Oh?
“—ate?!” Marty’s voice cut in before Ex could explain. He sounded tense. Tense enough that Nate was halfway to his feet before he remembered there was nowhere to go.
A burst of gunfire sounded in his head, frighteningly clear.
Nate stood the rest of the way, heart suddenly pounding.
“Nate, come in! We’re—”
A brain-numbing whoomph of sound, and a garbled round of curses.
“Dammit! Nate, if you can hear me, they found us.”
His blood went cold.
“We’re—Shit! No, move! MOVE!”
Nate listened in horror to the smack of footsteps and panting breaths, of weapons fire and troglodan voices calling to each other in the distance, all of it clear as if he were there himself. It was only when Marty tried his name again that he remembered the connection was supposed to go both ways.
“Marty?! What’s happening?”
“Nate?! Jesus, where are—Shit!”
Another explosion. A clatter of automatic gunfire, and slamming car doors. The unmistakable roar of a troglodan battle cry, and a wrenching crash of twisted metal.
“Get her in!” Marty shouted, and Nate’s insides froze at the thought that it could be Gwen he was talking about. “No, look out, there’s—NO!”
The feed cut silent with an awful crunch.
Nate stared at the white wall for a breathless eternity.
“Get them back,” he heard himself whisper. “Ex, get them back.”
I cannot reach the node.
“You have to.” Nate touched at the walls, beginning to pace as if he might actually find an escape. “Ex, I need you to get that node back. I need you to—”
He balled a fist and slammed it into the wall, overcome. “Dammit!”
Calm yourself, Nathaniel. It’s possible the node has merely sustained superficial damage.
“While strapped to my best friend’s head?!” Nate cried, striking the wall again, and again. Switching to kicks. Screaming all the while. “Hey! Hey, out there! FUCKING HEY!”
He couldn’t say how long he continued on, kicking and screaming, ignoring the Excalibur’s cool-headed chastisement about how pointless the display was, and how he was undoubtedly abusing his body worse than the wall.
He had to get out of there.
He had to get to his friends. Wherever they were. Wherever he was. However the hell he was supposed to fix this. He kept pounding at the wall, shouting for the gorgon Knight, not knowing what she wanted, or what she’d do with him—only that, if he kept it up, she just might come back to the cell to do it sooner than later. And when that happened, he had to be ready to seize whatever opportunity he could.
It was only when she actually arrived, though, that he realized how utterly laughable that notion was.
He didn’t see the gorgon Knight appear so much as he registered a flicker of a copper blur amid the dissolving cell wall. Before he could so much as twitch, the wall was open, she was across the space, and he was pinned to the wall by an armored forearm to the throat.
Alone and resolutely pounding the wall one moment. Crushed to it by a gorgon death machine the next.
She was tall, his stunned brain registered, quite uselessly, as he clawed at her unbudging arm. Tall and without helmet, he saw, as she leaned in to inspect him more closely with startlingly phosphorescent, electric blue eyes. Her face was surprisingly humanoid. More triangular from top to bottom. Nose flatter. Ivy green skin vaguely reminiscent of the flesh of an aloe leaf.
For a second, he was so shocked by the sudden alien closeness that he forgot his outrage, forgot to look for his opening. Then her serpentine hair rippled to life, fleshy green tendrils snaking their way under his chin and around his head, securing him firmly in place, and that was it.
Nate lost his shit—kicking and bucking in a wild fit of panic, barely even registering the Excalibur’s protests in his head. The gorgon Knight was impossibly strong. Strong and perfectly content, it seemed, to let his impotent rage play out. At least until she peeled him bodily off of the wall and slammed him back against it, just once, hard enough to leave the world swimming, yet as casually as if she were bopping a misbehaving child on the head.
His struggles ceased of their own accord.
He’d never felt so vulnerable in his life.
“Osaia shida de Emrys, ploondo,” she said. Her voice was strong and resonant, and entirely too musical for such a brutally strong being—a faint, tremulous purr humming beneath every word.
“I don’t…” Nate tried to shake his head, and found it quite firmly pinned between her forearm and hair serpents. His feet weren’t even touching the deck anymore. “I don’t understand, but—But my friends, the ones who were with me back on the ground, they’re…”
He searched her alien face, trying to ascertain if she understood, or if she’d even care.
“We need to go back,” he said, as firmly as he could with his windpipe half-crushed beneath her forearm. “They’re in danger. You need to turn this ship around and—”
She cut him off with a short, sharp hiss, and an extra jerk of pressure at his throat. “Osaia shida de Emrys?”
“Don’t… understand…” Nate wheezed through his collapsing airway, racking his brain for what she wanted, what had brought her to McClanahan’s.
What had led them to his friends once he’d been snatched up.
“—t’s your fault,” he gasped, eyes widening. “—ur fault they…”
A soft hiss escaped her, and she dropped him to the deck so suddenly that his legs buckled, and he had to thrust himself back against the wall to keep from falling over. The gorgon Knight was already stalking away from him.
“Hey,” he wheezed after her, straightening, desperate to stop her—right until his eyes fell on the open cell exit just past her, and he found the opportunity he’d been looking for.
He lunged forward, thinking to shove past her, hoping the damned cell might just automatically close her in behind him once he had. She flicked a hand toward him before he’d made it two steps, and an invisible troglodan punched him straight in the chest. That, or a pulse cannon maybe. It hardly seemed to matter as he hit the back wall with a breathless thud and crumpled to the floor, balled up around his throbbing insides.
“Osaia shida de Emrys,” came her resonant voice, even slower this time.
When he managed to raise his head enough to see her, she crouched down and, with a deliberation that suggested she were speaking with a small child, raised a hand and tapped one long finger to the side of her head, where there appeared to be something like an ear orifice beneath her swirling hair. Listen carefully, the gesture seemed to say.
He wished he could’ve found the resolve to sit back up, or least tell her to shove it. Seeing that he lacked either, though, she began to speak again.
He gasped as the words came to him.
“What has happened to the Merlin, human?”
He could’ve sworn he still heard the alien tongue like a dissonant chord beneath the words, but there they were in coherent English, too. Had she done that? Or had he just understood gorgon-speak?
If you wish to take credit for my endeavors at translating through a millennium of drift, then yes. Well done, Nathaniel.
He thought of the troglodan in the brig, and the fact that no one else seemed to have understood it when it’d called him a spotted runt and told him to go fist himself. Ex’s doing too, no doubt. He hadn’t had time to think about it then. The intent stare of the gorgon Knight in front of him suggested he didn’t have time now, either.
“I don’t know,” he croaked. He worked a pinch of moisture into his parched mouth, and tried again. “I don’t know where he went. He… left me in that town back there, the day after he…”
He hesitated, suddenly not sure how much to tell her. It occurred to him that, if she was looking for the Merlin, his limited intel might be the only thing of value he possessed right that moment. It also occu
rred to him that there’d probably be little reason for her not to kill him and take the Excalibur once he’d coughed that intel up.
“How about this?” he said, trying not to wince as he pushed himself up to a sitting position against the wall. “Help me find my friends, and I’ll tell you everything I know about the Merlin.”
He searched her alien face for any glint of intent or reaction, wondering idly if gorgon culture were as steeped as humanity in the art of deceit and misdirection. He didn’t know. Couldn’t read a single hint of her static expression.
“Aren’t the Excalibur Knights all supposed to be on the same team, here?” he added.
That got a reaction, at least. A twitch of the lips and a flicker of serpentine hair that, while completely foreign, seemed to carry an air of disgust or condescension, judging by the way she turned to leave.
“Please,” he croaked, before he could stop himself. He hated how pathetic it sounded. “Please, my friends are out there, and they’re in trouble, and—Hey!”
She wasn’t stopping.
“You can’t just walk away!” he cried at her back. “It’s your fault the trogs found them!”
She kept walking. Didn’t care.
“You’re supposed to be a Knight, goddammit!”
She paused in the opening. Paused and turned to face him with the kind of slow, heavy deliberateness that made him think he might’ve just spoken his last words. Those electric blue eyes locked onto his. He didn’t breathe.
“You wish to speak of fault?” the gorgon finally asked, her voice flat of affect as she pointed to the deck at Nate’s feet. “First observe the consequences of your own failure, human.”
And with that, the deck disappeared beneath his feet.
32
In Flames
It was only an illusion, Nate realized, as he hit the wall with a strangled yelp, slapping desperately for some handhold only to find that he was in fact not falling through the open deck, straight down to the breathtaking sphere of ocean blue and swirling white cloud below. Earth, he registered. He was looking down at Earth, the black, star-speckled void of space stretching out for eternity all around where the walls had just been—where he could still feel them now.
The entire cell had shifted into some kind of immersive display mode, feeding from cameras on the outer ship hull, maybe, or maybe just showing some pre-recorded footage.
“Hello?” he called, but if the gorgon Knight was still there, she didn’t answer.
I believe she wishes for you to observe.
Nate looked down at the blue planet, not really sure what other choice he had. As if in response to his gaze, the view began to zoom in and in, and further still, until he finally registered the true scene he was looking down on. His stomach clenched at the sight.
It was just as bad as what the Merlin had shown him. Worse.
Dark smoke seemed to be billowing from half the planet, pouring from every one of the dozen or more hotspots of the thin red triangles that covered the display, complete with fine lines of alien script. There must’ve been hundreds of those tiny triangles scattered across the planet—each and every one of them demarcating another huge troglodan ship, Nate realized as the view continued zooming. Just like the ones that’d hit State College.
He could only stare in silent, abject horror as the floor continued zooming, further than seemed optically possible, honing in on one cluster of red triangles on the eastern US coast. New York, he dimly noted, as the destruction telescoped into focus. Nate’s eyes traced unbelievingly from the gaping ruins of collapsed bridges to the rushing streaks of fighter jets, soaring onto the scene only to go up in tiny blossoms of flame as the trog ships opened fire.
He saw the anthill view of troglodan foot soldiers moving through the streets, blasting away indiscriminately at fleeing civilians and whatever ground forces had managed to amass. The display zoomed even further, the video feed flooding up to cover the cell walls, too, until Nate found himself standing on one of those streets, awash in the smoke, and the screams, and chaotic sounds of fighting. Surrounded by shattered glass, and burning cars in the streets. Wide-eyed people everywhere, running for their lives. Parents clutching their children. Well-dressed businessmen and street punks alike, all falling over one another to flee, spilling through the lines of law enforcement and military outfits fighting desperately to protect them. Fighting helplessly.
So many people running for their lives.
So many not making it.
He didn’t realize he’d fallen to his knees until the feed cut out, and he found himself back on the pristine deck of the gorgon ship, staring helplessly at the gorgon Knight.
So much destruction. So much death.
And for what? For the Beacon? For him?
“I don’t understand,” he heard himself say.
“No,” she said quietly, hair swaying back and forth. “I do not believe you do.”
It was only when she turned to leave that he registered she was already outside the cell, and that he was only seeing her because the walls had gone transparent.
“My friends,” he sputtered.
“May well perish.” She paused, serpentine hair lying flattened and still. “Might well have done so already.” She turned to face him with that cold, electric blue stare. “But if you truly think their lives more significant than the tens of thousands you have already failed, you are welcome to pray to the Lady for mercy.”
Nate’s voice was small. Pitiful. “Will she hear me?”
The gorgon only stared at him another few seconds, seeming to wonder the same thing. Then she turned and was gone, and he was alone, mind’s eye seared with the afterimages of a burning New York, the gorgon Knight’s words settling like slow lead sinkers on his soul.
Perhaps you should consider the positive aspects of this development, Ex said, some time later. It had probably been an hour or so since Nate had finally given up on his half-hearted attempts to find a way out of the cell and resigned himself to a long and desolate lie down on the hard deck. I believe you might call it a ‘silver lining.’
Nate only stared at the spotless white ceiling with unseeing eyes, reflecting that he had no idea if his best friends were alive or dead, and wondering what the hell the Lady and the Merlin had ever been thinking, pulling him into any of this.
He still didn’t have any good answers.
He couldn’t get the screams out of his head. Couldn’t stop seeing those burning cities, and hearing the frantic tones and the awful crunch of Marty’s final moments over and over again.
Not his final moments, he reminded himself.
It was sounding less convincing every time.
Why didn’t you tell me, Ex?
He wasn’t even sure exactly what he was asking, but Ex seemed to understand.
I did, little hobbit. More times than you can count. You were simply not ready to hear it. There was a thoughtful pause. Perhaps it is not your fault.
Not my fault? Nate sat up, waiting for the punchline. What the hell do you mean, it’s not my fault?
Well, given the way events have unfolded… That is to say, ahh…
For once, Ex seemed lost for words.
Are you… Are you giving up on me?!
Before Ex could confirm or deny the allegation, a motion drew Nate’s attention to the far side of the room, where the gorgon Knight had reappeared for the first time in over an hour. She strode confidently across the deck, headed straight for the aperture they’d initially boarded through at the center of the room. The thing dilated as she approached, coming alive with a portal of shimmering green energy.
“What’s happening out there?” Nate called. “What are you doing?”
The only reply was the hum and hiss of what sounded like the ventral hull parting beneath the aperture. The gorgon Knight dropped through the hazy green barrier and plunged from the ship without a word, back down to Earth, he could only assume by the muted sounds of whipping atmosphere that trickled in through
the opening. The hull hummed closed below, and Nate leaned back against his transparent wall, thinking he might rather be dead and recycled for his juicy Excalibur parts instead of subject to this demoralizing game of Shut Up and Wait with the knowledge of tens of thousands of casualties hanging on his shoulders.
Try the node again. Please.
Still offline, Ex said, almost immediately. Then, more hesitantly: It may yet self-reassemble, though. Provided the destruction wasn’t complete.
Nate sank into the wall, trying not to think about just how high the chances of that were and, when that failed, looking helplessly around for some distraction.
At least he wasn’t staring at a blank white wall anymore.
Compared to the grimy, horror-show innards of the troglodan ship, the gorgon ship’s loading bay was a veritable five-star resort. The dark gray decks and white walls were all spit-shine clean, and there was a surprising amount of greenery around the place. Every horizontal surface, and even some of the vertical ones, seemed to be home to some manner of vine, shrub, flower, or vaguely alien something. He wasn’t even sure words like flower were technically accurate, given that he was probably looking at greenery from another planet, but it wasn’t as if that actually mattered while the planet was burning beneath his useless ass.
A few times, he’d thought he heard voices and activity in the distance, and even now, he could definitely feel the ship moving through gradual maneuvers despite the fact that the gorgon Knight had gone groundside. Whether that meant there were others of her kind aboard, Nate wasn’t sure. He supposed it also could’ve been robot AIs, or remote control via her own Excalibur, or allies from another alien species.
Hell, they already had space ogres and Lady Medusa the gorgon. Maybe it was the freaking Minotaur or the Big Bad Wolf flying the ship. Maybe the universe had just gotten lazy and started drawing these things straight out of the mythology books.
A logical conclusion, if you begin with the ridiculous assumption that you and your people are, as you might say, “the center of the universe,” and that humans actually created any of those mythos.
The Eighth Excalibur Page 30