The Broken God Machine (19 page)

“We need to be going,” Pehr said.

“Yes, all right,” Tasha said. She took her hand away from her throat and
stared at the blood in surprise and alarm for a moment before rubbing it on the
hide breeches she was wearing.

“We won’t be safe in these ruins,” Pehr said. “We must get to the stone
buildings in the city center.”

“Yes, we—”

“Can you run?” Pehr asked, looking out into the dimly illuminated street
past her.

“Of course, but I thought you didn’t—”

“I’ve changed my mind,” Pehr said, and he pointed. Tasha turned to look
behind herself and cried out in shock. Emerging into the street was not one or
two more of the creatures, not a dozen, but a throbbing mass of hundreds.

“Oh, no …” Tasha said again in a breathless voice, and then Pehr grabbed her
shoulder and spun her back around in the right direction.

“Go!” he shouted, and taking her hand, he began to run, pulling her along.
Behind him, the things at the front of the pack sounded a shrill noise of
alarm. Pehr could hear the sound of their blades spinning up, and the noise of
their tiny, asynchronous legs skittering along. Picking up speed. Beginning the
chase.

Certain death clambered after them. The things were small but startlingly
fast, and there were so very
many
of them. Every time Pehr looked back
it seemed as though their number had doubled, and within only a minute or so of
running he was sure that a thousand or more of the creatures were chasing them.
The whine of their blades filled the entire night; the only other sound Pehr
could hear was his and Tasha’s breathing. Pehr gave silent thanks to the Gods
that both of them were in excellent shape and good runners.

This is what happened
, he thought.
This is what happened to the
ones that Tasha called parasites. These little metal insects rebelled against
them one night, and they had no choice but to flee
.

He could see it in his mind’s eye. Children, the elderly, the sick and
infirm falling behind and being slashed to ribbons by constructions that had
previously existed merely to cut the grass. It was sick, and insane, and almost
funny in its grim way; the parasites had inherited the technology from some
distant and long-departed ancestor race, and they’d been unable to do anything
when the creatures stopped functioning as expected. The loss of this huge and
beautiful work of man and all that it held … because of some ill-tempered
gardening insects. If Pehr could have spared the breath, he would have laughed
out loud at the very horror of it.

“Left!” Tasha cried, and they veered around the corner of a building, the
walls of which must once have been made of the substance that lay in tiny
crystals at its base. The street ahead of them was empty, and at the far end of
it he could see the domed building with the pointing statue atop it. Pehr
risked a look back and saw the first few creatures rounding the corner, making
excited chittering noises, the whine of their spinning blades ever-present. He
thought that he and Tasha might be able to gain some space now that they had a
straight line—

“Pehr! Pehr! Pehr!” Tasha shrieked, and he swung his head back around to see
that the street ahead of them was flooding with metal insects. Within moments,
the way forward was completely blocked, the advancing mass only a hundred
strides ahead.

“Down there!” Pehr shouted, and they turned into a tight and claustrophobic
space between two buildings. Pehr had an instant of terrible premonition – he
had led them right into a dead end – and then shoved it from his mind. They
ran, twisting and turning through the dark and trying to keep their footing. It
came as some relief when Pehr saw a purple-white glow ahead that told him this
path exited back out into the streets.

They emerged from the alley and instinctively turned in the direction that
would continue to take them away from the mob in pursuit. After a moment, Pehr
realized this was a problem, and in another instant Tasha voiced his
concerns.

“We’re going the wrong way!”

Tasha was right, and Pehr knew they had change course. The domed building
was back and to their left. If they acted quickly, they might be able to
circumnavigate the growing mass of gardeners.

“Turn here!” Pehr shouted, and Tasha obeyed. Pehr could hear a chorus
of chirrups from not far away; the mass of creatures had nearly caught up with
them. He could see the front-runners beginning to fill up the street ahead of
them.

“I can’t … run like this … much longer …” Tasha panted.

Pehr was tiring, too. His lungs were beginning to burn, his muscles to
ache.

“It must be now!” he cried. “Give it all you have, right now, or we’ll never
break through!”

They were running directly at a group of perhaps thirty of the deadly little
things, but there was no choice; the buildings at the city’s center were sturdy
enough to shelter them. The ones by which they now ran were not, as was
evidenced by the growing number of gardeners pouring forth from the ruins.

“This is mad!” Tasha cried, but even so she charged forward, running as fast
and as hard as she could, her breathing loud and ragged. Pehr began to sprint
as well, overtaking her, holding his club at the ready. When the first of the
creatures leapt, Pehr batted it away without stopping. He glanced over as he
heard Tasha cry out. She narrowly avoided a leaping gardener, ducking at the
last moment and continuing to run.

Then they were within the mass, surrounded by the whirring, shrieking noise
of what seemed a thousand spinning blades. The metal creatures flew through the
air about them and skittered underfoot, as if they had plunged into the midst
of a cloud of gigantic, homicidal grasshoppers. Pehr knocked more out of the
air, stomped on others, and saw Tasha doing the same, flailing her walking
stick around like a weapon.

Something hit his back and left a streak of pain there, and he shouted.
Tasha, too, cried out, and Pehr saw that one of the creatures had opened a cut
on the upper part of her right arm. She lost her grip on her stick and it
clattered to the ground. Tasha gave a wail of despair but made no attempt to
turn around. Her precious keepsake would have to stand sacrifice for the sake
of their lives.

He wondered how long it would be until a gardener timed its jump right and
landed, blades-first, on his face, but in another moment they had broken
through. Pehr risked a glance behind him and saw that the creatures, now being
joined by the bulk of the horde, were turning themselves around and beginning
pursuit anew.

Tasha made a noise of agony and Pehr spun to look at her, slowing just a
bit. “Are you badly hurt?”

“Can’t breathe!” Tasha gasped. She, too, slowed from her top speed but
managed to find the strength to continue running. They turned twice and were
back on the street leading to the domed building, now tantalizingly close, but
the mass of creatures had followed and was gaining ground. Both he and Tasha
were flagging.

“Just a little further!” He managed, hoping to encourage her to use the last
of her reserves. He could see the doors on the domed building, large and heavy
and intact. They would keep the gardeners out. They must.

“Look out!” Tasha managed, pointing wildly, and Pehr glanced over just in
time to see a handful of the creatures leap from in between two buildings.
Whether the things had lain in wait or simply gotten lucky Pehr couldn't say,
but their timing was impeccable. He hauled the club around, already knowing
that he was too late.

The lead creature sprung at Tasha, and Pehr had no choice but to stick his
other, closer hand out and swat it away. The blades cut into the side of his
palm, and his hand felt suddenly as if he had stuck it into the middle of a
burning fire. He snarled in anger and pain, but kept moving.

“Help!” Tasha cried, still running as well, slightly ahead of him. A
screeching, buzzing metal insect was already in mid-air, set on a course that
would take off half of her face. Pehr swung his club, its length just barely
enough, and dealt the creature a glancing blow that knocked it off course. It
hit the ground in front of Tasha’s feet, and she stomped on it with one heavy,
leather boot as she ran.

There were three more still to deal with, one almost upon them, but Pehr was
now locked in on it. When it leapt, Pehr came to a complete halt, swung the
mace two-handed, and caught the thing in mid-air. It went rocketing off into
the black night, and Pehr had to fight the urge to stop and watch, satisfied,
as it disappeared from view.

The other two metal insects were still running parallel to them, but hadn't
attacked. It seemed almost as if they were waiting for an advantage, and Pehr
wondered exactly how much intelligence the people who made these things had
imbued them with.

Pehr was nearing the end of his strength, and could see that Tasha was doing
no better. She was grimacing, panting, but still running, and he found himself
impressed. He wondered if she still believed that she would survive this night.
He could easily prove her right by stopping now and turning to put up a fight.
It would buy Tasha all the time she needed to make it to their destination. The
idea of being swarmed by cat-sized metal insects, each bearing a plethora of
razor-sharp blades, didn’t much appeal to him.

“No!” Tasha cried, clutching at her side and stumbling. Pehr, a few steps
behind her, realized that the girl had reached the end of her reserves. Her
body was cramping, desperate for water and rest. He caught up with her, wrapped
an arm around her for support, and kept her running.

The final two creatures sensed their opportunity and veered toward the
struggling couple, each giving a triumphant screech. Pehr turned to meet the
attack, protecting Tasha with his body, still forcing his feet to move. His
club was still in his right hand, but he had little leverage with his left arm
wrapped around his friend.

The closer of the two creatures jerked, as if leaping into the air, and Pehr
swung his mace. Yet the thing never leapt; it had faked its attack. In the
moments before his club came down and smashed to pieces on the hard, rock-like
surface of the city street, Pehr wondered again just how smart these creatures
were. He stumbled, bending forward, nearing losing his balance.

Now
the little gardener leapt, and there was nothing Pehr could do
but jerk sideways, saving his face but providing a clear path to the back of
Tasha’s right calf. The creature hit her leg full-on with its spinning blades,
tearing several deep gashes that began to pour blood in torrents. Tasha
shrieked, tripped, and fell to her knees. Pehr fell with her but rolled on his
right shoulder, abrading the flesh there but managing to make it back to his
feet in one motion.

The last of the nearby metal insects launched itself at Tasha’s head even as
she was pulling herself up from the ground. Pehr voiced a roaring cry of rage
and denial and, without thinking, he punched out with his right hand at the
creature as it soared through the air.

By some miracle the blow not only landed true, but it avoided the metal
creature’s spinning blades entirely. Pehr’s knuckles were bruised terribly, but
the little gardener was thrown far off course, landing on its back in the
street. Before it could right itself, Pehr stomped down on it and again saw
that bright flash of light as something within the creature exploded.

“We’re going to die!” Tasha wailed, trying to stand but unable to support
herself on her wounded leg.

“We are
not
!” Pehr roared, spinning around and coming up underneath
Tasha’s right arm, supporting the injured side of her body. “Now run with me,
Tasha, because I will not let either of us die here in this terrible city,
murdered by a bunch of Gods-damned grass cutters!”

He shoved forward with his body, propelling them both forward on his two
good legs and Tasha’s one. There was blood everywhere. His hand and shoulder
and back, her knee and arm and leg, all were pouring crimson. It didn’t matter;
they were within twenty yards of the domed building, and Pehr was certain that
if they could just make it inside, they would be safe. He believed this as
fervently as the most devout of priests believed in the Gods. He believed this
as if his very life depended upon it, because of course it did.

Twenty yards, but the swarm was less than five behind them. The thing that
had cut Tasha’s leg had been overtaken by its brethren. What had started as a
small group had now become a surging tidal wave of metal that filled the
street. The individual clattering of legs had become a roaring cacophony; the
combined sound of countless whirring blades made a high-pitched shriek that
seemed to threaten their very sanity. Pehr pressed on, pumping his legs,
holding Tasha up. He could hear her ragged breathing in his ear, could smell
her fear, could taste the salt of her sweat in the air as he drew breath after
burning breath into his lungs.

It will not end here
! He thought, and he gave one last, great shove
with his legs, beginning their ascent up the domed building’s staircase. They
reached the top by momentum more than effort, and it was here that Pehr lost
his grip on Tasha. She collapsed upon the cool marble of the landing, and Pehr
shouted her name, turning, sure that the huge wave of metal gardeners would
fall upon them now and reduce them in a matter of moments to nothing more than
a grisly splotch of red on these clean, white steps.

The metal things had stopped at the base of the stairs, clustered at the
edge, bobbing on their legs and giving the impression of a vast black pool. The
air was still filled with the whining of their blades, but they made no further
motion. Not a single creature climbed so much as the first step, and Pehr stood
now twenty-five feet above them, at the top of the stairs and only a few feet
from the gigantic doors which allowed entry into the hall.

He supposed he should have laughed, or screamed out in triumph, or done some
other thing equally befitting a warrior who has, through wit and strength and
speed, outrun a force of immensely superior numbers. Instead he only coughed
once, and then fell back into a sitting position next to Tasha’s prone, heaving
form. He thought for a moment he might be sick, but the feeling passed.

Pehr leaned forward; hands wrapped around the back of his neck, he sat there
gasping for breath, and it was some time before either he or the girl with the
purple eyes could find the strength to drag themselves to those great stone
doors, open them, and slip inside.