Figures In The Desert
The mid-morning sun hung in the sky, unwavering and immense. Its severe blazes ensured that nothing grew in the Tilian desert. The vast stretch of nothingness was nearly inhospitable to Human's during summer months, and was virtually impassable in the winter. It was the perfect, natural barrier for Humanity. Not so much to keep others from entering their territory, but more to stop curious Humans from venturing too far out, and potentially disturbing those that were better left alone. As long as nothing stirred in the Tilian, there would be nothing to stir the peace.
Sand began to rise. Mounds of it were shifting, sinking, and disappearing. A pit appeared as more and more sand vanished into the void. The pit was getting bigger and bigger and deeper and deeper, until suddenly-
WHOOSH!
A formidable form leapt swiftly a dozen meters into the sky, before crashing back down onto metallic feet with nimble grace. Sand continued pouring down what was now revealing itself to be some kind of artificial cavern, before an emergency cover slid into place, hiding the pit. The figure rose to its full height and looked back at the sealed off entrance. The figure wasn't Human. But it had certainly been created in Man's image. Or rather, the heroic man's image. It stood eight feet tall, with pronounced, metallic, muscular limbs, and a face engineered with a stoic gaze.
The artificial hero observed its surroundings - logging and categorising everything it saw, heard and detected.
Location: 32* 46* 35* (Human database: Tilian Desert)
Temperature: 85 C
Pressure: 1 Pi
As the readings continued to come in, it received a call. It answered as:
"Mark II. Receiving. Doctor?"
"Mark. We were getting strange readings from you. You're not outside the facility are you?"
"Correct. There was no way for me to access the launch chamber from my previous position. I found an in-take hatch which should allow me to access the chamber from an external entrance."
"You had to go outside to find a way to get back inside?"
"Correct. I am currently locating the exact position of the hatch. It should be within a few dozen meters of my position."
"Got it. Where are you, exactly?"
"Co-ordinates 32* 46* 35*, designation: the Tilian Desert."
"Get to the in-take hatch immediately. We don't know what impact the heat will do to you in your current state. Wires and armour plating can still overheat."
"Understood."
The Mark II robot continued short range scans of its vicinity as it started to walk. Eventually, it found the location beacon to the in-take hatch. It was also under a significant amount of sand, but that wouldn't be a problem for the machines robust arms. Mark II headed towards the beacon's location. As it approached, something came into visual range.
There had always been reports of optical illusions that occurred in the desert if the conditions were right. Severe heat, great empty distances, and few objects in view to provide relative spatial awareness. This led to Human soldiers and scouts claiming to have had visions of ghostly figures floating in the coral skies. These were always disregarded as pure illusions from dehydrated minds. The Mark II did not suffer from this. The Mark II had artificial optics that did not cater to illusions or false visions. The Mark II was seeing something very real.
An ominous figure floating above the desert. It hovered 50 metres off the ground, completely stationary. No effort was being made, the wind had no sway on the figure, it was perfectly still. Arms crossed. Legs straight. Face focused on the Mark II. The only movement was the billow of its cape in the wind. The sound of the superior species on the planet.
It was a Miran. Most likely a border watch. The solitary sentry kept watch across the entire desert landscape. Miran's, being as powerful as they were, did not need many to keep their borders safe. A single, well trained Miran Warlock could decimate an entire squadron of heavily armed, Human soldiers. But the Mark II was not Human. It could maybe put up a fight if it had to. It had a myriad of armaments packed away, ready to be deployed in a half-seconds notice. But again, only if it had to. The Miran wasn't leaving, but it also wasn't approaching.
The robot had to make a decision. The scout wasn't in between him and his objective; the location beacon and the hatch to get back into the underground facility were relatively close by. He could cautiously head to the hatch, enter, and most likely not have to deal with the Miran. However, Mark II had been built with a directive to further Humanity's interests. This included maintaining peace with the superpower of the continent. A dialogue had to be maintained - even in extraordinary circumstances such as this.
Mark II walked towards the Miran at a purposeful but non-aggressive pace. The scout descended vertically at an equal rate. As the scout landed, the robot stopped. For a moment, neither spoke, nor moved. Mark II was gathering as much info via visuals as possible - whilst he had a significant amount of information from the Human database, very few had engaged with Miran's like this. The Miran, likewise, was studying the mechanoid in front of him - as it was something that had never been seen by his kind before.
"Are you human?" the scout barked.
"I was made by Human's. I was created by scientists and engineers in this facility" the robot stated back.
"Are you a threat?"
"Only to those that would outright threaten. My goal is to avoid conflict wherever possible"
"Then why are you here?"
"There is a situation below. The Humans stationed there, as well are the facility itself, are at risk. I am working to neutralise that risk"
The Miran pondered this last statement.
"And should you fail?"
"I won't"
At this, the Miran's huge shoulders dipped slightly. A sign that its guard was lowered.
"I will keep watch. But know that should whatever conflict you face below pose a threat to the surface, I will not hesitate to react"
In a flash of cosmic light, the scout vanished. Mark II's sensors showed no signs of life.
There was a reason Human's were not the dominant species on the planet. The ability to affect matter at will, to have the power of the elements at your finger-tips, to re-shape reality as you saw it, trumped even the most powerful weapon. And this ability was unique to Miran's. Their benevolence was a gift to the planet. And a lucky break for Humanity.
Mark II continued back on the path to the in-take hatch. With a swift pull, he dislodged the hidden panel, revealing the entrance to the facility below. The question occupied him; what if he failed? What were the potential outcomes? There were too many variables to consider to meaningfully predict anything. The path of least resistance was to not fail.
As the metallic soldier lowered itself down, back into the horror that it had partially raised, it took one last look at the surrounding sand-scape. In the distance he saw him. The floating figure, keeping watch. Mark II pulled the panel back into position, hiding the facility entrance, as he continued the long climb down into the dark.
The desert was still once more.
Sand began to rise. Mounds of it were shifting, sinking, and disappearing. A pit appeared as more and more sand vanished into the void. The pit was getting bigger and bigger and deeper and deeper, until suddenly-
WHOOSH!
A formidable form leapt swiftly a dozen meters into the sky, before crashing back down onto metallic feet with nimble grace. Sand continued pouring down what was now revealing itself to be some kind of artificial cavern, before an emergency cover slid into place, hiding the pit. The figure rose to its full height and looked back at the sealed off entrance. The figure wasn't Human. But it had certainly been created in Man's image. Or rather, the heroic man's image. It stood eight feet tall, with pronounced, metallic, muscular limbs, and a face engineered with a stoic gaze.
The artificial hero observed its surroundings - logging and categorising everything it saw, heard and detected.
Location: 32* 46* 35* (Human database: Tilian Desert)
Temperature: 85 C
Pressure: 1 Pi
As the readings continued to come in, it received a call. It answered as:
"Mark II. Receiving. Doctor?"
"Mark. We were getting strange readings from you. You're not outside the facility are you?"
"Correct. There was no way for me to access the launch chamber from my previous position. I found an in-take hatch which should allow me to access the chamber from an external entrance."
"You had to go outside to find a way to get back inside?"
"Correct. I am currently locating the exact position of the hatch. It should be within a few dozen meters of my position."
"Got it. Where are you, exactly?"
"Co-ordinates 32* 46* 35*, designation: the Tilian Desert."
"Get to the in-take hatch immediately. We don't know what impact the heat will do to you in your current state. Wires and armour plating can still overheat."
"Understood."
The Mark II robot continued short range scans of its vicinity as it started to walk. Eventually, it found the location beacon to the in-take hatch. It was also under a significant amount of sand, but that wouldn't be a problem for the machines robust arms. Mark II headed towards the beacon's location. As it approached, something came into visual range.
There had always been reports of optical illusions that occurred in the desert if the conditions were right. Severe heat, great empty distances, and few objects in view to provide relative spatial awareness. This led to Human soldiers and scouts claiming to have had visions of ghostly figures floating in the coral skies. These were always disregarded as pure illusions from dehydrated minds. The Mark II did not suffer from this. The Mark II had artificial optics that did not cater to illusions or false visions. The Mark II was seeing something very real.
An ominous figure floating above the desert. It hovered 50 metres off the ground, completely stationary. No effort was being made, the wind had no sway on the figure, it was perfectly still. Arms crossed. Legs straight. Face focused on the Mark II. The only movement was the billow of its cape in the wind. The sound of the superior species on the planet.
It was a Miran. Most likely a border watch. The solitary sentry kept watch across the entire desert landscape. Miran's, being as powerful as they were, did not need many to keep their borders safe. A single, well trained Miran Warlock could decimate an entire squadron of heavily armed, Human soldiers. But the Mark II was not Human. It could maybe put up a fight if it had to. It had a myriad of armaments packed away, ready to be deployed in a half-seconds notice. But again, only if it had to. The Miran wasn't leaving, but it also wasn't approaching.
The robot had to make a decision. The scout wasn't in between him and his objective; the location beacon and the hatch to get back into the underground facility were relatively close by. He could cautiously head to the hatch, enter, and most likely not have to deal with the Miran. However, Mark II had been built with a directive to further Humanity's interests. This included maintaining peace with the superpower of the continent. A dialogue had to be maintained - even in extraordinary circumstances such as this.
Mark II walked towards the Miran at a purposeful but non-aggressive pace. The scout descended vertically at an equal rate. As the scout landed, the robot stopped. For a moment, neither spoke, nor moved. Mark II was gathering as much info via visuals as possible - whilst he had a significant amount of information from the Human database, very few had engaged with Miran's like this. The Miran, likewise, was studying the mechanoid in front of him - as it was something that had never been seen by his kind before.
"Are you human?" the scout barked.
"I was made by Human's. I was created by scientists and engineers in this facility" the robot stated back.
"Are you a threat?"
"Only to those that would outright threaten. My goal is to avoid conflict wherever possible"
"Then why are you here?"
"There is a situation below. The Humans stationed there, as well are the facility itself, are at risk. I am working to neutralise that risk"
The Miran pondered this last statement.
"And should you fail?"
"I won't"
At this, the Miran's huge shoulders dipped slightly. A sign that its guard was lowered.
"I will keep watch. But know that should whatever conflict you face below pose a threat to the surface, I will not hesitate to react"
In a flash of cosmic light, the scout vanished. Mark II's sensors showed no signs of life.
There was a reason Human's were not the dominant species on the planet. The ability to affect matter at will, to have the power of the elements at your finger-tips, to re-shape reality as you saw it, trumped even the most powerful weapon. And this ability was unique to Miran's. Their benevolence was a gift to the planet. And a lucky break for Humanity.
Mark II continued back on the path to the in-take hatch. With a swift pull, he dislodged the hidden panel, revealing the entrance to the facility below. The question occupied him; what if he failed? What were the potential outcomes? There were too many variables to consider to meaningfully predict anything. The path of least resistance was to not fail.
As the metallic soldier lowered itself down, back into the horror that it had partially raised, it took one last look at the surrounding sand-scape. In the distance he saw him. The floating figure, keeping watch. Mark II pulled the panel back into position, hiding the facility entrance, as he continued the long climb down into the dark.
The desert was still once more.