio. “Janks?”
Modun jumped at the tap on his shoulder. Janks had moved his Leviplat right next to his. “Hot sparks! You silent--”
Janks leaned over and muted Modun’s radio. He locked eyes with Modun and the cold menace there shut him up. “Keep your mouth shut and comply with orders, you stupid new-make. You ever put me in harm’s way with a Boss again, I’ll tell it all. You compile?”
“Shit, Janks--”
Modun tried to lean away, but the older Unit snagged him by the coverall and yanked him close. “You compile?”
Modun gulped and nodded.
Janks let him go. “Good. You’re taking a massive risk, and each shift adds more of the rest of us to the list that’ll get hauled to the rending vats when they find out. So stop acting like you just got decanted! Let’s get this shit done.” The older Unit let go of Modun and maneuvered his leviplat back to its anchor point behind Spiderpaw.
Modun stared at Janks’ back, his pride turning fear into anger. But he recognized the truth in the old Grimer’s words – Modun’s stupid processor, running high with young hot-sparked fluid, was going to get Addie killed. A dose of real sense turned his anger right back around again into fear.
Must be all the worry, cycling my processor too fast, makin’ me get old.
He guided Stumptooth through stacking and packing in silence. The Big Lifter was loping along with Spiderpaw, bundle in arms, a few short minutes later. The Deck had shifted from black to smokey grey, but still had a touch of darkness to it. He pointed. “Look! It ain’t so late! We hurry, we might make it before the mess shuts!”
Modun prodded up the throttle. Stumptooth resisted, shaking his head with a belligerent grumble. Modun pushed again, spurring the bio-bot’s brain, leaving the Big Lifter helpless to resist the command to run. Giant legs stretched, thunder rolling from each footfall, pounding down into the bowl of the Complex.
“Modun!” Janks’ voice crackled from the radio. “Haul back, new-make. Your Lifter’s too tired for that shit.”
Modun snorted. “I got this!” Another day without food wouldn’t do Addie any good. Or him. If he made the mess there’d be half a ration of scum for each of them.
“Modun!”
He ignored Janks and ran on. They reached a long, steady grade, the last stretch before they’d be among the Columns. Stumptooth couldn’t run any faster. Modun could see that. The Big Lifter was panting, legs churning, lips curled in fear. His legs were running right out from under him – he was going to fall.
Not thinking, just acting, Modun jammed his hands into the waldo mitts, tucking them up close under his chin, as if he were carrying a load, just like Stumptooth. The biomechanical giant squawked in surprise, feeling control slip from his hands. But Modun had no time to be gentle. He could see it – just a few more steps and the runaway Lifter was going to spill. So he hunched low in the leviplat, yanking his arms down, and keyed the Lifter to jump.
It was thrilling to see – at his command, the giant ducked low, curling neck and spine over his armful, and his feet left the ground, kicking up and over. Stumptooth skrooonked in surprise, but did not let go of his load. “Do not drop” was programmed so deep into Big Lifters that, had they the mind for it, they would have called it their religion. Stumptooth curled and rolled, a giant wheel mounted on an axle of raw ore beams.
His feet hit the ground, and Modun tapped the key inside the mitt to trigger the Big Lifter to rise, thinking he would be stable now.
The Big Lifter rolled on, too fast to possibly stop himself. If he tried to plant his feet and stop, he’d probably damage himself. Self-preservation programming allowed the Big Lifter to ignore further commands. Stumptooth tucked tight and kept on rolling. Massive flesh and steel crushed the earth.
“Stop, stop!” Modun panicked, triggering command keys, shaking the waldo mitts, but the runaway brute ignored him. With no brakes, but plenty of mass and momentum on a downslope, the Big Lifter sped up quick.
“Modun!” screamed Janks. “You crack-cranked – The Column!”
Modun looked ahead, finally tearing his eyes from the avalanche he’d created. The path curved left around a Column, but nothing was going to make the Big Lifter take that turn. A slapped-together Unit settlement clung to the huge, hill-like base of the Column, piling up its lower flanks.
“No...”
“Stop him!” said Janks.
“I can’t!”
Stumptooth tore through the settlement like so much tissue paper. Units built their own quarters from whatever refuse they could scavenge – mostly plastic tarps, sheet metal and packing material. Stumptooth tore through it all – shacks and inhabitants alike – scattering bits high into the air as he plowed up the slope. He finally came to a stop when he hit the Column itself, his segmented back slamming into one of the mighty conduits. Stumptooth flailed his arms and legs, bellowing in pain as current washed through him. His armload of ore beams flew from his spasming arms. The titanic javelins pinwheeled back downhill shredding through still more settlements and any Units inside.
Modun felt a hollow moment. Everything was wrong, impossibly wrong.
For one instant, all the lights lining the Column winked out.
Then back on.
“Sludge and sparks.” Spiderpaw stumped over, and Janks floated his leviplat close of Modun’s. “I’m startin’ to think you like having the Bosses hanging around.”
Modun gaped at the smashed settlement and the dented flank of the Column. Units screamed, sounding the deep-programmed alarm of operational impairment. At least no Unit he knew or worked with lived there. Units were easy to replace, but the Bosses were going to give him Worm-loads of hell for the damage he caused. A dozen silvery teardrop-shapes were already swooping down from the heights. Modun just watched, numbly, as his Big Lifter tried to sort itself out from the wreckage.
He felt something strange, hearing the alarm indicators from the damaged Units. Sortt of a hollowness low in his chest. Not hunger. More like the bottom had fallen out of a vessel and some important part of him was falling away. He didn’t understand the reaction. He looked closer as the wailing of one dismenbered Unit grew particularly strident as Stumptooth wallowed and rolled over it – the screaming grew worse, then cut off completely, and the inexplicable, but undeniably bad feeling in Modun grew sharper. He had never heard of this internal indicator. What did it mean? They were just biological machines, like him. Broken parts, which would have to be replaced. It was a daily event in the Complex; the rending of broken Units for base materials and the decanting and conditioning of fresh ones. But he felt somehow... torqued. Worse than he felt about the damage to equipment and putting them back below Q.
Weird. Damaging Stumptooth and the column and screwing the Q were the issues he would be punished for. No one cared about Units. Not even Units. So why was he bothered?
“Modun,” Janks grabbed him by the shoulder and pulled him in close. He spoke low, so only they could hear. “Stumptooth slipped on a patch of sludge. You tell them what you did, you’re recycled. You tell them Stumpy tweaked, then he’s recycled. He slipped on some sludge. You compile?”
Modun groaned. He didn’t know why he groaned, but it seemed an involuntary response to the weighted, torqued feeling in his guts. He pushed past the weird feeling that the wailing of broken Units was giving him and said, “Yeah, I compile.”