A Simple Misunderstanding

The warehouse sat in a squalid corner of Sector 3 which is why the rooftop generator ran day and night. The ever-present hum of the engine permeated the building. Luther paused as he stepped inside, allowing his eyes to adjust to the dim lighting. He knocked twice on the door at the far end of the dusty antechamber.

A panel slid open at eye level. “Who’s there?” asked a gruff voice.

“Hey, Jimbo, it’s Luther.”

The panel closed with a snap then a deadbolt popped, and a chain rattled. Jimbo opened the door with a sawed-off shotgun propped on his shoulder. “The boss is looking for you. He’s not happy.”

Luther entered the main floor of the warehouse and nearly gagged at the stench of smoke and unwashed bodies. Four men sat at a table playing cards, others lounged on cast off furniture or warmed themselves around a trashcan fire. Crude dwellings constructed of lumber and plywood were clustered against the wall. One man lay passed out with his leg dangling off a mattress.

As Luther approached the stairs the men stopped talking. He could feel their eyes burning into the back of his head. The hair on his neck stood on end. After disappearing into the stairwell, the chatter resumed.

He exited onto a retractable metal catwalk, now fully extended. Mr. Wolf used the old manager’s office as his own. The outer room was open on two sides making it easy to keep an eye on the warehouse floor. The inner office was windowless and secure behind a thick wooden door.

The office had a flat roof on which sat two automated machine gun turrets. As soon as Luther started clanging along the catwalk the turret barrels swiveled their focus to him. Thin tendrils of exhaust curled out of their engines and their bullet filled central chambers pulsed up and down as if breathing.

Luther walked quickly to the office trying to ignore the twin laser sights on his chest.

Mr. Wolf’s bodyguard, Anton, stood by the door to the inner office. He was a seven-foot cyborg with a massive chest and dead eyes. “Sit,” he said to Luther, and then knocked softly on the door.

Anatoly Volkov, aka the Wolf, was a middle-aged Russian with a full beard and a noticeable limp. He kept his salt and pepper hair trimmed neatly. When he walked, he leaned forward as if in a hurry. An unlit stump of a cigar hung from his lips. He placed it carefully on the edge of a glass ashtray after plopping into a brown leather chair.

“What the hell did you do, Luther?”

Luther sat up straight. “What do mean, Mr. Wolf?”

“I mean what happened out there?”

“I did like you said.”

The Wolf looked at him closely, glanced at Anton and said, “Walk me through it.”

Luther pursed his lips and said, “Okay, yeah. Let’s see. I flew my helidrone to the jungle…”

Luther landed softly on the damp floor of a lush green jungle. Removing the helidrone from his back he propped it against a nearby tree. After stripping naked he folded his clothes carefully and inserted them into the small trunk at the base of the helidrone. The button on his bracelet beeped twice and the drone collapsed down to the size of a toaster. A homing beacon flashed red every few seconds.

He closed his eyes, swallowed air noisily and regurgitated several bars of beryllium. The metal bars, moist with stomach juice, fit easily into his hands. He wiggled his toes in the loamy soil which cooled his bare feet. Hot humid air surrounded and embraced him as he broke out in a sweat. In the distance a small animal scampered through the underbrush. A bird squawked loudly and then flapped away as if startled.

Closing his eyes again he concentrated on the metal, the tense solidity of the bars, pulling energy in, feeling a surge of power. One moment he was Luther, a tan-skinned middle-aged man. The next moment he expanded into a nine-foot-tall golem. His body was formed of earth, mostly mud, with his surface glistening in the diffuse sunlight. Some rocks and leafy twigs were visible across his torso. His shape was humanoid and simple, as if molded by a child. Heavily lidded eyes were set far apart above a wide mouth.

He allowed his feet to fuse with the soil, entering it and delving deeply. The cool dampness felt good. He contacted the first tendril of fungus about two feet down. Tapping into it he was welcomed into the fungal hive mind. Trillions of filaments were woven together in a massive neural network. He scanned in a wider and wider circle. His limit of comprehension ended about ten miles from where he stood, but he knew it was much, much larger like the ocean continuing beyond the horizon.

Pulling his awareness back and searching methodically, he found the militia compound. It was exactly where Mr. Wolf had said, a mile north of his current position, situated next to a river.

Something deep inside urged him to stay, tempted him to become one with the hive forever. With difficulty he broke the connection. As always, he was shocked to see how much time had passed. When he entered the hive mind it was early afternoon; now it was pitch black and close to midnight.

He strode purposefully north and a little east to find the river. Following the bank, he loped rapidly, elongating his legs and shrinking his body. His soft feet landed heavily in the thick grass as he pounded along, covering the mile in under a minute.

The military compound was surrounded by a fifteen-foot-high metal wall with barb wire curled along the top. Trees and underbrush were cleared at a thirty-foot perimeter leaving the jungle floor looking bald and unnatural. The wall extended a little over the river, giving them access to water. Along the inside of the top edge of the wall there was a walkway. Guards carrying laser pulse rifles paced back and forth with just their head and shoulders visible from where he stood.

Small pedestals projected up at even intervals holding automated turrets. They whirred quietly and turned slowly, left then right and back again, motion detectors set on high sensitivity. Search lights mounted on top of the turrets lit up the cleared area in front of the wall.

Luther found his way to the only entrance, a tall metal double door. On the ground in front of the door was a rectangular metal plate. Two guards stood above the doors holding laser rifles. They wore leather jackets and pants, both reinforced with metal plates. Their heads were covered in crude steel helmets with crossbars instead of a faceplate.

There was no point in trying to sneak, so he lumbered boldly to the door. When the guards saw him, they slung their rifles across their backs. The first guard, on the left, spoke into his helmet, listened for a reply, then yelled, “Don’t move!”

Luther stopped on the metal plate, curious.

The second man pulled out a Frisbee sized disc and threw it toward Luther. It spun rapidly and hovered above him for a second before popping. The disc widened and bars descended instantly, ensnaring him in a cage. The bottom edge of each bar fused with the metal plate on the ground. Immediately afterward the two men swung wide-barreled guns over the top of the wall. The guns were mounted on articulated arms and required both hands to control. They blasted Luther with flamethrowers spewing liquid fire in a four-inch-wide beam.

His scream was cut off almost instantly. Speech and thought became impossible. Fluid turned to steam and exploded out of his body. Luther melted down into a large blob. When they turned off the guns his desiccated remains looked like a steaming pile of horse manure.

The first guard laughed, punched a button on his gauntlet and catapulted him into the air. His remains landed about a quarter mile away, crashing through the thick leafy canopy before breaking apart on the jungle floor.

It took about thirty minutes for his consciousness to return. Before that his remains had instinctively pulled in water from the soil and moisture from the air. When he was fully restored, he noticed the ground was cracked and dry in a ten-foot diameter.

He returned to the compound an hour later and chose a different approach. At the edge of the clearing, hidden by darkness and the tall grass, he found a patch of damp soil. He lay down on the ground and flattened, willing his body to find the space between the dirt. His body felt lighter as if it were effervescent gas, but gas that bubbled down instead of up. Slowly he descended into the ground. Once inside he swam through the soil like a fish, undulating his body in a rippling wave. Above ground the only hint of his presence was a low rumble, like distant thunder, which few could hear.

The metal wall resonated strangely. It had a dull wrongness that echoed through the soil. He knew when he was past it; he slowly rose to the surface. His head inched out into the night air, feeling naked and vulnerable. Once his eyes were out, he could see that he was hidden behind a squat building. The rest of his muddy body oozed out slowly.

Two large drums of fuel were stored behind the building, secured within a fence. He grabbed one in an enlarged hand, cocked his arm and launched it into the area at the center of camp. It cracked open beside a group of men seated around a fire pit. The can exploded in a fireball, killing all six men. An alarm blared seconds later.

Luther waited for the other soldiers to gather in the center of the compound before leaving his hiding place. There was shouting and running and terrible confusion. He spotted an HK, a hunter killer robot, exit from an octagonal cement bunker near the edge of the camp. That’s not good, thought Luther.

“Colonel, what the hell is going on?”

“I don’t know!”

“Hey, look over there. What is that thing?”

Luther charged forward into the group of screaming men. They opened fire with laser rifles and machine guns. The laser beams burned pinholes through his body, which fused quickly. The bullets he absorbed like water into a sponge. Men who’d been up on the walls rushed to the fight as the entire garrison closed in around him.

Luther planted his feet wide apart to gain leverage. He enlarged his fists, swinging them in powerful arcs, killing and launching men with every stroke. Suddenly, he felt his left fist caught in a weird vacuum. When he glanced over at the device, a kind of wide-mouthed shotgun attached to a motor, his other fist got caught. Soon, the ten remaining men had him pulled into the strange suction guns. His body stretched like a grotesque ten-legged octopus. But the suction didn’t hurt or do any damage, so they were at an impasse.

That’s when he noticed the HK dart sideways. The thing carried a missile about the size of a basketball. He inserted it into a rocket launcher located where his right hand should have been. Luther’s mouth went dry. He struggled harder to get free, but the suction was too strong. The HK pointed and fired.

The rocket hit his midsection and was absorbed as if into quicksand. Luther could feel the evil thing pulsing deep inside right before it detonated. It exploded in a propulsive wave of fire and energy. In a flash his body blew into a thousand thousand tiny bits. The men around him vaporized instantly, as did most of the camp. The HK leapt into the bunker which shook, but didn’t collapse.

The first tiny bit of mud to gain anything like awareness was splattered on the metal wall not far from where he’d entered the compound. It couldn’t think, exactly. Rather it sensed a kinship with another bit, drawn by some primordial instinct. The third bit joined them, then a fourth and a fifth. Each bit resembled a legless cockroach and slithered like a worm. After hundreds of bits had coalesced, the lump was about the size of a softball. That was when it started feeling a kind of pleasure each time another piece joined. It took about an hour for Luther to become fully aware again.

He lay on the ground in a vague flattened blob, absorbing water and life from the soil. Strength returned to his limbs; his head and torso expanded. Finally, he sat up then rose to full height. The HK sprinted from the cement bunker when it detected his motion. Luther lunged at the robot, grasping it in two huge hands, tearing the head from the torso, then crumpling the body like a tin can. He tossed the remains into the fire pit with distain.

“And that was it, Mr. Wolf. I got back to my helidrone and here I am.”

Wolf looked at him over folded hands. “What I don’t understand is why you killed everyone. Did I ask you to kill everyone?”

“I mean, yeah, that’s what you said. I asked you what you wanted me to do, and you said, “Teach them the lesson.” I took that to mean you wanted me to kill them.”

Wolf frowned. “I told you to teach them a lesson, not the lesson. When have you ever heard me say something like the lesson? Besides, why would you think that meant to kill them anyway?”

“No, I thought you said to teach them the lesson.”

“If you say that one more time I’m going to slap you. Stop it!” he yelled.

“Sure thing, Mr. Wolf,” said Luther, quietly.

Wolf took a sip of whiskey from a translucent blue tumbler. “I’ve told you before, my name is Wolf, not Mr. Wolf, okay. Wolf is the English version of Volkov.”

“Okay, Mr. Wolf, I’ll remember that.”

Wolf dragged his hand across his face and sighed. “Why wouldn’t I just tell you to kill them if I wanted you to kill them?”

“Well, Mr. Wolf, I figured you were protecting yourself. You know, as the boss you wouldn’t want to directly order people killed in case we ever got busted. So, I figured you were using code,” said Luther, “which, I think, was really smart.”

Wolf closed his eyes and slowly shook his head.

“By the way, those guys were very tough. If you sent me there to test them, I’d say they passed with flying colors. With an army like that I bet you could take over all of Sector 3. Especially the HK, it was crazy strong.”

“That was the plan, Luther. But you killed them, remember? There’s no second army behind them,” said Wolf. “Those guys were the guys.”

Luther looked down hoping his blush wasn’t visible. “Gosh, boss, I’m really sorry.”

Wolf spun in his chair and waved dismissively at Luther. “Get out of my sight.”

Luther slunk away with drooping shoulders. As he passed the men downstairs, they cursed him under their breath. Outside a cloudy sky promised rain. He grabbed his helidrone and decided to head back to the jungle to reconnect to the hive. It never yelled at him or called him names.