Steampunk Cyborg: Mecha Origin, #1

1

The smoke inside the underground structure made it difficult to see, stinging the eyes, hiding everything within its gray embrace. The goggles he yanked down from atop his head and seated firmly to protect his orbs prevented damage to tissue but, more importantly, filtered for heat signatures. Wearing the specialized lenses meant he saw the world in another layer, a grid of colors to mark objects.

Blue for heat—the darker the shade, the more intense the flame. Gray for cold—the lighter the color, the chillier the temperature. Visible metal mass showed up in shades of purple while biological matter hinted of green and blue with occasional orange, depending on whether they were water based or not.

It took but a millisecond to scan the area. To catalogue the various colors. A hint of bio matter swayed into view then hid. Not very well he should add.

He didn’t turn his head. Didn’t give any sign he’d noticed anything at all. Merely raised his arm and fired. A large bullet—a solid seventy five millimeters wide and coated in Varmellium oil, which ignited if it got wet—rocketed to his target.

Blood counted as moisture, so when that missile hit, it blew a hefty hole.

Which was why it was disconcerting to see the blue-green body not just rise with a hole in its chest but step toward him, the rim of its wound showing yellow.

Not biological after all.

Damned androids. The layer of heated flesh over synthetic machine parts meant they could fool the goggle’s lenses.

He raised his gun again, even as the robot, unable to feel pain and not completely incapacitated, fired.

Move.

Despite Jwl’s ducking and leaning to his left, the bullet nonetheless sheared the side of his head.

The floor didn’t provide a soft landing for his shoulder. Something crushed, and he could only hope he’d not dented anything. He aimed his gun even as he fell.

The second massive bullet hit the robot in the head. Blew a hole right through it. But best to be careful. The knees were taken out with two more shots, enough to send the android to the ground. Immobilizing it in wasn’t enough though. It still twitched, the metal grip still clutching its weapon tight.

Damned things were hard to kill. And you had to kill them. Never walk away from one that still moved. No one ever forgot what had happened to Kyyl. Poor guy thought he’d killed the rogue robot with a bullet between its eyes. Kyyl turned and was walking away when the android took him out with a shot to the head.

Jwls’s people might have conquered many things. Aging. Disease. Most injuries. Limb and organ replacement. Yet the one thing they couldn’t do was live without a brain.

Without one, you were nothing more than an android.

Yet what if you could find something to enhance your intelligence, protect it, repair it?

Why not? After all, they’d found something to replace hearts and lungs and even spines.

Rumor had it a certain antique dealer was working on a device, something to act as the ultimate brain enhancer. Apparently Jwls wasn’t the only one who’d heard that rumor.

The house where the antique dealer lived might have been remote, but it certainly wasn’t quiet.

Jwls had already killed another curiosity seeker, and now the house androids were attacking. This job had just taken an interesting turn.

He held his arm to his mouth—the watch at his wrist fitted snugly over the metal bracers—and murmured, Just put down a dirty dick. A slang term for a robot because, initially, the first realistic androids had been made for sex. With great big dirty dicks that required a whole new set of health laws because they weren’t being cleaned properly.

Many places had banned the use of androids, especially those that mimicked life so well. But they made excellent servants. Perfect soldiers who couldn’t be corrupted.

The example of why you needed a brain.

Awhile back, a group tried to argue that dirty dicks should have rights. They tried to liberate them from their owners. They didn’t live to regret that choice. In their zeal, they’d forgotten to factor in one important thing. Robots couldn’t be swayed by emotion, and they killed on command.

I’ve got a pair of dirty d’s by the second quadrant entrance. The piercing in his lobe vibrated with the message from Zak, part of his crew.

There were five of them in all and a good thing they’d all come. The dealer’s place was crawling with bots, and there were other rumor hunters, too. Others after the same treasure.

Ray chimed in next. A pair for me as well.

Look at you with your measly two. Got you both beat with five, Ursy remarked, her reply a distinct vibration.

Place is crawling, Ray remarked. And I’m pretty sure I heard a motor not long ago. We might have more company coming.

What a pile of rusted gears. I’m beginning to wonder if we’re wasting our time. Said with annoyance by the final person of their group, Wulff.

Guess that fellow with the drunken story of a treasure hit a few more taverns after ours, Zak reasoned.

Jwls recalled the fellow, handsome, wearing rich clothing. Drinking hard, but not quite ever falling-down drunk, telling a story of a device. A perfect machine to make someone immortal.

Or as he called it, the God Gear.

It made Jwls salivate. Did it really exist? My section is clear, he announced, the building having been divided into zones among the crew. Everyone had their part to play. They worked in tandem as a team.

The others sounded off. Level two didn’t have what they were looking for. Which meant, We need to go down to the next level.

He just needed to find stairs or an elevator.

Rather than wander aimlessly, best check a map. He flipped a tiny switch on the side of his goggles, changing the lens. A different filter, providing a map of the building, helped him orient himself. Pivoting on his heel, the map turned with him. Jwls strode in the direction of a hidden set of stairs, the lock pad bypassed by melting it. The wall slid open, revealing stairs going down.

The staircase didn’t hide any kind of security. Kind of disappointing. One would expect a lair to have some kind of protection other than just the droids. The door to the next level gaped, someone having already passed through.

He couldn’t let them get to the prize first.

Smoke drifted in this section, light enough for now and yet it could easily thicken. Having reinforced lungs didn’t mean he should tax them. He tugged a bandeau over the lower half of his face before dropping into a jog down the smoky corridor. His goggles protected his eyes, and despite the lack of light in this section, his mapping lenses had no problem sifting shadow from actual wall. His step quick, Jwls made his way to a hall made remarkable mostly because of the bodies piled before a door. More massacred droids, and one gouged fleshy body. Not someone Jwls recognized. Looked like whoever killed the stranger robbed them, too. A few holes in the body indicated a loss of machinery.

He tapped his ear. We’ve got Gear Hunters in the building. No need to say more. Gear Hunters were known to be ruthless when it came to acquiring the cogs and gears that sold for high prices on the dark mechanical market.

He stepped past the pile of bodies and glanced through the door to see a mundane office. Curved long desk. Gelatin pod seat behind it for the tentacle-inclined. Past that another door, wedged open, with more stairs going down.

The gun he extended pointed the way, ready to fire. He didn’t remain quiet as he descended, but he did hug walls to make himself a more difficult target. He encountered no troubles until he arrived at the bottom step and noticed the blue puddle. Innocuous appearing if you ignored the steam and smell. Jwls knew better. That was molten goo, the kind that chewed through leather, flesh. Even the floor wouldn’t remain intact. In other words, don’t touch.

Usually an easy rule to follow, except the door he needed lay on the other side of the puddle. Closed, unfortunately, and the positioning of the hinges indicated it required a pull to open. Just his luck.

For a moment, he debated returning to the previous floor and seeking another way down, but that would waste time.

Might as well make an entrance here.

And he meant make.

Jwls shook his arm, the motion re-arming his weapon with a different kind of missile. The bigger, more explosive caliber loaded. The only one he’d brought so hopefully one shot would do it.

He fired and ducked, pulling the wing of his coat to cover his head.

Boom!

The vibration barely caused a tremble in the solid-built structure, yet in spite of that, the staircase he stood on shifted, mostly because the puddle melted the support for it. He needed to move. His aim proved true. The door now possessed a decent-sized hole, large enough for him if he dove and didn’t get caught on anything.

Jwls stroked a finger over a button on his coat, magnetizing it so that it clung tight to his body. Nothing would dangle as he went over that pit.

He lacked a runway he could use to launch himself and gain momentum. Time ticked. The stairs sagged. Might as well just do it.

Jwls threw himself, tucking his body into a narrow arrow, willing all the gears, flesh, and machinery in his body to ignore gravity for just a moment. His hands and arms cleared first then his head, but a groan of sound shifted the door. His shoulders brushed the edges of the hole, throwing off his trajectory. His legs dipped down. The toe of his boot touched the blue goo.

He hit the other side on the floor hard and slid. That didn’t stop him from kicking off the boot, springing to his feet, shaking his arm to arm himself again, and aiming at his footwear.

Hiss. A fine particle powder sprayed forth, coating the boot, stopping further damage. Nothing worse than showing up barefoot to a fight, a fight which, judging by the distant sounds of guns and yells, he was late to.

Damn it. He shoved his foamy boot back on.

Where’s the live fire happening? he asked, jogging in the direction of the noise. He also rearmed his arm with bullets, the price he’d paid for the new weapon well worth it. It truly was multifunctional.

Zak replied. We are just outside the vault. We had to take care of a few of the dealer’s guests. In other words, more cog hunters who’d come to steal the prize. Which made Jwls wonder yet again at the whole mission.

Who leaked the fact the dealer had such precious cargo? And why wasn’t it better secured? Only some robot servants running around? Where was the true security force? The laser beams in the halls. The false floors that were supposed to send them plummeting into bottomless pits.

Did it matter? The chance of a lifetime might be within grasp.

He checked the map, looking for the area Zak mentioned. Not far now. Almost there, Jwls announced as he turned the corner, only to curse as he saw movement. Instinct had him flattening. The fireball soared past overhead.

It’s me! he yelled.

Ursy held back the next round of fire. Oops. Her lips pursed, the mockery clear. Once more she’d claim innocence. But they were all getting wise to Zak’s little sister.

Didn’t recognize the light tapping of your footsteps. Have you lost weight? Did your mechanics turn to rust?

The ultimate insult because it meant someone who’d had very little modification. A pity you can’t find a part to make you pleasant, Jwls retorted.

Ah, is the poor baby going to cry that I’m being mean? she bullied.

He glared.

Ray interrupted. If you guys are done comparing dicks.

And Jwls coming up short against Ursy, Zak snickered.

Hey! Jwls growled.

Ahem. Ray tried not to laugh. Stop worrying that Ursy is tougher than all of us and get over here. We’ve breached the vault door and are going in.

They wouldn’t wait. Waiting would give anyone hiding within a chance to regroup.

On my way. He began to jog, following Ursy already in motion. They turned a corner, and he noticed the body in the hall and the charred marks on the wall. Must be the vault, only Ursy ran past the blasted doors.

Ursy? What the hell? I think we go in here. He slowed, peeked inside, and saw his friends at the far