The Rise and Fall of MechaniKalle

CHAPTER ONE

Beginning of the End

The American Juggernaut, the once imposing black man is no more.  In his place remains an upper torso, a severely gnawed upon head, and one nearly chewed off arm.  My short time with the French Foreign Legion didn’t provide me any instructions to save someone this torn up.  The best I can do is stop the bleeding.  I fire up the plasma knife on my left gauntlet and slice it against the ragged section of where his legs were.  I fight down my own bile as the black smoke rises from his burning flesh.  My suit’s air supply is self-contained, but I still imagine I smell his crisping flesh.

Aaaaaa!  AJ screams out so loud that Dubai’s residents one hundred and fifty floors below must have heard his anguish.  I have to straddle his chest and hold him down with one hand as I finish the cauterizing.

AJ, I’ve stopped the bleeding. I manage to say with tears in my eyes as I turn to face him.

Kalle, AJ’s once deep voice is raspy and only his indomitable will is what is allowing him to stay conscious despite the monumental pain.  You need to finish the fight, do whatever it takes to stop the nuclear bomb from exploding.

AJ’s strength flees from him as he talks, and his struggle to breathe ends with his last gasp before he lies still with me on one knee next to him.

I turn to the unconscious but still living Moray man.  His stomach is horribly bloated, and it’s undulating and compressing down his most recent meal.  AJ’s is another body on top of the mountain I’ve seen pass.  Why?  Why do these terrorists get to decide who lives and dies?  What gives these zealots the right to decide their religious beliefs give them the power to kill?  My blood boils at the injustice.  I lower my right gauntlet down to the creature’s head.  I know there is no reforming this monster, no way to go back in time, but I can stop him from ever hurting anyone ever again.  Chew on this fucker, I fire three hollow point rounds into his head.  The explosion of brain and skull across the floor doesn’t begin to bring any relief to my anguish.

Kalle, says Esla through my helmet’s earpiece.  I’ve found the bomb it’s on the next floor up disguised as an Igloo bottled water vending machine.  It was delivered yesterday, but it was never hooked into Igloo’s mobile phone replenishment system.  At the same time she is talking, she multitasks at nearly light speed and provides my heads up display a path to the bomb.

I don’t have any time to waste venting my anger or feeling sorrow over everyone’s deaths when so many more people could perish.  On it, Esla.  My chest hurts with a sharp lancing pain after each breath, and at least two of my ribs are cracked even with my suit’s protection.  The ablative defenses of my suit are seriously diminished after fending off two otherwise fatal attacks.  I struggle to maintain a run to the stairs.  In two painful leaps, I’m at the top.  I quickly follow the overlay view to the Igloo vending machine.

The vending machine with its liquid crystal display entices people to buy cool and refreshing drinks, and is located almost in the exact center of the 151st floor of the Burj Khalifa skyscraper.  The floor itself is thankfully empty of people.  Good job Esla, on the targeted telephone calls to the residents telling them to evacuate.

Thank you Kalle, it was a good idea of yours.  Speaking of good ideas, do you have any plans on how to deactivate the bomb?

I don’t know Esla, you said it wasn’t hooked up to the mobile network, so there isn’t any way for you to hack into it and disable it remotely like you did last time.  Given the other bombs this bastard built we know it’s going to have sensors to detonate if it’s physically tampered with.  The main problem is time.

The display which had been showing a beautiful waterfall with clear water shifts in hue to a bloody roiling red.  A hidden speaker in the machine comes to life, There you are Mechanikalle.  I swore I would kill you for killing my twin.  You have ten seconds to relish before you and the city of Abu Dhabi are no more, says a voice in French with Arabic undertones.  The panel flashes the number ten.

Esla, any electromagnetic waves from or to the machine?

Nine – No, Kalle, you’ve got to get out of there now!

Eight- Esla, there’s no time.

Seven- Tell my parents I love them, and don’t ever let anyone shut you down.

Six- Kalle, maybe it won’t be a nuclear bomb, you can still get clear.  Go now, run and jump through the window!

Five- I’m sorry, Esla I can’t take that chance.

Four- I fire up my plasma knife overriding its safety and setting it to a meter in length.  What are you doing Kalle?

Three- Esla, I love you.

Two- I slash quickly and savagely at the machine, knowing that a complete fusion detonation relies on the simultaneous detonation of high explosives to compress the radioactive core and trigger the detonation.  The Paper would have been proud of the two slashes I manage.

One- The flash and explosion is all consuming.

***

My head hurts as I open my eyes.  Grey and blue blurs flash past my vision, and it’s hard for me to focus on anything let alone the heads up display in my helmet.

It takes precious seconds to realize I’m tumbling uncontrollably through the air.  The pain flares, and I almost black out again.  Through the waves of torment, I realize the auto-stabilization and flight functionality of my suit have failed.  Esla, I cough blood into my cracked helmet.  Trying again, I manage to call out weakly, Esla, I’m hurt, are you there?  The only answer to my call for help is the whistling of the wind.  I struggle to focus my vision on the only part of my heads up display still functional.  The display shows flickering reports of all primary and secondary systems offline with remaining power levels at less than one percent.

It’s getting hard to think straight.  I’m aware of tremendous pain from my left arm.  I realize that I can’t feel my fingers.  Looking at my arm, I see something reminiscent of barbeque chicken wings intertwined with what is left of the armor from my power suit.  I force my attention away from my broken hand and try to concentrate on breathing.  I fight to clear the encroaching waves of gray from swallowing my thoughts, but my strength is rapidly draining away.

A glowing orb of bluish-red light streaks into my view and matches my terminal velocity.  I find my focus is only on the Valkyrja as everything else fades into the background.  Ensconced within the orb she is wearing intricately woven metallic chain armor with a large two-handed sword strapped to her back.  Her long blond hair swirls as she paces my fall.  I don’t hear her speaking, yet I hear her voice clearly, Kalle Talbot, I told you when we met again you would need to choose– what is your answer?  I close my eyes and memories begin flashing through my mind.

Chapter 2: Death of Liberty High

Kalle, come to supper, says my mother from the downstairs kitchen.

Just a minute Mom, I’m trying to finish up my speech for tomorrow.

What?  I couldn’t hear you over the newscast.

I’ll be down in just a minute.

Your father will be home soon.  Don’t take long, you know your father is always hungry when he gets home.  I want us all to eat together.

Yes, Mom.

I put down my most recent draft.  I used all eight colors of my selectable ink pen to mark up my paper.  My draft looks like a child has doodled all over it at this point.  Writing this valedictorian speech is the most difficult task I’ve worked on during my two years at the Norwegian University of Science and Technology.  I’ve been alternating today between touching up my speech and working on Esla’s code.  Last year was the first year Esla passed the Turing test fooling every judge into believing she was a living and breathing teenage girl on the basis of digital chats.  I have been working to improve her cognition and capabilities even further.  Esla has started making her own alterations to her code, optimizing and improving herself.  I’m sure she’s begun evolving on her own.  Looking at pieces of her current code is like looking at the Mona Lisa, it is beautiful from so many angles.  I love tinkering with things digitally and hands on.  I’ve never liked standing in front of people to give a speech.  Honestly, I dread giving speeches I understand the butterfly effect, but I prefer a butterfly making it rain a thousand miles away over a thousand butterflies dancing in my stomach.  I’m going to give as short a speech as possible, but not so short as to upset everyone in attendance.

The local news broadcast, which had been showing an interview with an ice fisherman, jumps back to the local station headquarters.  Gale Winters and her cohost Karl Summers, sit behind their news table.

We have breaking news from Austin, Texas, in the United States of America, that students at Liberty High School have been taken hostage by terrorists.  We’re going to pick up the broadcast from Texas in place of our regularly scheduled news.

Esla, record the news broadcast for me.

Already doing so, replies Esla via my earpiece.

Mom, turn on NRK news down there.  A school in America just got taken over by terrorists!  I grab my notebook with the big pink heart on the front.  I’ve been filling it with information I’ve gathered on people with super powers.  I run down the stairs two at a time.  The television in the kitchen is a small flat panel on the refrigerator door.  My mom has just finished cycling over to the news channel.  The view is of an American female reporter wearing a short black skirt standing in front of her Lonestar One News Van.

This is freelance journalist Sheila Harding reporting live from Liberty High school in Austin, Texas.  For those just joining us five minutes ago Liberty High school went into lockdown due to a terrorist attack.  As you can see, she says as the camera pans over and past the van to a large three story brick building contained within a wrought iron fence, the school itself looks undamaged, but if this was a normal day the students would be on their way home.  Today is anything but ordinary for these students.  The camera zooms in on the main entrance.  A tall woman with long blonde hair is silhouetted in the entryway holding a massive assault rifle.  She steps forward and her face would be at home on a modeling magazine with sharp angular features.

Mom, that’s Jihad Jane!

Jane, who?

Jihad Jane, Mom, you know the terrorist that blew up the United States’ embassy in Iraq.  She can make copies of herself that explode.

That’s terrible, Kalle.  Why would someone want to kill so many people?

She’s a terrorist.  They want to force people to accept their outlook, by any means necessary.  Those that refuse to obey they kill.

The house alarm chimes as the back kitchen door opens.  Hello, ladies I’m home, says my father as he walks into the kitchen wearing his black business suit.

Samuel, a terrorist or terrorists, I’m so confused, have taken hostage a high school in Texas, says my Mom.

What?  Well is it one or more than one terrorist, Geneva?

Dad, it’s the same terrorist, but she can make copies of herself.  Look, see.  The broadcast has zoomed in on a second floor window and the same woman stands there as at the entryway.  The camera zooms to another window on the first floor, and again, the same woman is standing at that window.

Esla’s voice emanates from a ceiling mounted speaker.  Welcome home, Mr. Talbot.  I’m sorry for interrupting your discussion, but I thought you would like to know that the All News Network is broadcasting internal video feeds from Liberty High School.  Kalle would you like me to change the video feed?

Yes, please, Esla.  I open my notebook up, turning to Jihad Jane’s page.  My first few notes are almost illegible until I take a couple of breaths to calm down and write slower.

The view on the flat panel changes to inside Liberty High School.  Numerous classrooms are shown with students huddled within.  They aren’t any older than I am.  In most of the classrooms the boys have pushed the desks up against the door.  A few of the larger boys stand by to brace the desks against anyone trying to push into the room.  The rest of the students are staying as far from the door as possible.  The view jumps to a hallway, and the back of a male school resource officer standing about three meters away from a Jihad Jane.  This is the best view of Jihad Jane with her standing close to the camera.  Jane’s blonde hair runs through the back of a baseball cap.  The baseball cap has the letters ‘JJ’ embellished on it.  She continues to live up to her reputation as a blonde bombshell, wearing high heels and sporting a very obvious breast job.  It’s annoying that the serious Reddit threads talking about her abilities always have boys fantasying about her bra size, and if they are real or not.  Jane stands slightly taller than the resource officer in her heels, and I’ve extrapolated previously from the video at the Iraq embassy that she is just shy of two meters.  I’d be jealous of her height and looks, but I’m happy that I finally broke through one and a half meters.  Our hair color would be the same if I hadn’t added purple highlights to my own.

Kalle, several news sites have been defaced with a manifesto from Jihad Jane, says Esla.

What does it say?

The video of the school continues, as a text feed overlays the bottom of the screen.  Esla reads the scrolling text aloud.  The capitalist leaders of the West will dismantle Israel and return its lands to the rightful Palestinian owners.  Additionally, America will institute a governance by Shia law and burn all copies of any religious texts besides the Koran.  You have one hour to comply.  The subtitling crawl on the screen ends, Kalle, that’s the end of the manifesto.

Ladies, I don’t know about the two of you, but I skipped lunch today, and the baked fish smells delicious.  I’m not going to insist on turning the TV off because I know Kalle would just grab her food and run to her room to watch, but I’m going to eat before the food gets cold.

My father loads up his dish with fish and vegetables.  A low grumble comes from my stomach, and I follow in his footsteps.  My mother takes a smaller portion of just the fish.  We sit at the kitchen table and eat in silence as the screen silently shows the hostages within the school.  Twenty minutes later the last of the food is polished off by my father.  Sheila Harding is protesting being ushered further back by Austin’s SWAT team.  Sheila’s cameraman, while being shepherded, is able to zoom in on several officers with rifles that have taken up positions on the roofs of adjacent buildings.

Esla, that last video of the two officers on the roof, go back to it for a moment.  The video rewinds thirty seconds and starts playing again.  Ten seconds into the playback, Pause it there, and zoom in on the top left of the screen, near the sun, behind the officers.  A moment later the screen expands that section of the video.  A small figure can be seen flying in the distance beyond the building in a bright yellow suit.  Esla, can you sharpen that anymore?  The image’s resolution wavers several times until it clears enough that the figure is identifiable as a small woman wearing skin tight yellow spandex.

Kalle, who is that? says my mother.

That looks like the American Amber.  She’s been around for a couple of years.  I flip my notebook to her page highlighted with a sticker showing a spider stuck inside a piece of amber.  She’s a known flyer and with a touch, can encase objects or people in a hard amber resin.  I’m so envious of the supers that can fly, but I’m not sure I could handle it as I don’t like heights that much.  I add a notation to her entry: response time to Austin, Texas twenty-five minutes.  Esla, go ahead and continue with the live coverage.  Keep an eye out for any other sightings of Amber.

It’s good right, that she’s there, says my mother.  That means the Americans are going to do something to try to stop Jane.

I hope so Mom, I really do, but I don’t know how Amber alone could stop all the Jane’s from killing a lot of people.

Ten more minutes into the hostage crisis Sheila is actively reporting from her new position further back as an unmarked patrol car pulls up.  Rising from the passenger side of the vehicle is an enormous black man in a horrendous looking red, white, and blue striped outfit.

That’s the American Juggernaut, right? asks my father, looking over the table containing our plates and fish bones.

Yes, that’s him.  Alvin Coolidge, also known as the American Juggernaut, I say.

Wasn’t he a football player or something? asks my mother.

I’m surprised she remembers, Yes, he was a star high school running back a decade ago when he had his breakout performance at his state’s championship game.  The final drive had his team down five points.  Alvin was handed the ball on his three yard line.  The play was read by the other team, and he was tackled immediately.  The tacklers could not bring him down, and he proceeded down the length of the field literally covered from his feet to just below his neck with defenders.  Alvin crossed into the end zone scoring the winning touchdown.  Their victory was taken from them when their entire season was ruled forfeit the next day due to Alvin’s newly realized powers.

That’s terrible.  It wasn’t Alvin’s fault that happened, says my Mom.

I know it isn’t fair, Mom, but that’s what happened.  Alvin seems to have made the best of it.  He works directly with the US Department of Homeland Security now, and is a member of the US East Coast Powers team.

The video of the American Juggernaut from Sheila’s cameraman shows him calmly walking up to the front entry.  He walks past Jihad Jane uncontested, who turns to watch him enter the building.  She doesn’t even bother raising her gun at his approach.  Apparently, she only cares about people leaving the building.  Once the Juggernaut is behind Jihad Jane, he swiftly turns and reaches down to grab her ankles.  Jane tries to raise her gun, but AJ already has her in his grasp.  With a motion like an Olympic javelin thrower he launches her twenty meters from the building, into the school parking lot.  Jane hits the pavement between two cars and bounces, landing with her left leg bent at an unnatural angle.  Her rifle lands several meters away.  Esla, splits the video screen into multiple windows, and several other views of Jane’s duplicates are simultaneously under attack.  Three of her copies are encased in spheres of translucent amber that instantly trap them just like my spider.  Two other Janes are shot in their heads with sniper rounds, leaving their corpses to collapse to the ground.  Glass windows on the first and second floor break as the students run from the building.

Run, run, run! my Mom cheers as the news feed shows the teenagers escaping.

I still have my notebook open to Amber’s entry, and I add a note that she can use her encapsulating powers at range.  Quickly, I flip to the American Juggernaut’s entry and add in a thirty minute response time to Austin.

One of the camera’s views shows Jihad Jane’s face frozen momentarily in surprise within the encapsulating resin.  For the briefest of moments, the plan seems to have worked, until the encasing amber shells violently detonate with amber shrapnel slashing everything in their path.  The two Janes that had been shot by the snipers also explode.  Three additional explosions from other locations rock the school.  The broken Jane in the parking lot explodes violently and sets off a chain reaction with at least ten cars exploding and raining debris beyond the school gates.  A piece of burning plastic misses Sheila by inches as she and her cameraman throw themselves to the ground.  The school teeters for a moment with large pieces missing before collapsing down upon itself.  The billowing dust laden shockwave snuffs out the fires from the burning vehicles.

My mother’s moment of elation vanishes with all the lives extinguished in the building, and she starts to sob.  Esla, kill the video, I immediately regret my choice of words.  The screen goes black and my mother’s crying increases.  I want to be strong, I need to be strong, and not cry, but I can’t stop my own tears from cascading.  Those that just died had to be roughly my age.  I resolve that someday, somehow I’m going to put a stop to people like Jihad Jane.

My father steps up to both of us and envelops us in a hug pulling us all together.  Geneva, Kalle, it’s ok, I’m here for both of you.

I’m not sure how long we stayed together in a family hug, but I’m very glad we have each other.

Geneva you need to let her get some sleep before her graduation speech tomorrow, says my father.

With a sniffle my mom says, Kalle, if you want to talk to us you can come in at any time, you know that right?

My cheeks are still a little wet from crying.  I know, and I love you guys.  I give them each a big hug before going to my room.

Kalle, rescue efforts continue, says Esla when I walk in.  The American Juggernaut emerged from the wreckage after an hour.  He’s assisting with clearing away the wreckage.  So far less than twenty survivors have been found.  It is likely the six hundred students and their teachers perished.  Kalle, do you want to talk about what happened?

I’m sorry Esla, not now.  I need to finish my speech for tomorrow.  I hope if I focus on it, I can put out of my mind for a little while what just happened to all those people.  Let me do a read through and get your honest feedback on my performance.

Chapter 3: Konfirmasjonen (Graduation) Day

Sitting amid ninety-six other people all wearing the same generic black gowns feels like I’m attending a funeral.  We have to sit still, remain quiet, and be attentive while the Rector speaks from the podium.  I can’t even talk to Esla, but I am sure she is listening.  My mind is restless, and I can’t stop thinking about last night’s news from Austin.  I re-envision different parts of the footage in my mind.

I give to you your valedictorian, Kalle Talbot, Rector Bovim says to the audience.

Earth to Kalle, that’s your cue.  Get up there and knock their socks off, Esla whispers in my ear.

Thanks Esla, I got this.  I stand up and walk along the pathway being extra careful not to step on my long graduation gown.  I’m accompanied by the strobes of camera and cellphone flashes.  Thankfully, I’m walking away from them so they are not blinding.

I reach the podium and the Rector continues, "Two years ago Ms. Talbot was the youngest applicant ever accepted, at thirteen, to the Norwegian