Spear's Journey Read online

  SPEAR’S JOURNEY

  A novel by

  NEIL MOSSPARK

  The characters, locations and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any use of names, descriptions or similarity to real persons, living or dead is purely coincidental and is not intended by the author.

  Text copyright @ 2015 by Neil Mosspark

  All rights reserved

  www.NeilMosspark.com

  No part of this book may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without the express written permission of the publisher.

  Table of Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37 – Epilogue

  About the Author

  Chapter 1

  Unit Seven-Eight knelt down and pointed to the thick plant pushing up from the baked earth.

  “These small ones are harder to kill than most. The trick is getting at the roots.” His fingers plucked the single yellow flower sprouting from the center of the mass of dark green leaves.

  Standing, he motioned for Unit Nine-Four, his new apprentice, to hand him the rooting spear - a simple hollow metal pole with the end carved away at a sharp angle. The height was as tall as either of them, which allowed for leverage in the hard soil.

  His apprentice looked at Seven-Eight with young eyes full of wonder. The soft, flexible plastic of its face expressed a happy interest in assisting with the removal of the plant. Unit Seven-Eight frowned.

  He wondered if he had ever been that naive and full of hope. Placing the tip of the rooting pole next to the plant, he thrust down into the dirt, coring the plant's root system before tilting the length and pulling it out of the ground. Tapping it against the metal edge of his foot, the root dislodged to bake in the hot sun.

  “See? It's easy.” Seven-Eight handed his apprentice the spear. “You try.”

  Nine-Four took the length and spun looking for any plant that the fires had missed. Identifying a nearby target, he looked up at his mentor.

  “Go on,” Seven-Eight said.

  Nine-Four lined up the pipe as shown, and drove down smoothly, replicating the action he had seen.

  Seven-Eight smiled and patted Nine-Four on his shoulder. “Good job. Let's keep trying.”

  Excited, the apprentice moved forward and found another. Each motion was swift and efficient. Seven-Eight looked up to check on his position relative to the others.

  A dozen of his brothers and sisters were picking the remnants of organic life from the ground. Each was using tools specific to their preference. Their grey, patchwork bodies betrayed years of service. Even now, the oldest were getting close to their expiration date but were still scraping off the organic matter that infected the world.

  Seven-Eight doubted he would ever see the end of this task. It seemed futile. Everywhere the Master burned, more of the plant matter just grew back from the ashes. No matter how hard they worked, or how fast they scraped, the green carpet always came back.

  There was a puff of dust from the burned treeline at the base of the hill as something shuffled through the light ash. Watching, he felt concern rise. The brown fur of the four legged beast was matted, and scorched in places. The skin burned.

  Seven-Eight was about to yell out a warning when he heard the alarm being raised by those closest. As soon as the noise started, the beast raised onto its hind legs, roaring at them through its white teeth. Bodies scrambled to get out of the way.

  The animal charged forward, racing after one of the units. A crushing set of teeth grabbed the worker by its arm and shook. The limb stayed in place, but the body flew high in the air and mercifully behind the furred creature.

  “Where are the guards?” someone yelled.

  Another voice carried on the gentle breeze, “How did it get inside the perimeter?”

  The beast charged again, lunging at the crowd before becoming confused. There were too many moving targets. Spying the damaged unit, Seven-Eight watched as it began crawling away from the commotion. The knees were broken backwards and unusable. Seven-Eight tried to identify who it was, but the similarity between them was too great.

  Only when the unit cast a frantic look over its shoulder did he realize that it was Five-Nine. She was an old friend. They had kept each other out of trouble, and she had taught him the ropes when he was a newly born apprentice. His heart sank as he knew she would be recycled for allowing herself to become damaged.

  The beast stood again and roared, bellowing at them angrily before dropping to all four limbs and rushing the crowd. Seven-Eight leaned toward the apprentice, “Give me the spear!” he yelled. The apprentice shook with fear and handed the metal pole over to his mentor before taking a step backwards.

  Seven-Eight turned and ran towards the crowd. Metal bodies buffeted him as they rushed past in a flood of fearful faces. As soon as the bodies had cleared his path, the beast was on him. The speed at which it moved surprised him, and he hesitated.

  The beast raised up to pounce, and Seven-Eight lifted his coring spear instinctively. Fear swept over him as a blur of teeth and fur dropped down on top of him, thrashing. The pressure built as the torrent of claws scraped the ground around him, digging furrows.

  Slowly, the movement subsided, and the crushing weight came to rest on top of him. Muffled voices around him closed in, but fear held them at bay.

  “Help. Get this thing off me!” Seven-Eight yelled. It felt like an eternity trapped in the unmoving dark before anyone came to help.

  Eventually many hands scrambled in, hesitantly pushing and lifting as a group. Sunlight peered under the edge, and he crawled forth, pulling his body out from underneath. Laying in the dirt, he gathered his wits.

  Why had he done that? It was foolish. He could have been hurt. Shaking his head, he accepted the helping hands and was pulled to his feet. Seven-Eight looked at the beast, and his heart dropped. His apprentice lay in pieces.

  “He followed you. He was so close behind you that when you raised the spear he reached for it to help,” a familiar voice said.

  Turning, Seven-Eight saw Three-One step forward with a slight limp.

  “Why didn’t he stay back?” Seven-Eight asked shaking his head. Guilt flowed over him, “He was only born a week ago. He didn’t even know how to speak yet.”

  “It happens,” Three-One said. A patched and repaired hand laid itself on Seven-Eight’s shoulder.

  Seven-Eight looked at his dead apprentice. The head had been severed from the body, and he knew the brain was not able to work unless the heart powered it.

  “It's okay. It was his mistake,” Three-One stated.

  Seven-Eight looked up and scanned the clearing for Five-Nine. She was still crawling away from the crowd, moving through the ashes, leaving a trail of cleared bake
d dirt in her wake. Jogging forward, he ran towards her. If they could hide her before the Master found her, she may stand a chance.

  The crowd whispered and watched as a few of the units moved to help their friend. Some even returned to their jobs, turning a blind eye to those helping.

  Seven-Eight closed the gap quickly.

  “My legs are broken,” Five-Nine said. She rolled onto her back, looking up at him with her feminine face. The splinters of plastic and metal were bent and broken. Parts were missing and spread over the clearing.

  “It’s okay; we'll hide you. They won’t find you,” Seven-Eight stated his voice full of panic. His head swiveled, looking for a burned out log or a hollow in the ground they could bury her in.

  “I don’t want to die!” she said. Her face was locked in fear as she pointed to a set of moving forms coming through the trees.

  Seven-Eight began burying her with ashes, “Stay quiet. Don’t move,” he whispered.

  A whimper emitted from the slowly growing pile of fine ashes covering her.

  “It’s going to be fine,” he reassured, and her movements settled. He could see the Master and his four guards lumber into the clearing. Tossing a final pile of ashes onto his friend, he stepped away.

  The fact that the Master had come from inside the factory out here made Seven-Eight nervous. The Master’s guards stood four times as tall as a worker unit and were built thick. Metal armour covered their exoskeletons. For all their size, they were not bright, but it didn’t take more than to be inside grabbing range for them to end a unit’s life.

  The Master, on the other hand, was weak and needed them. All of the units could see the ancient broken unit. His back was fused with a large glowing disk as wide as he was tall, which hovered, suspending him off of the ground. His eyes had been modified to see the workers, and his central core appeared to be patched into the factory network through a set of ports on his chest. Useless twisted metal that once formed the Master's legs hung dangling underneath him.

  “Why have you stopped?” his voice boomed over loudspeakers.

  Three-One stepped up and raised a rusting arm, “Master, there was a beast from the forest.”

  “Kneel when you speak to me!” the voice boomed again, and the Guards shuffled inwards towards the old unit.

  Three-One dove to a knee and bowed his head to stop the advance, “The beast came into the clearing and attacked. If it was not for Seven-Eight’s quick thinking and spearing the beast, many more would have been killed … you would have lost many more workers.”

  The crowd looked at Seven-Eight, who was across the clearing, far from the dead carcass. Whispers filled the air. Voices of the group chattered quietly.

  “How many were broken?” the Master asked. Three-One hesitated to formulate a careful response.

  “I am not sure, Master. There was much confusion. I think only the one.”

  “What is that then?” The Master turned, and his guards pointed in unison to the debris trail.

  A single black armored guard stepped forward slowly, following the cleared trail. Plumes of ash billowed up with each footfall.

  Seven-Eight watched as Five-Nine rolled from her back in the ashes and onto her front. The light gray ash flowed off of her like liquid, revealing her broken shape. He stepped forward automatically to help her, but Three-One grabbed his wrist.

  They all knew that anyone who helped would be recycled too. His fist balled angrily as he knew what was going to happen next.

  “No! No! I can be fixed. I can still clean!” Five-Nine pleaded. Her hands scraped at the weeds that had sprouted after the fire, and pulled at them wildly. “See I am still functional! I can still work!”

  The guard quietly reached down and picked her broken body up. Her tiny arms flailed and clanged against the armour of its chest.

  “Recycle the body, bring me the head,” the Master stated as he reached up to touch a panel on his chest.

  “Please! Please no! N—,” she screamed. Her voice was cut short as the discipline collar around her neck arced with blue light and severed her head from her broken body.

  The lumbering guard passed the head to the Master. A hose was pulled from his side, and his face smiled as he cracked open the skull with his hands, pushing the hose into the fissure. Some of the thick fluid that was not sucked up pattered to the dry ground. After a moment, he tossed the head back to the guard.

  “Back to work,” he smiled and turned away from the crowd. Wisps of ash swirled after him as he hovered over the burned ground.

  Chapter 2

  Seven-Eight woke. He could feel the fear from the dream fading as the gentle tendrils of the memory faded. Sighing, he leaned back against the rusting metal wall of the sleeping box. The others had not yet woken, and the light from the full moon was still streaming inwards. Through the open door, he could see the tall guard standing silently waiting for dawn.

  “Another bad dream?” Three-One whispered.

  Someone in the sleeping box grumbled and turned over onto their side.

  Seven-Eight nodded to his friend.

  They both sat silently in the dark. Eventually, Three-One stood and quietly picked his way across the body-strewn floor. The old unit’s limp was noticeable, but he was still nimble enough to avoid stepping on others.

  Settling next to Seven-Eight, Three-One leaned in, “They say that the dreams are memories of past lives. From a time before.”

  “This again…”

  “What did you dream of?”

  Seven-Eight shrugged and shook his head.

  “Tell me.”

  “A metal city, it was old and covered with the green. Beyond that, I can’t remember anymore. It scared me. I don’t know why.”

  “We all have that dream.”

  “I know.”

  “Why do you think that is?”

  “Because we are imperfect. That’s why we are here doing the labour for the Master.”

  “You don’t truly believe that do you? That we deserve this?”

  “Shh..” someone hushed from in the dark.

  Seven-Eight sat and considered the idea. The old unit had mentioned this before, and it was borderline punishable by recycling to talk about such things. It led to rebellious thoughts.

  “We are here to serve the Master,” Seven-Eight stated weakly. The conviction absent from his voice.

  “You believe that about as much as I believe that I can fly,” Three-One chuckled quietly.

  “I know I am defective. I can’t sleep through the night. These dreams are a sign of mental failure. If it progresses, they will recycle me for sure.”

  Three-One shook his head, “You are not defective. I think you are this way because you are carrying a memory of an original.”

  “They don’t exist. Stop talking or you are going to get us into trouble!” His voice almost raised above a whisper.

  “They can’t hear us,” Three-One pointed to the motionless guard outside, “I care less and less these days. I am getting close to my expiry date.”

  “How much longer?” Seven-Eight’s voice was full of concern.

  “Another year maybe. It's hard to tell. Perhaps I have miscounted the years.”

  “You have many years of work left in you.”

  Three-One shook his head, “No… No, I don’t. I will come to my end some day. Just as you or anyone else will.”

  “You will be recycled and live on,” Seven-Eight said. The false cheer in his whispers seemed less convincing than he hoped.

  “I want to die free, out in the trees. Promise me that if you ever find me, bury me like the old ways. Bury me deep so that they won’t recycle me.”

  Seven-Eight’s chin dropped to his chest as he considered the morbid thought, “I will.”

  Three-One’s hand touched his friend’s shoulder, “It’s okay. Just remember what you do with your time matters. This isn't how we are meant to live.”

  Seven-Eight wanted to tell him to be silent. He wanted to tell him
to keep his dangerous thoughts to himself, but the old unit was right. None of them were built to do this. It was self-evident. His hand reached up for his discipline collar as he wondered what it would be like to live away from this place? He would not want to leave his family. He loved them. They took care of each other.

  They sat in silence until Seven-Eight could tell that Three-One had returned to a peaceful sleep.

  Seven-Eight grumbled as the rising bodies shuffled out of the sleeping box. The metal feet on the floor clattered past, and he forced his eyes open. Three-One was gone and likely already starting his day.

  Standing he followed the masses out into the sunlight. There would be food for consumption and then the work. There was always the work.

  Pushing out into the light, he felt the warmth on his face. Smiling, he looked up. The sun was so bright that it blinded him, but it felt good.

  Someone bumped him from behind, and he realized he was in the way. Moving forward, he followed the marching line of units towards the factory. It was cube-like, and sat in a new location now, occupying the clearing they had worked on the day before.

  Ahead of him, the line of workers was flanked by three or four guards. The ever present sentinels watched them. Waiting until a defective unit made a break for the tree line, or decided that they no longer wanted to work. Seven-Eight looked up at them. Their blank heads reflected no emotion. They were simple things. Not fast, not smart, but dangerous.

  Soon, his trudging forward motion brought him to the supply line. The small square meal block was presented to him by a newer unit. The unit's face appeared female, and the happy glow of just existing was still present on her face. Seven-Eight took the block and thanked her.

  The cube-shaped material glistened, and he wondered how long he would last without the material. Opening the small feeding panel in his abdomen, he inserted the block into the compartment and closed it. Beyond the fact that he knew the digestive juices would break it down, the rest of how it worked was a mystery to him. Seven-Eight imagined the idea that he could put other things into his digester. The idea terrified him, and he looked up nervously at the guards to see if they had noticed his punishable thought.