The collector came close, its thin wiry arms reaching for Michael. He felt himself recoil instinctively.
“Impossibility in genetic makeup. Calculating odds of sensor error. Sensors functioning correctly. Calculating odds of parallel evolution.”
“You don’t want me,” Michael said, finding himself pleading with a machine. “I’m an error, an abnormality, you said it yourself. Probably best you leave me alone, don’t want to be getting errors in your system do you, not a great look.” He was babbling again, a bad habit when nervous.
“Odds statistically improbable. Reconfiguring logic. Genetic profile improbable but correct. Component rating excellent. Proceeding to collection.”
The body of the machine cracked open, the wires moving aside to reveal a yawning black chasm. It was like a maw had opened, ready to consume Michael. Cables lashed out from within, coiling around his body like tendrils. They lifted him into the air and began to pull him inside.
Chapter Nineteen
The tendrils squeezed as they pulled Michael towards the opening. Within he could see a frightening array of jagged edges and long needles, no doubt designed to keep a prisoner compliant. He struggled against it, thrashing his legs as he tried to break free. It wasn’t working, the collector seemed to grip tighter with every movement of Michael’s body. The machine was taking its time like it was somehow savouring the experience.
Michael’s hand still clutched at his pistol, though his arm was getting numb from the crushing tentacle and he could feel it slipping. He twisted his wrist trying to get an angle for a shot. His previous attempts had simply crashed against the armoured machine, but it would at least be an act of defiance. Unable to find an angle, Michael fired into the ground, his finger squeezing the trigger as fast as he dared.
Another cable lashed out from within the collector’s guts, slapping the weapon from Michael’s hand. It clattered against the floor of the warehouse, sliding off into the shadows. His brief attempt to fight back spurred the collector on, and it yanked him inside itself.
Michael could feel darkness wash over him as the machine’s body sealed itself shut, wrapping around him like a cocoon. Inside was warmer than he had expected. It would have been almost soothing, were it not for the sharp pinpricks of needles pressing against his skin. The annoyance became pain as the needles slid forward in the darkness, digging into his flesh. There was a wave of red light, briefly illuminating the inside of the collector. Michael was surrounded by a mass of cables bundled together like muscle. They pulsed unsettlingly.
“God damn it,” Michael said, the words spluttering over his lips. They had barged up his throat almost subconsciously, Michael’s need to talk when stressed presenting itself again. “You’ve been on borrowed time since you got snatched off Earth, let’s be honest with our-”
Michael felt a force slam against him, heavy and hard. He felt a crack, the snap of a rib as he tumbled. It was disorienting, to spin helplessly in the dark, nothing visible to get his bearings with. There was a horrible shrieking noise like two cats yowling into a toy microphone. Something wet and warm splattered against his cheek.
“Sys-system damaged,” the collector said. Its voice was painful to hear, amplified within its body to an awful wail. “Calculating odds of sur-survival. Chances po-po-poor. Collection of specimen un-like-like-likely. Transmitting location for coll-eeee-ection.”
There was a burst of loud cracks, the tell-tale sound of energy weapons being fired. They had a distinct tone, like the sonic boom of a whip. It was very different from what Michael had expected, decades of science fiction movies training him to look out for something higher pitched.
He blinked instinctively as light poured over his face, the body of the collector pulled open by unseen hands. He felt more of the wetness against him, a thick red slime dripping from the opening. Someone grabbed him pulling him free. It hurt as the needles refused to slide loose, instead snapping off from the inside of the collector.
“Rise and shine, magic boy,” Ivona said, her armoured hands grabbing Michael by the shoulders. She pulled him upright onto wobbling feet, her weapon hanging from a strap across her shoulder. “Nearly won yourself an all-expenses-paid trip to the Rhythm knows where.”
“You got lucky.” Akob was loading another missile into his launcher, the ammo retrieved from a colleague’s backpack. “Seems like the Unmind has never indexed your kind before. Good thing too, or you would probably be ash by now.”
Michael brushed at his cheek, sending the red goop that had collected there splattering onto the floor. A pool of the liquid had already formed, leaking from the fallen machine like blood. “Sorry, you fired a rocket at that thing, when you knew I was in there?”
“Collectors are well armoured. We knew you would be fine. Probably. Even if you hadn’t, trust me you didn’t want that thing to take you.” Ivona picked up one of the boxes of tins from the ground. They had fallen in the machines rampage, knocked off the hovering trolley. She placed it back on, before adding a few more for good measure.
“Fine isn’t quite right,” Michael said holding at his side. It hurt like hell, the throbbing spreading across his torso. “What is this shit?” he said as he dipped the toe of his shoe into the pooling ooze.
“People who get taken but don’t need to be indexed,” Ivona said. She was holding up another box of tins, the cartoon blob smiling from the side. “The collectors use it in their construction, some kind of biological wiring. Not sure, not a scientist.”
Michael removed the tip of his shoe. He suddenly felt like he had stepped on a grave.
“We should get a move on,” Akob said. “In case there are more of them lurking about.”
“The machine did say something about transmitting its location as it died.” Michael looked back at the thing. Its side had been blasted apart, the wires forming the body flopping loose. Michael realised how close he had come to being the missile’s second victim, the interior chamber was nearly exposed. The collector had slumped to the ground, looking like a fallen monster.
“Oh.” Ivona dropped another selection of tins onto the hover trolley. “We need to get the hell out of here then. Now.” Ivona raised her wrist near her mouth, lights blinking on her armour. “Colonel to everyone, we’re bugging out. Get back to the ship, bring what you’ve got but don’t grab anything else.”
“Grab one of those crates,” Akob said tapping Michael on the shoulder. It shook his torso causing his side to scream in pain. Michael was sure something was broken.
Michael lifted the tins. It felt heavier than it should of, his ordeal weakening him. “Got it.”
“Ok,” Ivona said, gripping the handle on the hover trolley with one hand, whilst brandishing her cannon with the other. “Let’s get out of here.”
The engines of the Seeker let out their signature whine as they spun up. The resistance fighters were loading their spoils aboard, most of them stealing hover trolleys to make it easier. It wasn’t much, they had barely begun their search when the collector had appeared, but it was better than nothing. The real issue was that the salvaged goods didn’t contain anything that could be used to fabricate the parts the Sword needed.
Ivona’s order to flee was proving the right one. Several glowing red lights were approaching the warehouse, brief glimpses caught through the gaps in the surrounding buildings. More machines were coming, summoned by their fallen comrade.