Malcolm: Trial by Fire

“Keep going Malcolm! Don’t stop for us!” The crackling sounds of a hoarse voice echoed in a young pilot’s head.

He looked over his shoulder, peeking through the window of his cockpit canopy. On his right he could see two jets, forms silhouetted in the red, blue and greens of the solar sea close behind him. One of the space planes, the same model of Malcolm’s craft, had its left wing sheared off. It was level in flight, the pilot managing to keep the space plane steady using the right wing’s thrusters. The second jet, a larger model than Malcolm’s, had one of its engines smoking, puffs of green fire mixing with the cold blue of the ion jets. The jet began to lose speed, drifting behind the other planes.

“My right engine’s giving out! The left can’t take the stress.” Malcolm could see the panic in the pilot’s eyes.

“Malcolm, I’m staying with Elam. Keep heading home.” The clipped jet’s engine flared down, staying beside the trailing fighter.

“Negative Jamie! Stay on course to Adamah!” Malcolm looked over his left shoulder.

A twin-engined bomber was staying close to his fighter, the tail and mid-section torn away from the fuselage. The other fighters didn’t respond, Malcolm looking over his right shoulder to watch them turn into black specks and fade into the green horizon.

“Dang it!” Malcolm looked over his left again, seeing the bomber pilot slamming his gloved fist into his cockpit dashboard.

Malcolm sat back in his seat. His body felt numb, the pilot barely able to feel the drift of the plane through his gloves. Malcolm’s heart pounded hard against his chest, making his stomach churn. His breaths became shallow, his vision began to blur as he pressed his oxygen mask against his face.

“Stay with us kid.” Malcolm turned to see the bomber pilot looking at him, his co-pilot raising his still remaining arm to give the fighter pilot a thumbs up. Malcolm saw the look the co-pilot gave him. The brawler pilot shook his head, clearing his thoughts. He saw his brawler was rolling and turned the stick against the roll. He leveled his plane and gave the bomber a shaky thumbs up in return.

“At least your plane isn’t in pieces.” Malcolm saw a gunner wave at him from the top gun turret.

“I see it! Oh baby I’m coming home!” The bombman pounded his fists against the bullet riddled glass nose of the bomber.

Malcolm turned to see a red dot in front of him, a bright halo surrounding the point. The pilot’s heart leapt for joy. He would soon be home.

“Captain! We have a problem!” Malcolm turned to look at the bomber, catching a glimpse of a crewman, the engineer from what Malcom could guess, climbing into the bomber’s cockpit.

“We have many, add it to the list.” Malcolm heard the pained gasps of the co-pilot, wincing as he turned to face the engineer.

“We don’t have enough fuel to land back home. We don’t even have enough to slow us down in the atmosphere.” The engineer’s eyes were bloodshot, his helmet and mask held together with duct tape.

“Dang it… Malcolm, do you hear me?” The pilot looked at Malcolm, the man’s eyes revealing a dam full of stress and anxiety.

“We’re going to attempt to land at Hebel Moon Field. Once you reach Adamah, send for a rescue party as soon as you can.” Malcolm nodded his head at the bomber pilot. Malcolm stopped himself from throwing up.

The pilot saw a second dot, a tiny blue selene world, sitting next to Adamah. The points both had Halos, the rings blinding anyone who stared too long at the stellar rings. The bomber turned away from Malcolm’s fighter, quickly fading into the green horizon. He was alone. The fighter vibrated as Malcolm grew close to both dots, quickly becoming orbs in his crosshairs. The pilot gripped his throttle, pulling it back to the halfway mark. The solar sea turned from a rushing of wind currents to a slow rolling of red waves beneath his jet and puffy blue clouds above his head. The plane settled. The aura faded from both worlds. Malcolm passed by Hebel, the moon’s crater pocked surface rushing past him. Malcolm could see a glinting speck of light over the blue regolith, the point slowing down until it looked like it was barely moving. Malcolm gripped a wooden cross wrapped around his control stick, watching the speck until it faded from his vision. Malcolm turned to face his planet. Adamah was growing larger and larger in his crosshairs, soon engulfing his front window.

The pilot saw the scarlet, algae filled seas of Adamah, the white sands of the shores and deserts giving any observer the impression the world was a wounded creature. Malcolm felt the plane shudder, his stick rattling against the pilot’s grip. He pulled back on the throttle just before the point of starving the engines. The solar sea faded from Malcolm’s vision, revealing the dark starscape. The pilot could see the mountains of Adamah in front of him, the highest peaks scraping the top layers of the atmosphere. Malcolm pulled back on his stick. The fighter nosed up, facing towards the planet’s horizon. The pilot released the stick, leveling the plane. A buzzing filled the cockpit. Malcolm spotted a red blinking light on the cockpit dashboard below the fuel gauge. “Danger: Low Fuel!” Read a plate next to the light. Malcolm began to shake, sweat dripping against his goggles. He pulled the throttle, cutting the ion engine. The whir faded, leaving nothing but Malcolm’s panting to fill the silence. The pilot flipped a switch on the dashboard, turning it from “LP”, or “Light Push” in full, to “GA” or “Gravity Assist”. Malcolm heard humming from the engine block behind him, the pilot letting out a sigh of relief.

Malcolm watched Adamah rise up beneath him, the orb filling the starscape. A rumbling filled the plane. The air around Malcolm’s craft became transonic, the sounds of a hurricane drowning his cockpit. The plane began to shake, turning Malcolm’s insides into mush. The red light stopped blinking. The dials and switches on the dashboard went dark. The humming stopped. Malcolm’s heart dropped. He gripped his throttle, pulling back and forth as hard as he could. Malcolm couldn’t even move the stick an inch, stopping as he felt the stick’s shaft begin to bend. The transonic waves dissipated around the plane, casting the plane into silence. Malcolm’s chest heaved, the pilot struggling for air as it felt like a boulder was crushing him. He could only watch as plasma flames lapped the tip of the fighter’s nose. The fire spread to the wings, charring the orange paint covering the fuselage. Malcolm’s world turned red as the flames swept over his cockpit. The jet creaked in the roaring plasma inferno. Malcolm watched as chunks of the plane were blown away, breaking apart into tiny, charred pieces of shrapnel.

Malcolm stretched his hand out. He snapped the cross off its string. His strength gave out, his arm and cross flattened against his chest. Drops of molten metal flew from the dashboard and splattered against Malcolm’s suit, burning the pilot. Malcolm rubbed the cross between his fingers. “Lord, please Lord. Save me. I promise I’ll serve you like a dog for as long as you need. If only to save me.” Malcolm silently mouthed the words. The pilot closed his eyes. He took a deep breath. Malcolm could hear the glass cracking from the heat. The fighter shook violently around the pilot. Everything stopped. Silence filled the cockpit, followed by soft breathing and the rush of wind. Malcolm opened his eyes. The fires had stopped. The plane’s exterior was burnt to a crisp, warped in the intense heat. Malcolm grabbed the jet’s door handle. It didn’t budge. He threw his weight against the door. The window shattered, a torrent of wind racing inside the cockpit. Malcolm pushed himself into the broken window, bending the metal to fit his equipment laden body. The wind whipped at the pilot, nearly pulling him away from the plane.

Malcolm grabbed his jetchute, still strapped to his butt after being his seat during the flight. The pilot oriented himself against the wind, seeing the world rush up to meet him. Malcolm pushed himself away from the scorched hulk of his jet. His body flailed in the wind, the pink sky and white sands swirling around the pilot. Malcolm grabbed the orange ripcord on his chute harness. A drogue chute burst out of the back of the jetchute, stopping the vomit inducing spins and pulling the nozzle pack over the pilot’s head. Malcolm pulled the blue ripcord on his harness. The drogue chute blew away, the nozzles popped off their caps allowing white jets of pressurized gas to roar to life. Malcolm slowly glided through the air, the pilot guiding the descent through the chute’s steering lines. The ground rose up to meet him. The pilot tucked his legs. Malcolm’s feet slammed against the sandy surface, a puff of white dust covering the pilot. The jets shutdown, letting the pack fall to the ground. The deadweight of the pack pulled Malcolm forward, forcing the pilot into a faceplant. Malcolm rested for a moment. His heart steadied as he flipped onto his back. Malcolm pulled his oxygen mask off, his suit releasing its pressure cords in response. Malcolm pulled his goggles down to his neck and pulled his helmet off. Tears streamed from his blue eyes and dripped down his rosy cheeks. Malcolm grabbed his cracked cross and kissed it profusely.

He ran his fingers through his brown hair, sweat soaking each strand and sticking to his scalp. Malcolm pulled his flight harness off, ditching the jetchute. He rose to his feet and felt over his body. Other than a few burns on his chest, he was fine. Malcolm wiped sweat from his forehead, smacking his tongue off his dry lips. He spotted a river nearby, bordered by a few blue leafed palm trees. Malcolm wobbled over to the cool, rushing red water and dunked his face into the river. He pulled his head out, gasping for air. Malcolm froze. The pilot watched as high in the sky, hundreds of comets were falling to the planet’s surface. One of the comets landed on the other side of the river. Chunks of rocks were flown every which way, pieces smashing against Malcolm. The pilot’s world was cast into darkness as sand was blown high above his head. Malcolm slid his goggles up just before the storm hit him, saving his eyes from the dry, irritating particles. The sand did not spare his wet face. Malcolm could barely breathe, gasping for fresh air in the sandy onslaught.

In between painful bouts of wheezing Malcolm could hear metal scraping and a loud hissing resounding all around him, echoes reverberating through the desert. The pilot could barely see two bright, white lights gleaming in the darkness. Malcolm shielded his ears from what sounded like a foghorn blaring across the river. The pilot was relieved when the sand settled, taking in deep breaths of precious air. Malcolm’s heart stopped. The storm began to fade across the river. A massive, dark gunmetal gray skull, shaped like a tin can, rose above Malcolm’s head. The sand faded from its body, hundreds of thousands of wires and pipes making up the meat and bones of the massive creature. It was covered in blocks of armor, forming a chestplate, gauntlets and boots. The machine moved its head back and forward, wires tensing and releasing as pipes creaked with the inorganic movements. Its bright, lifeless eyes panned over the landscape. Its head stopped. It was looking at Malcolm. The pilot was frozen in panic. The machine looked away from him, its eyes looking towards the horizon. It lifted one leg up and dropped it forward. The world shook under the creature’s weight.

It took another step forward, the machine's sight looked to the horizon. Malcolm spun around. He gasped. The creature was marching towards a black metal sphere, half of the structure sunk into the white desert. Malcolm jumped up and began running towards the sphere. He pounded his feet against the loose ground, lungs pushing against his ribs as the pilot peeked over his shoulder. The machine was slowly stepping forward until a foot landed in the river. The creature sent pillars of water in the air, washing sand off its metallic legs and drenching Malcolm. The machine tried to take another step, its foot sinking deep into the mud. Malcolm mouthed a silent prayer as he gained some distance from the giant. Malcolm heard a whining sound behind him. He looked over his shoulder to the machine. The creature placed his right pointer finger against his right thumb. A bubble-like film of electricity formed between the fingers. The creature placed the fingers against its right eye. It looked at the water. The left eye went dark and the right eye flashed, nearly blinding Malcolm. A beam of light shot from the machine’s eye and towards the water, lighting bolts cascading from the beam.

The water exploded, clouds of steam erupting from the river bed. The mud was rock solid, cracking in the laser’s heat. The palm trees were turned to charcoal. The giant pulled its leg out, the mud turning to dust before the river washed in. Malcolm was panting, his legs nearly buckling as he reached the sphere. He rested against the wall, flinching away from the hot metal surface. Malcolm ran around the exterior, feeling for any door or latch to get inside. He accidentally smacked his hand against a knob on the surface of the sphere. The knob fell off, rolling away in the coarse sand.

“I told you that it was pushed in too far!” Malcolm heard a woman’s voice inside the hole left by the knob.

“Hey, is there anyone in there?!” Malcolm yelled into the hole.

“Ah, not so loud! We just put the kids down for a nap.” Malcolm heard a man’s voice close to the hole.

The pilot spotted an eye peak through the hole.

“Oh, it’s one of our flyboys. Aren’t you supposed to be off following our “great and stupendous leader” to oblivion?” Sarcasm wafted from the sphere’s eye.

“Let him in! If he came back, then the battle’s already lost.” Malcolm heard a third, much older voice behind the eye.

The pilot heard a shifting sound from the sphere wall. The wall was pulled back, revealing a hidden doorway. A man with gray hair and beard wearing a blue trench coat, fedora, white tie and red tinted glasses climbed out of the doorway. Malcolm raised an eye at his socks, sandals, star pattern buttoned shirt, a dozen watches on his arms and dirty blue jeans.

“We’ll come in! Come in! You’ll catch a cold out here.” The old gentleman wrapped his arm around Malcolm’s shoulder, leading the pilot inside.

“Keep it down though, we won’t hear the end of it if we woke up the munchkins.” The old man said, helping Malcolm through the dimly lit, crowded interior of the sphere.

Dozens of people were huddled inside the surprisingly cold sphere, along with livestock and whatever it looked like they could carry from their homes. None of their faces were happy, each one a level of melancholy and sadness save for the old man tugging Malcolm along.

“Oh don’t worry about them, the death of a world is always tragic. Especially when it has all your friends and family.” The old man opened a hatch into the bottom section of the sphere.

The old man slipped through like he was a mouse, peering up at Malcolm with a smile on his face. The pilot could barely fit through the tiny hatchway, his height turning him into a squashed sausage. The sphere’s underbelly was filled with the carcasses of gutted machines, their manlike forms sending chills up Malcolm’s spine.

“Thank you for protecting us my friends. Your sacrifice will not be in vain.” The old man patted the heads of the machines, before taking a seat beside a metal slab in the middle of the underbelly.

“Ah, my apologies Malcolm. Where are my manners.” The old man stood back up.

“Avner, ‘father of light’, as the old name means.” The old gentlemen looked into Malcolm’s eyes as he said the words, gripping the pilot’s hand in a firm handshake.

“It’s nice to meet… How do you know my name?” Malcolm raised an eyebrow, mouth open as he failed miserably to hide his amazement.

“Who do you think told me?” Avner held onto a rusted metal cross strung around the old man’s neck.

Avner walked over to one of the machine carcasses. He reached inside, tossing aside cathode tubes and stamp cards.

“A-a prophet?! I didn’t even know you guys existed anymore.” Malcolm watched the old man rummage inside the mess of wires.

“Oh we do, just no one listens to us. Part of the job description. Aha!” Avner held up a small, black ball in the palm of his hands.

“What is… that.” Malcolm held a hand over his mouth, watching a strange syrup substance drip from the ball.

“This is the Pneuma ball. It’s going inside your chest.” Avner pulled a lever on the side of the metal slab.

“Oh that’s nice- Wait wait wait. You’re going to shove a Pneuma, which has killed or outright destroyed all who’ve had it, inside of me?!” Robotic arms emerged from the sides of the table, holding surgical equipment in their tweezer fingers.

Avner walked up to Malcolm and looked him straight in the eye.

“Kid, if this was any other time I wouldn’t have stepped foot anywhere near this ‘wonder weapon’, but it was our Lord and savior who told me that you will take this inside you… and protect us all.” Avner did not break eye contact once as he looked deep into Malcolm’s soul.

“But but, what if you’re not-” Avner grabbed a hold of Malcolm’s collar.

“Kid, would our Father spare one of his lambs, which he loves so much that he would travel across the universe to save, from one slaughter to just send into another?” Avner was shaking with passion, his voice cracking.

Malcolm looked at the old man. He turned away, heart pounding against his chest as he looked at the Pneuma ball out of the corner of his eye. He closed his eyes and said a silent prayer.

“Okay, I-I’m ready.” A loud thump was heard above their heads, followed by the sphere shaking violently.

“What was that?!” The sphere was filled with shouting of men and women and crying of young children and infants.

“The giant is here!” Malcolm hopped onto the slab.

“Buckle up Malcolm.” Avner ran over to one of the arms, placing the Pneuma ball in its hand.

Avner pressed another series of buttons on the slabs side, the metal arms springing to life. Malcolm heard a crash above him, followed by dust falling from the ceiling.

“No time for anesthetics.” Malcolm gave Avner a look as he exposed his chest.

The prophet nodded his head, flipping a switch on the slab console. Malcolm grabbed two handle bars on the slab. A skeletal hand, holding a scalpel with its gloved fingers, descended upon the pilot’s chest. The scalpel carefully sliced through the skin and bone, exposing Malcolm’s heart.

“Hang on kid.” Avner held Malcolm’s hand as the pilot gritted his teeth, tears running down his cheeks.

Two other gloved hands held Malcolm’s chest open as the arm with the Pneuma ball took position below his heart. A loud boom followed by the crashing of metal rocked the entire sphere. The arm dropped the ball, the hunk of steel thumping inside his chest. Malcolm gasped for air, tongue panting like he was about to throw up.

“Beggars can’t be choosers.” Avner winced as he reached his hand over to the Pneuma ball.

The prophet flipped a cap on the ball. He grabbed a matchbox from inside his coat pocket, lit it with his chin and shoved it inside the ball. The cap snapped down, nearly clipping Avner’s finger. The ball sank inside Malcolm’s chest, burrowing within his organs. The arms released the pilot’s flesh, an arm with a laser suture cauterizing the wound.

“Is… is it done?” Malcolm’s breathing settled, relief washing across his body.

“No kid. Not yet-” Avner froze. Malcolm, who was slowly sitting up, fell back against the slab.

His breathing stopped, mouth wide open and eyes blankly staring at the prophet. Avner began shaking Malcolm, smacking his face and listening for his heartbeat. The sphere was filled with an ear splitting scraping sound. A woman shrieked at the top of her lungs as a pillar of sunlight beamed through the underbelly’s hatch. Malcolm’s chest heaved upward, the pilot gasping for air. He began flailing frantically, eyes bloodshot as he silently mouthed the words “Help me.” Loud thumping echoed throughout the sphere as sunlight filled the entire sphere. Streams of blood leaked out of the corner’s of Malcolm’s mouth. His breathing settled, tears running down the side of his face as the pain subsided. Malcolm could see Adamah’s pink sky through a nasty hole carved into the sphere. The giant stuck its massive head above the hole, blotting out the light as it lifted a fist high above its head. Malcolm looked into the machine’s soulless eyes as he raised his shaking arms above his body. The pilot slammed his fists against the slab, the heavy chunk of metal crumpling and the floor plating breaking into shrapnel. Malcolm flew through the hatchway, out of the hole and into the creature’s face.

The giant was knocked back, losing its footing and stepping back from the sphere. Malcolm, stamping a man shaped crater into the machine’s face, gripped the skull tight. The pilot clapped his hands together, raising them above his head. He slammed the fists down against the creature’s face, its eyes shattering into a shower of glass. The force drove the chemicals in the giant’s computer brain out of the back of its skull, spraying the desert sand and turning it a nauseous green. The machine went limp, losing its balance and falling down on its back. The fall threw pillars of white sand high above the sphere, casting the sphere back into darkness.

“Malcolm! Malcolm!” Avner pried open the sphere’s hidden hatchway, running to the remains of the giant.

The prophet climbed on top of the metal carcass, his sandals slipping on the leaking chemicals. Avner lost his footing. Malcolm grabbed the prophet before he fell off the giant.

“Are you okay?” Malcolm held Avner’s shoulder, keeping the prophet steady.

“Am I okay?! You just knocked out a heavyweight before the bell rang!” Avner pointed at the crumbling remains of the machine’s skull.

“Nah, he was a pushover.” Malcolm gave Avner a comedic smile before launching into a coughing fit.

“Here, here.” Avner took off his trenchcoat, covering Malcolm as the pilot stained his sleeve in blood.

The survivors began climbing out of the sphere, gathering around the machine to look at the fallen giant. Low booms echoed off the rolling sand dunes, lights flashing far off in the horizon.

“Malcolm, if it was me I’d kick up my feet and call it a day. But we have to leave Adamah.” Avner patted the pilot’s back, his coughs dying away.

“How? All our jets were sent out to… to die.” Malcolm gave Avner a tired look.

“We don’t need fancy jets or massive spaceships. Especially since someone built a bridge.” Avner pointed towards a mountain towering over the crumpling shell of the sphere.

Malcolm raised an eyebrow at the prophet, who climbed down the side of the giant. Malcolm followed the prophet down, the sphere survivors passing by the pilot as Avner began marching towards the mountain.

“Trust him kid, he got us this far.” A woman wiped the dried blood off Malcolm’s face.

Malcolm and the survivor’s followed Avner across the desert. The sun beat down on the back of the pilot’s neck, his eyes growing heavy in the heat.

“Here, as a token for saving the believers.” A man plopped a brown broad-brimmed hat on top of Malcolm’s head, giving a cool relief to the pilot.

The sun was setting as the survivors reached the foot of the mountain. They rested near a waterfall cascading down the mountainside, drinking and dipping their toes in the cool, crimson water. A woman bandaged Malcolm’s arms, covering bloody tear marks over his veins.

“Avner, forgive me for asking, but what are you looking for?” A man watched the prophet climb over random boulders, the old man peeking inside the cracks and gaps between the massive rocks.

“Ah ha!” Avner reached his hand inside a boulder.

Scraping echoed off the cliff faces, the survivor’s spinning around to find where it was coming from. A flat rock face, which looked like it hadn't been touched in thousands of years, sliced open. The rocks parted, revealing a thick metal door. Malcolm felt the surface of the sapphire blue metal door, carvings of armored men with winged helmets and axes standing as if they were guarding the door.

“Dwarves. No one knew they were ever here before the Big Guy told me about them.” Avner felt the stoic, carved faces with his fingers.

He took two fingers and poked the eyes of one poor dwarf. The door creaked open, revealing a dark, cavernous tunnel inside.

“You first kid.” Avner patted Malcolm’s shoulder, who gave the prophet a shocked look.

“Don’t look at me like that, I can’t flatline brutes ten times my size!” Avner prodded Malcolm’s biceps.

Malcolm let out a long sigh, before walking through the doors. The survivors followed close behind the prophet, looking over their shoulders with wary eyes. The doors suddenly closed, casting the tunnel into darkness. Lights flashed to life down the length of the tunnel, held up by manlike creatures with horns, hooves and barbs at the tips of their long, slender tails. The survivors, nerves on end and feet made of lead, pressed on. The tunnel opened up into a large room. At the end of the room was the face of a metal fortress, the plates carved to look like stone bricks.

“A Dwarven Hold? An abandoned one at that!” Malcolm ran up to one of the dragon shaped statues bordering the gate.

“I thought Dwarves never retreated from their holds.” Malcolm traced the curves of the statue, rubbing dust between his fingers.

Avner stepped up to the gate and scratched his head. He looked down. Avner let out a chuckle as he scraped away a copper coin worth of dust on the floor. Avner picked up a metal grate hidden beneath the dust, revealing a shallow crevice filled with metal keys. The old man picked out the smallest key, nearly bent in half. Avner stepped up to the gate. The entire gate was carved to look like the face of a wide eyed, silently screaming dwarf, hair carved to look as if it was blowing in a hurricane. The prophet shoved the key in the Dwarf’s mouth. He turned the key, a clicking sound reverberating through the door. The gate shifted apart, a line parting between the center of the Dwarven face. The survivors jumped back as dozens of skeletons, barely half the size of man, clattered against the floor.

“They never did.” Avner gave Malcolm a grim look, before stepping over the armored corpses, flecks of gold still shining through their rusted chest plates.

Malcolm followed the prophet into the fortress, leading the survivors around the sharpened metal rods that impaled the dwarves. Scratches, wide enough to fit a man’s finger inside, lined the walls, Dwarven skeletons cleaved in half resting beneath the marks. Malcolm nearly tripped over the bones of another man-like creature, like the ones in the entrance passage. The thing’s skull was crushed by a Dwarven war hammer, sharpened horns strewn beside the chunks of the beast’s cranium. Avner led the group into the center of a great hall, the remains of a great battle scattered over what was left of ornate, broken furniture, tattered and burned tapestries and rotting food set out for long deceased diners. On top of one long dining table was the… skeleton? A massive monster, black flesh and brown fur still sticking to the shredded carcass, rested beside the mangled skeletons of many Dwarves and horned men.

“Is that? It can’t be a-” Avner cut off Malcolm.

“It’s a genuine Wyrm, or what the Dwarves left of it.” Avner avoided the corpse, not even giving it a second look.

“None of this makes any sense. There’s too many questions!” Malcolm spun around, trying to take in all the carnage.

“In time kid, in time.” The prophet walked into a passage leaving the great hall, waiving for the rest to follow.

The winding corridors and spacious rooms were all the same, furnishings destroyed and skeletons littering the floors, some clogging doorways and blocking entire passages. Some halls were devoid of light, the wiring torn out of the walls and casting entire sections of the stronghold into eternal darkness. Avner stopped in front of one sealed doorway. He traced the lines of a blocky, brutalist script written on the door plate.

“Ah, here we are.” Avner tried the door handle, but the heavy door wouldn’t budge.

“Would you do the honors kid?” Avner stepped back, presenting the door for Malcolm.

The pilot cracked his shoulder. He slammed his body against the door, the thick metal caving in and clattering to the floor. Malcolm grabbed his fist, wincing at the pain shooting through his arm.

“You okay kid?” Avner looked into the pilot’s face.

“Yeah, I guess I’m getting used to this new strength.” Malcolm let out a deep breath as the pain subsided.

Avner stepped over the crumpled door. He stopped and raised an eyebrow. Crates and barrels that had once been blocking the doorway were thrown aside, shattering and spilling their contents of nuts and bolts onto the floor.

“Well that’s refreshing. It looks like some of them were able to escape.” Avner looked around the room, smiling at the lack of any skeletons, Dwarven or otherwise.

The room was filled with ancient machinery, metal casings rusted to the point of turning to dust. The insides of the machines were remarkably still intact, the shells saving them from the brunt of decay. In the center of the room was a ring, part of it sunken into a ditch with a metal gangway running through the middle. The survivors were in awe at the construct, filing into the room to gain a better look.

“A Dwarven Worm-arche. Einstein would have a cow if he was alive to see one.” Avner stood in front of the ring.

The prophet picked up a loose bolt and threw it through the ring. The bolt vanished as it passed through the center.

“The Dwarves sure know how to make ‘em last.” Avner stared through the gate, hands in his pockets.

“Where does it go?” Malcolm stood beside Avner, trying to settle the butterflies in his stomach.

“Lucky we don’t have to guess.” Avner climbed a flight of metal stairs to a console overlooking the arche.

The prophet flipped a switch on one of the console keyboards. Several computer monitors blinked to life, numbers and the same brutalist script flashing across their screens.

“Now if I’m reading this right, the current target is a planet called ‘Dowagran’, though the actual coordinates point to an empty space in the abyssal sea.” Avner adjusted his glasses, typing away at the keys.

“Any chance we can change the coordinates?” Malcolm joined the prophet, resting his hand against the console.

“Of course, I just wish I had focused more on my Dwarven studies in class and less on the broads passing by the window.” Avner pressed his face against one green screen, his eyes beginning to twitch.

“Aha, Now we’re in business!” Avner clapped his hands, ripping his face off the monitor and doing a little dance.

“Now we just need to know where to go.” Avner looked at Malcolm, giving the pilot a curious look.

“Well… we need to rescue a downed bomber crew on Hebel.” Malcolm scratched his head, turning his head to look at the arche.

“Good choice, Judge.” Avner smirked, Malcolm turning to look at the prophet with surprise.

“Wait, hold on! Me… a judge?” Malcolm looked at his hands, arms draped in blood stained bandages.

“What, you need me to anoint you in oil and dance around singing you praise?” Avner gave Malcolm a half-joking, half-serious expression.

“I… I’m honored.” Malcolm bowed to the prophet, nearly falling down the stairs.

“Hold on there, no need for formalities! We have lives to save!” Avner grabbed Malcolm before the judge fell on his butt. The prophet turned back to the console. He clacked away at the keyboard, filling in lines on the computer screens. He hit the last key, the console beeping and buzzing with approval.

“Climb down Malcolm. If it’s still there, we can pop into Hebel Spacefield.” Avner pointed to the gangway.

The judge climbed down the stairs, taking position in front of the Worm-arche. The prophet raised his thumb up to Malcolm. The judge walked towards the arche.

“Wait, Malcolm! Interception!!!” Avner flailed his hands towards the judge.

Before Malcolm could stop, his hand passed the point of no return. His body was sucked into the arch, vanishing in an instant. The first thing the judge felt was metal slamming into his face. Malcolm pried his face from a series of coarse metal pipes, leaving a stupid looking face print. The judge shook his head, surprised to find his nose wasn’t broken. Malcolm held the back of his head as he took a look around. He found himself in a curving corridor, made of wires and pipes with the floor made of square metal plates. The only light came from dim white orbs sticking out of pipes in the ceiling, burbling everytime liquid was injected or sucked out of the orbs. Malcolm heard gurgling echo down the hallway. He followed the strange sounds, keeping an eye over his shoulder as the gurgles grew louder. Malcolm spotted a doorway, made out of a parting of the pipes and wires making up the structure. He peeked his head around the corner. He jumped back, heart pounding in his chest. The room had several metallic creatures inside, each one sending chills up Malcolm’s spine.

Four of the creatures looked like sideways eggs, had chicken legs made of pipes and arms made of wire tentacles. Two looked like miniature giants, save their heads being jars filled with a murky liquid. Inside the jars were sickly gray brains, anchored to the body with metal spines wrapped in colorful, frayed wires. The two brain-bots were standing around a large, marble statue-like head, taller and wider than two men end-to-end, in the center of the room.

“Ah, it appears we have a guest.” The statue had a low, booming voice that shook Malcolm to his bones.

“Show yourself!” Malcolm could barely understand what the brain-bots were saying, their voices barely being distinguishable from train horns.

Malcolm stepped through the doorway.

“Ah, an Eldarite. Curious how you got onto my ship.” The head could not move, save its white eyes with black mascara, bright blue pupils snapping to one of the brain bots.

“Sneaky sneaky.” An egg-bot turned away from a console it was working on, stepping towards Malcolm.

“Calm yourself. I want to hear what this…” The head paused, blankly staring above Malcolm’s head.

Its eyes flashed red, slowly looking down towards Malcolm.

“Intruder, has to say. Who knows, maybe I’ll keep him as a pet.” The head’s eyes twitched, its expressionless face seemingly grinning.

“Who are you? Why do you attack my people?” Malcolm pointed a finger at the head.

“A question?” The head’s eyes flashed green, then blue.

“How refreshing. We are the Cerebrum of course. Throwing off our fleshly shackles to ascend to…” The head paused, eyes twitching as the pupils flashed to red.

“Mechanical deism. We attack your people because they did not accept the gifts we could bestow on them. Naturally this makes them-” The head was cut off by a metal whipping noise.

“Inferior! Destroy the inferior! Mash them up and devour them!” The egg-bots were whipping their tentacles, turning from their consoles and began marching towards Malcolm.

They continued chanting the same words in their high pitched buzzer voices.

“Ah, it appears my time as a host has come up. Goodbye, flesh creature.” The head’s pupils went dark. The brain-bots grabbed nozzles from their backs. Tubes ran from the back of the nozzles to donut shaped metal packs on their backs. The egg-bots screamed, whipping their tentacles erratically as they ran towards Malcolm. The brain-bots pulled the trigger on the nozzles. Blinding lasers shot out of the nozzles, hitting the judge. Malcolm shielded himself from the blast, holding his arms in front of his face. Malcolm gritted his teeth, holding back screams of pain as the lasers cooked his flesh. The egg-bots lashed their tentacles against his skin, shredding his body and drowning the judge’s thoughts in their crazed screaming. They hammered against Malcolm, the brain-bots holding the triggers until molten metal was dribbling from their nozzles. The egg-bots wire tentacles were tattered and limp, their screams turned to low growls.

“Oh, are you finally done? Took you longer than-” The head’s eyes flashed to life, turning from red to blue after he stopped talking.

Malcolm stood there. His skin was covered in deep cuts. His arms looked like a burnt marshmallow. Malcolm smiled. The brain-bots clicked away at their lasers, but found their nozzles clogged. The egg-bots released a guttural scream and charged forward. Malcolm, his body quickly healing the horrid burns and whip marks, hooked his fist into one of the egg-bots. The creature flew into the wall, exploding into a spray of shrapnel and computer fluid. The judge slammed his foot into the next egg-bot, the machine crumpling like a tin can. He grabbed the limp tentacles of the third egg-bot and slammed the beast into the fourth, crushing the monsters together. Malcolm spun around and looked at the brain-bots. They hesitated, stepping away from the judge.

“COWARDS!!!” The head yelled, shaking the room.

The brain-bots screamed, holding their heads before the jars exploded. The contents sloshed out onto the floor, sinking into the metal plates and wires below. Malcolm ran towards the head. He jumped. Holding his legs together, the judge slammed his feet into the head’s cranium. Malcolm punched straight through the marble exterior, landing inside the head. He was caught inside a webwork of wires, all meeting at the center of the skull. The wires were attached to a massive, pulsating brain, submerged in glowing, clear blue fluid beneath the judge. Malcolm ripped himself from the wires and fell on top of the brain. The impact splashed water all over the inside of the head. The brain squished under Malcolm, shuddering at his touch.

“Curious.” The brain shared the same voice as the head, though much weaker.

The fluid went dark, followed by the wires hissing with gas and detaching from the brain. Aerie alarms began blaring outside of the head. Malcolm slammed his shoulder into the side of the head, busting a sizable hole in the shell. Liquid sloshed out of the head and onto the floor, dragging Malcolm along with it. The judge wiped the disgusting remains of the brain off his body before running out of the room. He passed by rooms filled with panicking machine creatures, completely ignoring Malcolm as he entered the rooms.

“The machine-mind is strong!” The majority of the creatures were repeating these words, almost like they were comforting themselves.

Malcolm passed by a window looking up at the stars. No, down at the stars! Malcolm ran through the massive ship, searching for any way to escape. He found a winding corridor that seemed promising. The walls were lined with orbs of varying sizes filled with murky liquids, choosing to have vomit green, vomit yellow or vomit brown colors. Malcolm spotted one egg-bot frantically detaching the balls and placing them inside of its body. Several other machines were doing the same, before offloading the orbs into large pods sunk into the floor. Malcolm approached one of the pods. One of the egg-bots ran towards Malcolm, tentacles flailing. The judge picked up the machine and threw it against the wall, shattering a dozen orbs. All the creatures turned to face Malcolm. One brain-bot pulled its nozzle out and aimed it at Malcolm. The machine did not fire, making spazzing motions and pointing away from the judge instead. Other creatures did not make a move, standing behind the armed brain-bot. Malcolm squinted at the machines, confused at their behaviors.

“Protect the children! Do not harm them!” Malcolm spun around to see an egg-bot running towards.

Malcolm raised his fists up for the attack. He froze as the egg-bot stopped as it reached the shattered orbs. The egg-bot searched around the broken glass, carefully picking up the shards with its tentacles. Malcolm’s world began to spin. He held his hand over his mouth, stomach turning like a tornado.

“Lord forgive me.” Malcolm whispered to himself, falling to his knees.

“Help us, the children must be saved.” The brain-bot holstered the nozzle, placing a hand on the judge’s shoulder.

“I will, if only to redeem myself.” Malcolm rose to his feet, turning to face the brain-bot.

“We can take care of the rest. You need to take care of the captain flying us to our doom.” The machine pointed down the corridor behind it, the other machines doing the same.

Malcolm ran past the machines, each one pointing him through the ship and towards the bridge. The bridge was empty, save for a creature standing in the center. It was like a long necked dragon, except with a metallic woman’s head warped into an animalistic shape. Wires and pipes, just like the rest of the Cerebrum, made up its body. The thing was staring out of a large window, out over the beautiful face of Adamah.

“Hello, Larva.” The creature turned to look at Malcolm, shivers running down the back of the judge’s spine.

“Come to take my ship and treasures from me? Well you won’t succeed, if I can’t have it then no one can.” The creature used its sharp claws to drag itself across the room towards Malcolm.

The sounds the monster made was unnerving, a slimy film over a ballroom dancer’s voice. The judge put his fists up, shifting into a fighting position as he waited for the beast to approach.

“Ladies first.” Malcolm gave a broken smile, hiding his disgust as the creature loomed over him.

“With pleasure.” The captain slurred the words, before whipping its tail around.

The tail slammed against Malcolm’s side, knocking the wind out of him as he flew through the air. The judge smacked into the wall, bouncing off the pipes and wires and onto the floor. He heaved for air, watching the monster clammer after him. Malcolm scrambled to his feet, jumping away from the chomping jaws of the captain. Malcolm dodged back from the claws, razor sharp edges raking his legs. The beast thrusted its head forward, wide open mouth dripping with saliva. Malcolm dodged to the side, driving a fist straight into the captain's jowl. The monster’s metal skull cracked, sharp, glittering teeth flying from the strike. The captain rolled to the side, falling on its back. Malcolm hopped on top of the creature's stomach. He wailed against the captain’s body, busting metal pipes and tearing away gas filled wires. The captain flailed under the onslaught, screaming in pain. The attacks stopped. “Finish me, do not torture me no longer.” The creature begged, its underbelly torn and ripped to pieces.

Malcolm stopped wailing on the monster, his fists warped under the stress. The judge looked into its pleading eyes. He slid down the captain's side and stood over the heaving, battered creature. “No. I promise to God, my Lord and savior, that I will never kill again.” Malcolm looked in the captain’s eyes, before walking away. A few brain-bots stormed into the room. One spotted the captain and immediately pulled its nozzle trigger. The creature burst into flames, its body turning into a bubbling, molten blob within the blink of an eye. “Thank you… kid.” One of the brain-bots approached Malcolm, patting the judge’s head.

“There’s a personal shuttle for you to use. The captain will no longer be needing it.” The brain-bot typed away at a console beneath the massive window, pointing one finger at a doorway leading away from the bridge. Malcolm left the brain-bots on the bridge, taking the doorway out. The door led to an empty room, save for a large metal disk bolted to the wall. A lid on the disk opened, revealing the disk to be the ship the brain-bot was speaking of. Malcolm climbed into the saucer, having to squeeze himself into the ceiling facing seat. The controls of the ship were thankfully familiar to Malcolm, though a lot was different compared to his old brawler jet. He raised an eyebrow at how the ship was of a solid make, nothing like the muscular or skeletal construction of the cerebrum. He turned a knob on the dashboard, closing the saucer. Malcolm turned a switch, the saucer springing to life. He heard a beeping through the ship’s hull, followed by the saucer rocking back and forward. Malcolm opened the window hatches on the saucer, revealing the twinkling starscape. The judge heard crackling coming from the radio behind him. He flipped the switch, grabbing the microphone.

“Malcolm, are you out there?” Avner’s voice crackled over the radio waves.

“I read you, Avner. Did you get to the moon?” Malcolm turned the dial on the radio, clearing up the static.

“Yes yes, we got the stranded flyboys. But what about you?” Avner’s voice was drowned out by the bomber crew saying ‘thank you’ and ‘hello’ to the judge.

“I’ll tell you once I get back to the stronghold.” Malcolm hung up the microphone, turning to take the helm of the saucer.