Next day in the hangar. The superior, dressed like the male version of Orden, maybe her twisted brother from another mother, lectured us on digging.
"Let's be clear about one thing. You're the lowest of the lowest. The shit cracks between my boots, the rotten rat that people like me piss on for fun."
Nothing more refreshing than a little pep talk in the morning. My glance swung around to check out my co-diggers for today. Dozens of disappointed faces in digging gear, old and young, mostly male. But one face stood out. It belonged to a middle-aged guy who sent me the vilest glance known to my young life so far. It took me a second to name-match the man, but then the memory crawled back into my mind.
It was Nathan, the leader of the survivors that my team had found in the last mission. So he ended up as a low-ranking digger? Damn. My grave concerns became reality. And now the superior spoke again.
"Intel shows a major digging site with potential tech artifacts in the locations I've updated on your commcuffs. You guys will be digging till the blood leaks from your gloves. But it's not all doom and gloom—the first digger to discover a valuable artifact will be granted a tier one right of his choosing."
Some folks looked up, most didn't care.
The superior thought he launched the ultimate incentive but gathered nothing but moans and groans.
"Be a little thankful, you little cretins. We'll feed you and give you sufficient sleep. Most survivors in the Lost Lands can only dream of that."
Still didn't change the emotional state of one single digger. The folks were so jaded it took a fusion reactor to light them up. I was probably the only fully awake one around, but then again, it was my first day. Who knew what weeks, months, or even years of digging would do to my psyche?
I didn't want to find out.
The man in charge yelled again.
"Stand in line. Your shift starts now."
The Fireturtle II APC rolled out its garage. The superior barked at us and told us to enter through the rear.
We we're ten in total, the perfect load-out for a single armored carrier. Six soldiers of the Bulwark accompanied us. Two drove the APC, the other joined our seats to watch over us. Nathan sat opposite of me and glared into my eyes with enough hatred to launch another war. Couldn't blame the guy, in a way, I had ruined his life. Promised him food and shelter, and what did he get? A degradation to the lowest position. Maybe out in the Lost Lands, we'd have a break where I could set things right.
But judging from Nathan's glance, he was beyond the talking phase. The superior clapped his hands like a degenerate child when the motors of the mighty APC roared.
"We'll arrive at our target destination in T-minus forty-five minutes. To get our juices going, we're going to sing a little song to praise our glorious Bulwark Cluster. Who's with me?"
Judging from everyone's subzero mood, no one.
But participation was mandatory.
"I chant the first lines, you follow up. Come on, let's make this day count."
He clapped, and so did his soldiers.
Fully-armored guards of the Bulwark clapping like adolescents, yeah, it looked the way it sounded.
"We dig dig dig dig dig dig dig from early morn' till night
We dig dig dig dig dig dig dig up everything in sight
We dig up artifacts by the score
A thousand times, sometimes more
We dig dig dig dig dig..."
Whoever composed this song deserved a life-sentence of scrubbing toilets. Not even Konforma and her twisted programming could come up with rubbish like this.
Give me a break.
Nope, the superior didn't.
He restarted the vowels.
"And one last time."
"We dig dig dig dig dig dig dig from early morn' till night, we dig dig dig dig dig dig dig up everything in sight."
We all repeated the atrocious lines with the passion of a beaten pig, but the superior didn't care. As long as we obeyed his command, we were good to go. When the song ended, I rested my head and looked up the hull ceiling of the APC. Closed my eyes and listened to the steady hum of the motors.
Tearing up the desert ground.
Bringing us to the digging site.
During the silent ride, I thought about two folks.
Ceedee.
Who I hoped would survive her grave injury in the medstation. And I thought of the mysterious brunette, Nathan's daughter, ex-scientist and now a researcher in the Bulwark's R&D branch. Working on secretive projects, none of us low-ranks were supposed to know about.
Gossip claimed she knew the past's secrets.
Maybe that was the reason why the superiors locked her away from the commoners. With fingers crossed, I prayed for her well-being. Hoped she didn't end up like her father. Also hoped we'd have a chance to talk about the world's—and maybe my—origin.
YOU ARE READING
Machine God: A Post-Apocalyptic Thriller (Final Draft)
Science FictionWhatever happened, it wiped out the world as we know it. A man with no name wakes up in a post-apocalyptic wasteland where military factions wage war on each other. These armed troops capture survivors, harvest tech artifacts from the dark past a...