Love Lies Bleeding

The eastern sky explodes in a column of flame. I lift my hand to shield against the light. We all know this job has its hazards, evident by what we just glimpsed. I blink the after image from my retina and return my eyes to the honeycombed faceted holocube containing an image of Ella, my daughter. She’s dying and this job is my only hope of saving her.

I bark at the crew to calm down. Damn it, we all knew this was possible. The crew of the Orchid’s Ark probably didn’t know what hit them. Didn’t even see it coming if they were lucky. Obviously, the Ark’s incendiary cannon hit something combustible. We’ll probably never know what for sure.

My crew continue to whisper in frightened little gasps. We watch through the viewport as the massive mechanical ark melts into the rotting cityscape around it. The glow from the wreckage soon flickers to a dim ochre, returning the cabin to a cerise glow from the overhead monitors.

The monitor glow dims as an off-tune chime echoes through the cabin. We have an incoming transmission. The crew goes silent. I mean pin drop silent.

The comms-platform flickers to life materializing an eight-inch holographic image of the twins, projected in crimson light. They look cheerful and pasty dead at the same time, with slicked back hair and ruby red mascara leaking down their bony cheeks. Rumor has it they’ve been nicknamed the vampires, though I have no idea what that means. These two are representatives of our current political regime, such as it is.

Their voices bellow and echo with reverence as they explain what had just occurred. The Orchid’s Ark ignited a methane deposit, sending the Ark and its brave seed depositors to their place in the ever after. We all know what they’re really saying. Keep doing your job. Only the glorious work matters. Feel what you need to feel but do it after the task is completed. They finish their speech and disappear, dimming the comms-platform once again.

The overhead monitors return to illuminate their ruddy glow with images of naked men and women dreaming blissfully in endless fields of crimson orchids. These pictures are the end-result of our glorious task.

A deafening alarm sounds through the cabin. Paulson is targeting our incendiary cannon and preparing to fire. His hand trembling over the trigger. Apparently, the accident has him rattled. I don’t blame him. The thought of never seeing Ella again has me shaking, too.

The world outside explodes, our own mechanical ark belching flame, incinerating the remains of an old Midwestern city. Omaha is what I think they used to call it. The alarm dies as the flames settle, reducing the old rotting structures to embers. Massive mechanical legs drive us forward to the next firing position.

Over 40 stories tall, my crew and I sit atop of what was once a state-of-the-art Mech of destruction. Mounted on three hydraulic driven legs capable of traversing any terrain, and brandishing the most advanced weapons for its time, this machine had led many campaigns to victory. That was a century ago during the last great war. Mankind’s last attempt to annihilate itself. Now we’re using it to plant fields of flowers.

Incinerate everything. This is our glorious task. Destroy every structure, road, vehicle, everything left from the old world was to be reduced to ash. And in our wake, our mechanical monstrosity spreads the Mist of the Rising Angel. Seeds for cymbidium orchids. Humanity’s savior. For my daughter’s sake, it damn well better be true.

As the story has it, the Mist of the Rising Angel takes root in the ash of the old world. In a few months’ time the seeds blossom into crimson fields stretching as far as the eye can see.

Then whole communities, mankind’s sick and destitute, are relocated to the fields. And they sleep. Every night, they sleep among the orchids. They say within a few nights you’re a new person, and within months you’re restored to perfect health.

That damn targeting alarm is blaring again. I look to Paulson, who is staring at me. His eyes speak of fear as his hand trembles. I nod and he pulls the trigger. Heat and flame blast old Omaha, leveling another three acres. Paulson wipes fear from his eyes.

Everyone’s scared, and why not? We’ve already lost three mechanical arks of a twenty mech squadron. Those aren’t great odds. But we only have two days left. Then our contract will be finished, and we’ll all be eligible for the fields. That was the payment for this crazy job. Lay down in the fields and live in blissful health and happiness. But not for me. For Ella. Completing this contract is the only way of ensuring Ella will be saved.

I look up at the overhead monitor and laugh at the serene smiles. That will soon be Ella. Healthy in her own field of dreams.

The targeting alarm screams at us again. This time, there’s another sound competing for attention. I search my board and find a red light. A flashing red light. A methane alert. I turn to Paulson, but his finger is already pulling the trigger. Our eyes meet for just a moment.

No, No, NO! I have to finish the contract, so she’ll have a place in the fields. I turn to the holocube, the honeycomb facets distorting Ella’s smile.

Heat and flame rip at the world around me.