Resonant Abyss

by J. N. Chaney

  The rod continued to stutter as the ascent mechanism slowed, eventually bringing me to a halt just shy of a glowing panel.

  “You should see a control directly to your left, sir,” Lars said.

  “Directly to my left, as in a meter over my head?”

  There was a pause. “Ah. It does appear as if the ascent mechanism has delivered you a short distance below your intended target.”

  “Well, when you say it like that, it doesn’t seem so bad.”

  “I am pleased to be of service, sir.”

  I rolled my eyes and grabbed the rod with my left hand, hoping to relieve some of the weight tearing at right hand’s fingers.

  “All you need to do is press the Open button located in the center of the panel, sir,” Lars instructed.

  “That’s all?” I asked sarcastically.

  “That’s all, sir.”

  “Lars, you do understand that I’m hanging a meter below the panel, right?” I could feel my arms already beginning to shake. This wasn’t good.

  “But aren’t you able to pull yourself up on the rod? I have previously calculated your arm length to be one meter, which means—”

  “I know what I need to do, pal! And it’s way harder than you think it is.”

  “Ah. I see. Should I stop speaking to give you time to concentrate?”

  “That would be considerate, yes.”

  “Very well.”

  And, with that, Lars went quiet. If that’s all it takes, I need to hang over pits more often.

  First, I had to re-secure my strap over the rod. More than likely, my arms would give out after slapping the button, which meant I needed a safety net. I just hoped the strap and the MX090 would hold.

  The rifle was currently resting against my hip, strap wedged between my neck and right bicep. I shifted all my weight to my left hand, and then quickly reached down with my right, grabbed the strap, and raised it over my head toward the peg. I slid it over the tip and made sure the strap made it toward the wall several centimeters before my left hand gave out.

  My body slumped on top of the rifle, catching me under my right armpit. I threaded my left arm through the strap, then gave myself a quick breather as I tried to get my speeding heart rate under control.

  “How you doing up there, Flint?” Rachel asked.

  “Oh, you know, just hanging out, enjoying the view” I replied.

  “That bad?”

  “Worse.”

  “You almost done?”

  I glanced up at the console. “I sure hope so.”

  “Okay, because you might want to hurry it up a little. Looks like another few overseers have shown up.”

  “More?” I asked. “Lars, why didn’t you tell me?”

  “You asked me to let you concentrate, sir.”

  I couldn’t blame him there.

  “These guys look pissed, Flint,” Rachel added. “We can see each other through the reinforced window ports in the gate. I’m guessing their codes aren’t working for opening the door, and I highly doubt they like what they’re seeing with the miners and our weapons.”

  “I could see how that might piss them off,” I replied.

  “Also, Monty’s probably less than a minute from planting the grenades.”

  “Which gives you roughly three more minutes before things get interesting,” Lars said.

  “This isn’t interesting enough for you, Lars?” I asked.

  “I’m just saying—”

  “I get it, pal.” I sighed, then looked up at the panel. “Rachel, even if I get this barricade open on my first or second try, I’m doubtful I’m going to get back down in time.”

  “Oh really?” she asked.

  “I might have an alternative means of descent,” Lars interjected.

  I tilted my head. “Somehow, I really don’t like the sound of that, buddy.”

  “Then let’s save it for after you accomplish the primary task.”

  “Sounds good.” I looked up at the console again and focused on the glowing green Open button. My arms were still trembling—I wasn’t certain if it was from muscle fatigue or plain old nerves. Either way, I felt like I only had one crack at this. I swallowed, took several quick breaths like an athlete psyching himself up for a play, and reached both hands toward the metal rod overhead. As soon as my fingers wrapped around it and I felt my body come off the rifle, I pulled myself up in a sharp, energy-filled thrust that brought my shoulders even with the peg. Then I extended my left hand up as far as it would go and focused on pressing the button with my index and middle fingers.

  Tap.

  As soon as my fingers bounced off the box, I knew I’d missed. Gravity took over. My right elbow extended, and my bodyweight snapped my arm straight. I heard the strap zip over the rod’s tip and suddenly the rifle was traveling down my legs. I flexed my left foot just enough to catch the strap on my toe before the weapon went tumbling down the chute.

  “Son of a bitch!” I yelled.

  “Are you okay, Flint?” Rachel asked.

  “No!”

  “Sir, based on the pulsing audio I’m picking from inside your ear canal, I estimate that your—”

  “Shut up!”

  There I was, hanging from my right hand, weapon dangling from my left boot, and I still had a button to press a meter overhead.

  “I really need a drink,” I said, teeth clenched. The sweat in my palm wasn’t making this any easier. My fingers were slipping. Suddenly, the chute started vibrating. But it wasn’t just the shaking that startled me—it was the sound. An otherworldly moan echoed through the cavity as if the entire mine was going to collapse.

  “What was that?” Rachel asked in a startled tone. So I wasn’t the only one who’d felt it.

  “My sensors are picking up a significant energy surge from somewhere deep in the mines, Miss Fontaine,” Lars said.

  “The buried starship?” I asked.

  “No, sir. Much deeper.”

  For whatever reason, all I could think about was the phrase “monsters of the deep.” Of course, I had no reason to believe any of these miner’s myths. The easiest explanation was some sort of mine subterranean eruption. We were, after all, deep enough that the volcanic activity was inevitable. But that didn’t sound like any volcanic activity I’d ever heard of. We needed to get out of here, and fast.

  “Rachel?”

  “Yeah, Flint?”

  “If I don’t make it through this, just make sure you get everyone out. Kill Ozzie. And take care of Tiny.”

  “Flint—”

  “Promise?”

  I could hear the tremor in her voice. “I promise, Flint.”

  “Thanks. Here goes nothing…”

  21

  I put every last bit of energy into launching myself toward the peg, left arm extended toward the control panel. I willed my fingertips toward the Open button and watched in relief as I then touched it. A bright green indicator illuminated and a klaxon sounded a few meters overhead. I’d done it.

  I tried to ease my body back down on my right arm, knowing I wouldn’t be able to endure another jerking fall. I even managed to get my left hand around the top of my right hand’s grip. But my fingers were too tired and sweaty. As soon as my full weight came to bear on the peg, my arms snapped tight and my hands slipped off.

  The sense of freefall that fluttered in my gut sent a wave of panic to my brain that all but paralyzed me. I caught my breath, reaching for anything that might stop me from my imminent doom. But there was nothing around me. I tumbled away from the blinking green light overhead and saw the soft glow of the RTV port hundreds of meters beneath.

  I’d heard of people surviving near death experiences and recalling their last thoughts or last words. I thought it strange that I would even think about this while plummeting to my death. But I did. And, contrary to whatever the skeptics had said—myself one of them—I actually did have a last thought. Two, in fact.

  The first was, “Lars, you son of a bitch.”
r />   The second was, “I hope Rachel can do this without me.”

  Eh, who was I kidding—there was a third, which was, “Ahhhhhg!”

  I actually heard my own blood curdling shriek bouncing off the chute’s walls as I plummeted to my death. The phenomena was a cruel twist of fate that was shared only by those who died falling down pits in the middle of mine shafts. I wondered if there was a special club in the afterlife for people who died this way, where we could share horror stories of hating heights and hearing ourselves scream all the way down. Maybe we did so over cold beers, using our empty bottles to mimic the sound of our pitiful cries.

  Suddenly, I felt my body begin to slow. For a split second, I thought it was the air resistance just before impact. But as I rolled around and faced the bottom, I saw that I was still a hundred meters from the ground.

  “Flint?” I heard Rachel yell over comms. I thought she’d said it several times, but I couldn’t be sure.

  As my body slowed more, something was physically resisting me, but I couldn’t see it. Maybe I was hallucinating. Or maybe this was the whole “everything slows down before you die” thing. Slowing down even more, I heard a strange sound emanating from the RTV at the bottom of the chamber.

  “Don’t worry, sir,” Lars said over comms. “I’ve got you.”

  “Flint, what the hells is going on?” Rachel asked, her voice strained.

  “I’m… I’m okay, I think,” I replied, trying to calm Rachel’s fears.

  “I can confirm that Mr. Reed is, indeed, okay,” Lars added.

  My body was descending at a less than a meter per second—what I would consider a gentle float toward the vehicle’s roof. “Lars, are you… is the—”

  “I’ve employed the RTV’s upper repulsor panels in an attempt to deflect your body’s inertia from impact on the mine’s floor,” Lars said.

  “Attempt?” I asked, the wonder more than apparent in my voice. “It’s way more than an attempt, pal! You’ve… you saved me!”

  “I’m happy to be of service, sir.”

  Feeling like a flightless bird who’d suddenly experienced flight, I tried moving my arms and legs in an awkward attempt to control my descent or reposition myself. My limbs, however, were pressed up and away from my body, pushed by the all-embracing force of the repulsor panels as Lars slowly lowered me to the RTV’s roof. Then, as I neared the vehicle—perhaps only a meter away—my body left the power field. Or Lars turned it off. Either way, I fell the remaining distance and landed hard on top of the pod.

  “What was that?” I heard a voice yell. I peeked over the edge of the RTVs roof to see two thugs looking my direction.

  “Sir,” Lars said, “if you are thinking of engaging the enemy from your current position, might I remind you that we need each RTV to remain intact and operational.”

  “So no shooting from up here, is what you’re telling me,” I whispered.

  “Precisely, sir.”

  No sooner had I said the words than I realized I didn’t have anything to shoot with anyway. My MX090 had fallen away at the top of the chute. “Dammit!” But I immediately regretted shouting the word.

  “Someone’s definitely over there,” one of the thugs said.

  I scanned the RTV’s roof but I only saw repulsor panels and layers of soot and debris.

  “I detect two overseers walking toward your position, weapons at the ready,” Lars said.

  “Copy that.” I pushed my body to slide off the far side, away from the overseers. Then I lowered myself to a place where I could safely fall the rest of the way to the ground. As soon as my feet touched down, I kissed my fingertips and touched the stone floor beneath me. “Hello, good looking.” I scanned the ground and then spied my MX090 about five meters away. “And hellooo, good looking!”

  “Who are you talking to, sir?” Lars asked.

  “My new best friend,” I replied.

  I scampered toward the weapon, picked it up, and hoped to gods it was intact. I noticed a large dent along the stock, and the grip was slightly bent, but the barrel looked straight. I wouldn’t know if it was fully functional until I tried firing it. “No time like the present,” I said. “Hey, Rachel?”

  “Yeah, Flint?”

  “Get ready to open the doors and engage the enemy.” I ran across a gap between the RTV and the cavern wall, taking up a position behind some equipment crates. As per Lars’s word of caution, the last thing I wanted was the enemy firing into the RTVs.

  “We’re ready when you are,” Rachel said.

  “I’m gonna draw their fire. It should get their attention off the gate and give you time to open it and flank them. We’ll squeeze them from both sides.”

  “Copy,” she said.

  “Go all in,” I added. “We only get one shot at this. Maximum violence of force.”

  “Just shut up and let’s get going already!”

  I smiled. “Yes, ma’am.”

  I leaned around the far edge of the crates and sighted in on the nearest goon. They’d been focused on the RTVs. In that split second before I squeezed the trigger, I came face to face—once again—with the fact that I was about to fire on a human being who hadn’t first fired on me. Some deep part of me said it was cold blooded. It was contrary to my police training. And it was unethical. But the louder part of me reasoned that these were very bad men who’d already killed innocents, and—if given the chance—would end me without a second thought.

  Even if I were to announce my presence, as per department training, it would eliminate the element of surprise, most likely killing me, and therefore placing Rachel, Monty, and the miners in greater jeopardy. If I was at fault, I’d rather it be said that I did too much killing to keep people free than not enough while letting everyone die.

  I squeezed the trigger.

  A single round spat from the assault rifle and struck the first man in the head. The ultrahigh speed round turned his cranium into a cloud of red mist and bone fragments. I’d forgotten just how deadly this weapon was. Before the corpse hit the deck, I aim at the second man, choosing to aim center mass instead of the riskier headshot. The thug looked in my direction, but not before I fired two rounds at his chest. Without body armor, the bullets burst out the back of his chest, blowing blood and organs onto the stone.

  Suddenly, weapons fire erupted from back toward the barracks. Bullets pinged off the stone around me, dozens more smacked the crates.

  “Open it up!” I ordered Rachel.

  I heard her give the command, and within seconds, sounds of Oragga’s weapons joined the firefight. In the split second that I sensed confusion among our assailants—the gunfire stopping and no longer hitting my position—I popped up and acquired the first thug I saw. As I squeezed the trigger, I noticed a hailstorm of fire pouring from the barracks. I only managed one shot before I saw the remaining bodies hit the ground.

  “Cease fire!” Rachel yelled. “Cease fire!” Apparently, getting the miners to stop pumping rounds into the overseers was harder than it appeared. I couldn’t blame them—and neither would Rachel. But getting them to conserve ammunition was important. The gunshots ceased after Rachel’s third order to stop.

  “Think they’re dead?” I asked Rachel as I stood from behind my crates.

  “Hard to tell through all the pulp,” Rachel replied. I saw her step into the tunnel.

  “Down here,” I said, waving at her. She saw me and nodded. “Let’s start sending small groups to the RTVs. Get your team watching down those far tunnels.”

  “On it,” Rachel replied.

  “Lars?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Try and give us a heads up when you see more thugs coming our way.”

  I’d barely finished the statement when another sizable tremor sent a shudder through the tunnel. Like the other, a strange sound accompanied it. Bits of stone showered down on my head.

  “Lars, pal?”

  “Yes, sir?”

  “Why don’t I think that was just a regular
old ground quake?”

  “Because the energy readings are not consistent with tectonic plate shifts or volcanic activity. Your natural senses are quite perceptive.”

  “Flint?” Rachel asked.

  “Go ahead.” I could see her helping a group of the weakest miners head toward the RTV port while the armed miners took up defensive positions on either side of the newly-formed caravan. “You wanna help these people get loaded?”

  “Will do. And, Lars?”

  “Yes, sir?”

  “What’s your best estimate on Monty? I don’t want the first RTV going up without that diversion in place.”

  “He should be on his way back down. My best estimate would be two minutes.”

  “And the blowback damage from the explosion should be minimal to the rest of the barracks, correct?”

  “Correct, sir. The appropriate term would be negligible.”

  “’Cause I was really in need of the correct term,” I replied with a snarky tone.

  “I’m pleased to be of such service, sir.”

  “I’m sure you are.”

  The first group of miners had arrived at the foremost RTV, so I began helping them up the loading ramp and into the pod. “Watch your step,” I repeated several times as the first thirty-five passengers squeezed into the car. Several of the injured and sick groaned as they were pushed into the tight space, but no one complained. Once the vehicle was nearly full, I picked the closest miner with a MX090 and ordered him inside. “I want you protecting them once you get to the surface.”

  “Understood, Mr. Flint,” the man said.

  “Find cover for these people, and then help the next RTVs unload. You should find yourself arriving at…” I paused and turned my head aside. “Hey, Lars? What’s above the chute?”

  “A maintenance warehouse, sir.”

  I looked back at the miner. “You’ll arrive in a warehouse. Wait for me to meet you, and then we’ll get you boarded on one of our starships.” I patted him on the shoulder and pressed the button to close the doors.