Silence returned to the workshop, broken only by the soft hiss of cooling alloys and the ragged breathing of the survivors. The three cold reflections of L’Uomo Prime lay broken among the empty docking cradles. Yet one question remained, heavier than the bodies on the floor: how the Turkeyoids had passed this place as though the guardians had never existed at all.
The Reclaimers pressed on.
At the far end of the mech workshop a freight lift waited, its power feed little more than a trickle of residual current. They entered two by two. The cage rose with a grinding reluctance, cables vibrating like the tendons of some vast, dying animal, until it delivered them onto the thirty-fifth floor.
Bio-Labs.
The chemical reek hit them first—sharp, metallic, and underlaid with something organic that burned the throat. Humidity clung to their skin like fever-sweat. Rows of glass jars lined the walls, each containing a preserved head suspended in cloudy fluid, eyes open and staring. Larger vats bubbled with glowing slime that cast shifting green light across the deck plating. The air felt thick enough to chew.
A massive concrete bulkhead divided the level into two unequal halves. Set into its center was a heavy door sealed by a card-reader slot. Along the near wall stood several tall terrariums, each containing a single juvenile plant nearly four meters high. At the crown of every stem hung a bright red grasping pod, currently folded and still, safely contained behind reinforced glass.
While the others rummaged for useful materials, someone produced A.S. Hull’s long-lost green horticulture access card. They moved to the bulkhead and began to fumble the card toward the reader.
That was when the pods moved.
The glass of the nearest terrariums starred and then burst outward in a glittering rain. Thick, thorned vines uncoiled with startling speed. The red pods dilated like hungry mouths and swung toward the living heat signatures in the room. One moment the plants had been static specimens. The next they were free and hunting.
The horticulture card slid home. The massive bulkhead doors parted with a hydraulic sigh.
On the far side, three Turkeyoids waited on a high catwalk, laser rifles already shouldered. Scarlet beams lanced through the open doorway. The Reclaimers were caught in a sudden pincer—grasping pods behind them, disciplined fire from above.
The fight became immediate and desperate.
Steve Austin and L’Uomo Prime returned fire, driving the Turkeyoids into momentary cover. L’Uomo reached the steel stairs, climbed in three powerful strides, and brought his vibro battle-axe to bear. The high-frequency edge screamed as it sheared through feathers, bone, and scavenged armor. Henry Darksky and D’Can’Tr poured laser fire into the catwalk supports and the figures above. Sheik’s stun pistol found one Turkeyoid; the avian froze mid-step and toppled over the railing, landing in a broken heap among the shattered terrariums.
Sponge Bob waded into the plants themselves, vibro-sword rising and falling in heavy arcs that split stems and sprayed acrid sap.
A grasping pod lunged for the Obh and missed. Another found Sheik.
The red maw closed around the white-feathered mutant with terrible finality. Saw-edged leaves and internal thorns tore at him even as digestive juices began their work. Sheik’s struggles lasted only moments. Then the pod constricted, and he was gone—swallowed whole.
There was no time for proper mourning. The battle still raged.
Henry Darksky drove his knife deep into the trunk of the plant that had taken their companion. Another pod swung at D’Can’Tr with unnerving accuracy, forcing the plant-mutant to throw himself aside. Turkeyoid laser fire continued to stitch the air; one beam struck L’Uomo and scored his plating. A second Turkeyoid rifle detonated in its wielder’s hands—typical of their corroded power cells—showering the catwalk in green sparks and burning feathers.
Three more Turkeyoids appeared at the far end of the catwalk and began descending the winding stairs. L’Uomo met them with the axe, cutting one nearly in half. Steve Austin’s shots kept the others suppressed. Sponge Bob continued his methodical destruction of the remaining grasping pods, each heavy stroke of the vibro-sword accompanied by the wet sound of rupturing plant flesh.
At last the Reclaimers forced the surviving Turkeyoids back up towards the 45th floor. They rest of the party advanced through the open bulkhead, leaving the ruined terrariums behind. In the clearer space beyond, Henry’s laser found its mark, L’Uomo’s axe finished another, and Steve Austin delivered the final shot. The last Turkeyoid collapsed amid the laboratory’s cold instruments.
Silence returned, broken only by the drip of sap and the soft bubble of the glowing vats.
D’Can’Tr reached into the pod that had consumed Sheik and drew out what remained. The body was still largely intact, though the outer layers of flesh and feather had begun to dissolve under the plant’s enzymes. They laid him carefully on the deck.
Only then did they take stock of the chamber they had won. A fully functional surgical suite stood near a row of derelict life-pods. A massive control console dominated one wall, its surfaces still bearing the faint residue of old authority.
D’Can’Tr turned the grafted head on his shoulder toward the equipment. Professor Cardunkle’s voice emerged, reluctant and dry.
This had been his laboratory. Here he had performed many of his earlier creations and experiments. Only he retained the knowledge to operate the suite at full capacity.
When asked whether anything could be done for Sheik, Cardunkle was precise. He could not restore the avian to his former self. But he could rebuild him—enhance the remains with cybernetic systems in the same manner that had once produced L’Uomo Prime and the lesser units now lying broken five floors below.
The Reclaimers considered the alternative: leaving their companion’s half-dissolved body in this place of glass jars and glowing slime. They chose the only path that offered any continuation.
They lifted Sheik onto the surgical table. Cardunkle, working through D’Can’Tr’s hands, began the long process of cutting, grafting, and rewiring. The laboratory lights hummed. The vats continued to bubble.
Somewhere in the walls of the Black Monolith, ancient systems watched without comment as another hybrid of flesh and machine was coaxed toward a second, uncertain life.
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