Bearings creaked from turning rotor blades. Wind subsided to elicit a slow whine, only to pick up again and return to a screech. Rust creeped on the metal cylinder that held the propellers. Fingers of brown and orange gripped the motor housings. A spark of blue sizzled from the side, then another grasped upwards before fading.
The winds stopped. Calm descended. Windmills began to slow, and then stop. An unsettling silence commanded a full minute before a powerful gust of wind rushed from the west.
Blue streaks danced along the domes and towers of Mandaree. Windmills began to fail one after another. Blades ripped from their motors. Housings, motor parts, nuts, and bolts formed a cascading rain of metal that crashed into the solar panels below.
Rotor mechanisms ripped from the generator bodies. A shuriken of aluminum spikes twirled with a whoosh from the central spire. It shattered against the side of a nearby metal structure.
A loud crack followed a reverberating clang as debris smashed into a culvert. A domed glass ceiling was pierced, causing it to crack from the center. The central windmill atop Clinker Corporation's headquarters had vanished, leaving only a spire with a jagged top.
A thread of metal flowed with energy that rose into the sky above. In the cloudless sky, anchored to a balloon, was a yellow and black device that released an occasional charge laden mist in the air. The generator fulfilled the purpose of detected sky borne tar particulates and testing them for possible activation while deactivating them with a radio pulse. The thread anchoring the device to the base snapped upon being hit with debris. The metal cord flew into the sky with a snapping at the wind. The barge balloon ripped from a violent jerk. A few minutes later the device crashed into the asphalt below. A final burst of electricity crackled throughout the ground and caused the asphalt to slowly roll backwards from the crash site.
-----
The gauge indicating force against the walls began pointing to the yellow as groaning of metal slowly escalated in the claustrophobically tight metal monitoring station.
A man with large safety goggles checked the readout. The bars indicating the electrode levels sunk critically. There was still some charge, but it wasn't effectively countering the force working against the lower barrier.
"Get word to command, we're at risk for a breach if this continues. Tell them we need to divert power to the lower perimeter shields yesterday!"
-----
Rich ivory paint shimmered smoothly. Molding of carved walnut graced every corner. Chinese dragons with frightening maws were carved on the trim. Bookshelves filled with red hardbacks sat to the back right. A liquor cabinet of dull reddish-brown cherry stood against the wall at the left. Oddly shaped bottles filled with spirits of varying shades occupied a glass case.
A polished hardwood desk was cornered in the left, and behind it a broad backed chair pushed against the wall as Edward relaxed by staring into a snow globe. Shavings of plastic swirled around to produce an illusory blizzard for a farmhouse under water. His oxygen mask rested on a peg extending from the side of his mobile chair.
A door of polished walnut slid shut and the latch clicked. Tray stepped into that artificial world. The ever-present metal ceased here, the aluminum and steel, the hinges and bearings, the hissing of machinery, it was all gone. His thick hands and heavy fingers went to his side as he stood, waiting.
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Nothing was said; Tray was afraid to speak, but the longer he waited the more sweat seeped from his forehead. Mr. Delant remained motionless in his chair, content with examining Tray like a puzzle or a complex art piece. As Edward's eyes narrowed, Tray dared to speak.
"Sir...."
Now that Tray had spoken first, Edward decided to interrupt with a coughing fit, yet his voice returned calm and decisive with a sharp edge.
"Captain Zweig, do you have any concept of this facility's history? Do you have any idea why we survive, why we are here today?"
Tray wanted to groan, but held back, "We're here because this facility was built for refugees, and we are the second generation, the first being our parents, sir."
"That is so, but you're just repeating what you were taught from an early age. You don't have a big reputation for thinking on your own terms, do you?"
"Sorry sir. Doing my job well is my only concern."
Edward smirked, "Yes, your job, right, I see. Your recent performance indicates contrary, not to mention this recent breach of command by your navigator and your pilot. But before we come to that matter, humor me a moment. Captain Zweig, what do you think of the condition of our world? What should we be trying to achieve?"
"I leave those matters for high command, sir," Tray looked a bit pale.
"Do you?" Edward raised his voice slightly but it made him cough, "But you have a brain, so I'm assuming you have an opinion. Everyone does, and I'd like you to humor me with yours."
"Well, from what I understand, we are trying to preserve humanity, and that stuff out there is an abomination, a mistake of science. It was supposed to improve the human life but almost destroyed us instead. So, the world is in bad shape, and we are trying to fix it, or at least survive it. That is Clinker Corporation."
Edward clapped. A young woman with brown hair and matching brown eyes entered the room. She was wearing a plain dress with an apron. Leather loafers protected her feet from the plush carpet. Her hand dipped into a drawer that was left slightly ajar and pulled out pistol gleaming with a silver polish. She handed it to Edward with a slight bow, but his hands were shaky so she had to help him position it. Edward fired, almost as if by accident. The blast echoed in the room. A bullet tore through Tray's right shoulder. Blood splattered against the back wall. A chuckle skipped across the room as the woman walked around the desk. Edward looked tired, but continued to hold the gun aimed at the captain. Tray narrowed his eyes. His calloused palm pressed into the wound to staunch some bleeding.
"You are such an idiot," Helen said calmly, "Science doesn't make mistakes. You think like every other bit of conditioned material, exactly the way you are told. I suppose your only crime is stupidity and a lack of competence. Let me explain something to you Captain Zweig, a bit of confidential information between you and me. The black snot covering the world was no mistake.
It was the best thing to ever happen. In ten years, all the wheat was separated from the chaff, every useless person dead. Granted, some good specimens were sacrificed, but it was worth it. Human evolution stopped stalling from vain attempts to stifle natural selection.
Because Captain, who do you think survived to get here? I'll tell you, the high officials who knew how to wield power, the best of the military, the greatest engineers, and the best scientific minds on Earth. Even the working stock that came here with them was of a better grade than those left to fate. Even you. This could have never happened if it were not for what you call a mistake!"
Another shot rang from the barrel of the pistol. The bullet sounded like a sickening crunch in the captain's hip. Blood began to seep through Tray's overalls and drip on the floor. Sweat ran down his forehead as he struggled to stand.
"What are you? And what have you done to the boss?"
"Oh, Mr. Delant? We're unified, one flesh. Though his body doesn't seem to handle the MER well. I doubt he'll last much longer. But that's okay, because he's going to leave someone very capable in charge."
"You won't get away this, the people will revolt. Nobody wants to be ruled by a monster," Tray was now the one coughing.
Helen laughed as Edward continued to aim the gun at Tray.
"Oh, do I hear hoping and coping?! How quaint. Any last words?"
Tray sighed, he was going to die anyway, he was sure of it now, "Hope and cope is all we have left. You control us down to our every breath. Monitor our every action. Determine our roles. We can barely leave our hangar. And now, because we protest, you feel fit to murder one your best extraction teams. Fine, so be it, but your heavy hand will be the death of you, and every last one of us. I'll just be going sooner than the rest."
Helen smiled, "You've done nothing but complain about your navigator, and yet here you are speaking almost his exact words. Perhaps you two are more alike than you thought?"
Tray offered a slight smile as he stared into the barrel of the gun held by a dying man with hollow eyes sitting behind the desk.
"Heh, him of all people, perhaps we are more a-"
A bullet pierced straight into the center of Tray's forehead.