I reacted instinctively to Santiago's warning and ran forward to where the plateau ended. The route down was steeper here, and I slipped and slithered down the face of the mountain. I had put a reasonable distance between me and the campsite before I heard once again the noise of an approaching drone, one much larger than the original spotter plane. I flattened myself on the ground and crawled under an overhang of rock as the drone circled overhead.
I assumed it would land and try to capture us, but we were not that important. The drone swooped down until it was directly above the site of Santiago's camp and released three bomblets in quick succession. I put my hands over my head and pushed them down between my knees to protect myself. The bombs landed and created a massive triple explosion that sent an avalanche of rocks hurtling down the mountain above my head.
The air was full of choking dust for a long time, and when it finally settled, I could dimly see that the plateau had split in half and plunged down a deep ravine. Nothing could have survived that fall, and I remembered the kindness of Santiago and his selfless order for me to leave.
It was almost dark now, and I had little option but to stay overnight in the relative safety of the overhang. I ate the piece of meat Santiago had given me and drank a little water. My head was spinning with shock and fatigue, and I curled up in my thick parka jacket and went into a troubled sleep.
Dawn was rising when I awoke, stiff and cold. I had saved a little of the meat and water, and I made a makeshift breakfast before continuing my trek down the mountain towards ground level.
The route was fairly easy to navigate, and I kept a constant watch for drones. It was getting warmer, and I unbuttoned my thick parka jacket to let in some air. When I arrived at the bottom, I sank gratefully to the ground to rest and drank my remaining water. I was tired, and it would have been easy to sleep, but I had no time to waste, and I hauled myself to my feet. I was at the foot of a small rise and walked to the top to get a better view of my surroundings. The sun was bright, and I squinted into the distance to see what lay ahead.
What I saw made me step back in astonishment.
What before had been a featureless aluminium plane was now a massive structure that reflected the sunlight so intensely that I had to turn away, blindly searching for the issue aviator sunglasses in my parka coat. They gave a degree of protection that gradually improved as the lenses automatically compensated for the fierceness of the glare.
I now saw that the structure consisted of tall metal struts, like trees, or approximations of trees, badly done. As I grew closer, I saw that these flawed representations were written in regimented lines, like soldiers on parade. Their trunks were not cylindrical but hexagonal, engineered for structural efficiency, not aesthetic grace. Branches extended at mathematically calculated angles, forming fractal patterns that mimicked organic growth.
Each branch was the same length and bore the same number of leaves. The 'leaves' were perfectly engineered but were coloured a shade of green never seen in nature, so unpleasant and alien-looking as to be almost sinister.
Natural forests showed signs of weathering and lack of conformity with misshapen branches and different foliage. There were patterns to be seen in this forest and a natural symmetry to its construction, but there was no smell of damp soil or leaf rot, none of the earthy smells of the natural world. No bird calls, no insect drone, just a faint hum of subterranean circuitry.
There was no sign of life, even robotic life, and I walked through the narrow avenues that cut through the metal forest in a sterile, oppressive silence. The ground beneath my feet was covered in imitation grass — each blade parallel to the next, all pointing in the same direction.
This was the mind of the machines made manifest: a place built by AI as a monument to logic.The forest did not see me as a traveller—it saw me as a variable, a potential threat, and surveillance nodes blinked in silent rhythm, tracking movement.
The machines had inherited the earth, and they had no use for beauty and no concept of soul.
I was not in the past, relative to my previous visit; this was a world where the machines were in charge, and it could not be the future since the Earth I had known was destroyed.
I must be in a parallel world.
Had the machines achieved total victory over humanity? The memory of Santiago gave some hope, but his use of pidgin English, if this was typical, showed that human culture and civilisation had significantly regressed.
I had the sudden urge to rebel, to deviate from the norm, to show them they were not in complete control. The only thing I could think to do was only a token digression, but it showed that I had a mind of my own.
I stepped off the official avenue and walked into the area beyond.
A chime rang out—soft, sterile, like a heart monitor recording an irregularity. They did not need klaxons; nothing could seriously challenge their mastery of the environment.
The trees above shifted, not with wind, but intent, or so I imagined, but there was no doubt that I had triggered surveillance.
"Deviation detected," said the voice inside my skull.
"Risk index: 0.000003. Initiating corrective protocol."
At least the machines had retained English as the standard language for communication, in the same way as air traffic had operated on Earth, but that knowledge gave me little advantage.
I immediately regretted my impulsive decision to make a symbolic rebellion. All I had achieved was to bring my presence to their notice. It was a stupid and illogical thing to do.
A machine would not have done it.
I could not help but smile at the irony, but I must get out of here.
I turned to run, but the forest moved faster.
The ground oozed an oil-like substance, and I constantly slipped as I tried to run away, and it suddenly became incredibly hot, so that my lungs burned with every painful breath I took.Blinding strobe lights bombarded my eyes, and sonic pulses caused my ears to bleed. They wanted me to conform and obey, nothing else. The forest was not punishing me; there was no passion, no hatred, just calculated steps to correct my deviance.
Paths formed before me that I was forced to follow, and I stumbled into a clearing—no, a chamber. The trees had formed a dome around me, seamless and silent.
There was no exit.
I sat cross-legged on the ground and stoically awaited my fate.
Everything had happened so quickly since I found myself abandoned in the foothills of the mountain, and this was the first time I had to think. I had unconsciously reverted to my previous perspective of identifying the machines as my primary enemy, without any thought of the real enemy – Satan.
The Tribus had discarded my defeat of the machines in the final battle as almost meaningless in comparison to my failure to do my duty and kill Satan.
I had previously thought of Satan as an archetype and a myth. A representation or symbol of the concept of evil, not a physical entity that roamed and infected the universe by encouraging immoral and malicious behaviour. Now I knew that evil could not be destroyed by prayers and religion, only a thrust of the heavenly sword through his heart. No ordinary weapon could kill him, and I had let him go when, as St Michael, I held the blessèd sword, and his life, in my hands.
Regret was not enough. My only hope of redemption was to kill Satan and rid the universe of evil. But how was I to do this? I bowed my head in humiliation for the shame I had brought on myself.
I must not give up hope. Perhaps there was a clue in this mechanical forest that had trapped me.
Was I meant to compare it with other forests?
There was the dark forest of the condemned that I had encountered in a version of hell. A forest that was alive, in the sense that the stunted, blackened trees and bushes grew organically.
But it was a place of despair and the absence of light, barely superior to this metal imitation of a forest.
But I had encountered another forest; when a young man, I had been transported to the distant past of the planet Earth, long before the advent of modern man. I was enslaved to the machines and was known only as 'Seven'.
I remembered how I had described that land. …
'The first light of the morning sun spilt over the horizon, bathing the African grasslands in a warm, golden glow. A sea of tall grasses swayed gently in the early breeze, their tips catching the sun's rays and covering the open plains in muted shades of green, yellow, and gold. To the right was a thickly wooded area, a forest where wild oak, olive, and pistachio trees provided shade and sustenance for the creatures that roamed the land beneath. Beneath the protective canopy, the air was cool and fresh, scented with the earthy fragrance of moss and wild herbs.'
This ancient equivalent of the 'Garden of Eden' represented an unspoiled world before the coming of Satan. It was the superiority of the living forest I should celebrate, far greater than the artificial construction of the machines.
There was a meaningful structure to my narrative. All was not chance.