Through the Looking Glass Ch. 07

"Over here!"

Mitch and Lisa turned towards the sound of someone shouting at them, dragging their attention away from the thundering sounds of machines rumbling down the battle scarred road of what was once downtown Birchwood.

"C'mon; get in here!"

The dimension traveling scientists hurried over to what looked like a disguised entrance to their now half destroyed laboratory building. The pair darted inside, being ushered in by the one calling for them, and paused to wait as the individual shoved a slab of plaster board over the hole.

"C'mon, this way," he said, grabbing them and practically dragging them towards the stairwell that lead down to the lower levels. He shoved at Mitch and Lisa, prodding them to hurry down the steps, "Hurry up; we've got to get below their IR!"

They picked up their pace, taking two or three steps at a time, and scrambled down to the very bottom of the stairwell. Catching their breath for a second, Mitch finally had the chance to engage the man who was trying to hide them from... whatever it was rolling down the road above.

"Michael?"

The young man turned to both of them and smiled, finally recognizing their surprised faces, "My God, it is you!" He hugged them both, laughter huffing out of his mouth, "I thought you two were dead. We tried to find you; we looked everywhere!" His eyes widened, suddenly realizing what they were running from and said, "Get in here, quick; they can't spot us down here."

The trio bolted through the heavy door Michael opened, and someone else on the other side closed it again.

"Denise, start tracking."

The young, dark skinned gal flashed her fingers over the keyboard in front of her, "Tracking online."

Mitch and Lisa only got a quick glance at their new surroundings, for their exploration was rudely interrupted.

"Get your hands up and don't move," barked the individual manning the door. He brought out a paddle-like device and started moving it along their bodies, the box at his hip beeping in time with his motions. The paddle acknowledged something with an electronic whine, and the man stepped back placing his hand on the weapon in his holster.

"The pack and the bag, on the table," he ordered.

Mitch and Lisa complied, laying their belongings aside and giving Mitch the chance to see who it was giving them the strict security treatment.

"Agent Foster?"

"It's just Foster, now; there is no more F.B.I."

The government agent that headed the warrant serving and confiscation operation of their fusion project continued his scanning, passing the scan wand over their heads last.

"They're clean," he threw over his shoulder. He then dumped the contents of their packs onto the table, with his hand racing to his holster again, "He has a weapon," Foster picked up the revolver and questioned Mitch, "Where did you get this?"

"You wouldn't believe me if I told you," he answered neutrally.

Foster got into his face, "You trying to be funny, Doctor?" he started to draw his gun, "I ain't in the mood for funny."

"It came from another dimension," Lisa chimed in, "So did we."

Foster raised a cocky eyebrow at her, "Oh, so you're trying to be funny now, huh? You should tell your husband to put your mouth to better use."

"Foster!" Michael rounded on him and got nose to nose with him, "I told you to drop the 'tough guy' act. How the Hell are we suppose to gather new recruits if you keep alienating everyone?"

"We don't need weaklings in this little group of ours, especially ones that don't take this seriously. That will get somebody killed."

Michael nodded to Foster, then quickly brought up the business end of a long survival knife and pressed the point under his chin, "That's right, Foster: we don't have weaklings here... including me. Remember that. You said they were clean," he motioned to the gun, "would you deny them protection?"

Foster slowly placed Mitch's gun back on the table as Michael lowered his knife and sheathed it, "Make no mistake, Foster: these people are friends of mine. Is that clear?"

Foster nodded slowly, "Clear." and sauntered over to his monitors lining the wall next to the door.

While the heated exchange was going on, Mitch and Lisa had the chance to look over themselves more carefully. They were wearing regular street clothes, jeans, T-shirts, and the like, but they had the look of being worn for quite awhile, with small tears and holes in them as well as dirt stains here and there.

Michael turned to the scientists, "Sorry about that, guys; Foster gets a little carried away with the security procedures, but they are necessary. We can't afford to take chances, not now."

"'A little'?" mumbled Lisa, seeing Foster eye the pair with scrutiny as she stuffed her things into her bag, shouldering it.

Mitch gathered his belongings and, as he snapped his pack back into place, asked, "What 'chances'? What's going on?"

Michael raised an eyebrow at him, "Where have you two been? You honestly don't know what's been going on?"

Mitch sighed, "Look, it takes too long to explain; suffice to say, we've been in hiding for awhile. We've lost track of what's been happening."

"Michael," this from Denise, "we've got sentries coming; two hundred yards and closing."

"Track 'em," Michael had the pair follow him to a table in the corner with a laptop sitting on it, "We've kept a journal of what's been happening, including all of the reports and updates right up to the point where they stopped. Everything you need to know is on there, but look through it quick. They track intermittent signals and can home in on the source," he reached over to a timer and set it for a countdown, "You've got ten minutes. When the alarm beeps, flip the laptop down and shut it off." With that, Michael headed to another console of monitors and controls.

Mitch clicked the computer on and started the log program, with pieces of blog entries and official site paragraphs and images appearing.

"A 'super computer'?" said Lisa, quickly perusing the articles.

Mitch nodded, "Yes, something about a major breakthrough in computer science." He stopped at a certain section and read...

'In 2002, in response to the ongoing threat of terrorist attacks, the United States implemented a highly experimental computer program to counter such occurrences. In cooperation with other nations, this program was transmitted world wide to other computers working in tandem with the military forces of allies working together to combat the threat of terrorism.'

'In 2004, experimental units consisting of drones and automated attack vehicles were put into use by the U.S. and its allies. Within one year, these automated units successfully defeated the majority of terrorists' organizations and extremists' regimes and destroying their centers of operation. All of the operations conducted by the U.S. and coalition forces proceeded and were accomplished with a minimum of ally casualties.'

"Wow," Mitch muttered, "they took out almost every terrorist group in the Middle East by using an artificial army. Enhanced Air Force drones, unmanned armored assault vehicles..."

"And the attacks were controlled by computers," Lisa added.

But Mitch shook his head, "No, that can't be. Computers only do what you tell them to do; they can't think for themselves. Somebody had to be calling the shots." He skipped down to another report...

'Following cybernetic attacks on their computers, the U.S./Coalition upgraded their equipment and software with what some scientists call the 'Fluid Logic' system, in 2008. This new software system allowed the 'super computers' to anticipate and analyze potential threats and devise proper solutions to counter said threats, in effect allowing the computers to 'think' and 'reason' to a certain extent. It was hailed as a 'success', as it neutralized attempts by hackers and other entities to take control. Law enforcement officials voiced their interests in the program some time later, theorizing about how this technology could be used in certain hardware for patrolling and securing crime ridden areas.'

Mitch scanned the rest of the official papers and found nothing else, "That's it; there's nothing further from the media or news outlets. The reports just stopped."

Lisa started looking through some of the personal logs made by people here in the facility and others they've managed to download.

"There's a lot of speculation about what happened afterward, things like government takeovers, the military and law enforcement taking control of the country, even theories about the country being defeated and secretly run by other powers and attacks from space. Which one is right?"

Mitch scrolled down the entries and found one written by Michael...

'December 5'

'We've just received word from the base at Miami that the last of the strongholds in their region has been destroyed. One by one, these robot controlled areas are falling and losing their grip on their territories, but we still have a long way to go. The teams we're coordinating with here on the West Coast say that there are only seven major strongholds left, and are confident that they can be taken out.'

'It's the dozens of smaller compounds I'm worried about, plus the hundreds of others across the country. Some of them are not sticking to their original parameters; they're beginning to alter their agendas. Not a lot of them, but some. We can't figure out why.'

Mitch skipped down to the last entry made in the log, noticing the clock next to him and Lisa flashed two minutes remaining...

'March 25'

'The last major stronghold on the West Coast has been neutralized, their war machines shut down and rendered useless. As far as we can tell, there are only five or six small compounds remaining active, most of them running on their last bit of steam. According to reports, there are only about two dozen strongholds still in operation around the country. This is a good sign that we will defeat the machines and take our country back.'

'But the remaining compounds are proving more and more difficult to defeat. Their machines have been improving their performance with what little they have left, and the one near us is adapting to our efforts to take them out. We've lost four bases already and countless fighters; we're one of the last in this city.'

'We must find the source of the signal that is being transmitted to the machines and shut it down if we are to have any chance of...'

The alarm beeped at them, and Mitch quickly closed the laptop shutting it off.

"My God," uttered Lisa, "Computers and machines tried to take over the world?"

Mitch nodded, "And they discovered how 'inefficient and imperfect' their creators were... and set out to get rid of them."

He turned to the rest of the room to find Michael; he needed more answers. But he and Lisa hung back for a few moments as the group of fighters were busy at their stations, monitoring the area surrounding their base and scanning for activity. It gave them the chance to look around and get a handle on the situation they were currently in.

The room was the large sub-basement at the bottom level of the building, mostly used as a storage area and emergency shelter in their universe. But here, it became home and a safe haven for the people still maintaining the facility, all of the equipment and storage items brought down there and utilized for other purposes besides science.

Controls and computers lined the walls, along with charts and graphs of the city, and a huge plasma screen TV dominated the scene pulling duty as a main surveillance screen with statistics and indicators dotting the view of the outside.

"They're almost here, Michael," said Denise, adjusting the view on the screen and sounding nervous.

He put his hand on her shoulder and said, "They won't find us, not down here."

Mitch and Lisa neared the main console, checking the screen carefully, and Mitch asked, "What's coming?"

Michael simply pointed to the far side of the screen that focused on the road, and the scientists gazed at the area carefully to make sure they were seeing it clearly.

There were four of them, rolling down the cleared roadway and meticulously scanning the immediate area, all about the same height as an average man. They looked like something out of a movie, with their heads, arms, and torsos resembling a robotic automaton and with looks on their metallic faces suggesting something evil. Extra pieces of equipment were graphed onto their forms, some scanning devices while others had the definite look of weapons, but similarities to their human form ended there.

An extra pair of limbs were attached to their sides, with grappling devices on the ends, and just underneath their waists where legs should have been were beveled trapezoid shaped, chassis-like compartments with wheeled treads along their sides. Their whole menacing appearances were enhanced with the large Gatling guns straddling their waists and tubes protruding from the fronts, indicating projectile launching weapons.

The miniature tanks were closing in on the building, making everyone tense up.

"Easy guys," Michael reassured, "Their IR can't get through the shielding in the walls; you know that. We're too deep for them to see us, anyway."

"Doesn't make me feel any better," Denise said in a hushed voice, watching the machines roll passed the facility and scanning it along the way.

Mitch quietly walked up to Michael, "You said their IR can't get through the walls," Mitch remembered something about the walls of the sub-basement/shelter being lead lined for protection against radioactivity in a nuclear war, "These things use infrared to track their surroundings?"

Michael nodded, "Most of the time, yeah. They have conventional scanners and motion detectors, but it's easier to find us by detecting our body heat."

"These things aren't very bright, though," Foster added, still keeping a concentrated eye on Mitch and Lisa, "They can be fooled; we've got a few tricks up our sleeves to confuse them. The building is painted in white reflective, as well as others around town. The sun's heat bounces off the surfaces and reflects it into their 'eyes'; they can't track too clearly that way."

"But they're starting to catch on," Michael interjected, "They've figured out that somebody painted the buildings that way on purpose, so they're concentrating their search efforts on those structures; they know some of us are hiding near them. There's ten of us down here; we've got three more groups hiding in other places. There used to be more, but..."

Foster jumped back in, "We still have other tricks; they're easily distracted by heat sources and sudden movements. We use mirrors to make reflections to distract them and draw their attention away from us. We have flash grenades; the heat from them scrambles their vision for about thirty seconds, but we don't have a lot of them so we use them in emergencies only. The animals that still hang around here throw them off the track too, but not for long."

"When they get this close," said Michael, pointing to the screen, "it gives us an advantage."

Lisa looked surprised, "You want them to get close to you?"

He nodded, "Absolutely. The closer they get, the more dangerous it is. But the closer they are gives us that many more opportunities to study them and track their movements." Michael reached for a keyboard and punched in a series of numbers, a corner of the screen acknowledging his commands, "These things all run off a specific signal to their central processors," he pointed to the head of the machine's schematic, "Each one has its own frequency, but they all originate from one source. But the signal they receive is so wide spread, we can't pinpoint its precise location."

"Michael," Denise interrupted, "Otto is receiving; the signal's being processed."

"Come with me." Mitch and Lisa followed Michael to the back part of the basement to one of the storage closets... and they both were startled into back stepping when he opened the door.

"Don't worry," Michael assured, "It's not active; the main processor is still receiving a signal, but we've deactivated the unit."

One of the tank-like sentries dominated the small room, sitting quietly with cables and hookups attached to its components leading to computers and its weapons stripped away.

"Mitch, Lisa, meet Otto," said Michael, offering a hand toward the mechanical monster, "Don't let his demeanor bother you; he's harmless."

Not quite convinced, Mitch stepped up to the metal beast and examined it, "You actually keep one of these things down here?"

Michael nodded, "Otto has been a virtual fountain of information. He's taught us a lot about how these guys are put together, their strengths, weaknesses, armament... but most importantly the signal they receive. Like I said before, they can trace electronic signals so we can only use him for about ten minutes. But those ten minutes could lead us to the source. Denise?"

He directed his unasked question to her, and got a frustrated answer, "Damn it! They're using a different scrambler frequency, overlapping with two others; they're on to us."

"Fuck," said Michael, pounding the side of the door, "shut Otto down." The computers surrounding the robot shut off one by one and fell silent as Michael continued, "They're using a scrambler to disrupt the signal so it can't be traced. Whatever is controlling the sentries knows someone is trying to home in on them; they're starting to catch on to us."

"I don't understand this," said Lisa, keeping a weary eye on Otto, "where did they all come from? Who made them, the military?"

"The originals were made by the military, some of them were bought by police departments for patrols and riot control," said Foster, "We took them out quick, knowing their weaknesses. But others started showing up, different sizes and configurations, different constructions; we think some factory complex created them as replacements."

"Machines creating themselves?" Mitch asked, astonished.

"More like 'repairing and upgrading' themselves," Michael answered, "The new ones we've seen aren't really 'new', they're old models with replacement parts. We've seen them scavenging the city for damaged sentries and anything else they think they can use. The damaged ones are recycled; they use as much of their undamaged components as they can... but it's not enough." Michael invited Mitch and Lisa to take a closer look at Otto. They looked it over, peering closely at the components on its body, and cringed at what they saw.

Mitch looked at its head and pointed, "Is that what I think it is?"

Michael nodded sadly, gazing at the top component of the metal beast.

A human skull, hollowed out and fitted with scanners and computer pieces. Its silvery surface gave it the look of having been covered or dipped into liquid metal.

Mitch looked again at the main section of the body and saw ridges along its torso, tightly packed together and covered with the same metal coating, and odd shaped support and control rods along its arms. His face went white when he realized what they were.

Bones. Human bones.

"That's not all," said Michael, opening a panel in the front of the ridged torso, made up of ribs. Lisa peered inside the chassis... and nearly gagged at the sight.

Half of its inner structure was a collage of wires, conduits, and other mechanical gadgets like a typical machine would have, along with computerized components to run them. But the rest was a gruesome array of arteries, veins, nerves, and internal organs all held in place by strands of muscles and sinew melded together in a grotesque configuration out of somebody's nightmare.

Lisa had to turn away from the sight, on the verge of throwing up all over it.

"What did I tell you," smirked Foster, "weak."