by Platt, Sean
Now, watching the shape at the end of the tunnel, Piper understood.
Meyer had never returned. Something else had.
He’d never betrayed them. Without even meaning to, Meyer had always helped them.
“I want Cameron to go with us,” she told the shape.
“What?” Christopher said from behind.
But Piper’s eyes stayed on the shape in the gloom. Meyer but not Meyer. Him but not him.
The shape nodded.
It understood. Of course it did.
On the wind, Piper heard, Wait.
Chapter Seventy-Four
Heather’s reaching hand struck something that felt like dirt or stone. She blinked. She was facing a wall dug out of something; that much was suddenly obvious.
She turned, still in the gloom and able to see almost nothing. But then she saw Meyer — not in front of her as she’d thought, but off to her right, in some sort of chamber. The tunnel through the black was wrong. Now her inability to see made sense. She wasn’t mystically blind, with a clear passage through the phenomenon’s center. Now she couldn’t see because she was in a dark place, like a tomb. Or a crypt.
Meyer flicked on a tiny light. It cut a beam through the darkness, and Heather found herself staring into a starburst that threatened to blind her again.
“Heather?” he said.
But his voice was wrong.
“Who the hell is that?” Heather demanded.
The light flicked toward the holder’s face. It was Cameron Bannister. He looked the same as he had two years ago: still just as young, just as untidy in clothing and hair. She had a strange urge to turn away, embarrassed. She’d been so sure he’d been Meyer. Heather felt like her punctured heart was bleeding all over her sleeve.
“How did you get here?”
“I could ask you the same question,” Cameron replied.
“Not fair that you had a light. I was walking blind.”
Cameron seemed as disoriented as she felt. “It didn’t work before.” He shook his head, shining the penlight through the room. The walls were rock and filth. The air was stale — something Heather now realized she’d been smelling and tasting on the back of her tongue for a while. She’d been walking down. Zigzagging. Where Meyer had led, she’d followed.
Cameron was searching corners. There was a passageway behind her and one behind him. He shone his light into both. There was also a plinth of some sort in the room’s center. It looked almost like a fountain, but there was no water. Just a perfectly round, shallow basin.
“What are you looking for?”
“Did anyone pass you just now?” Cameron asked. “Did you feel anyone run by, up that passage?”
“No.” In truth, Heather felt like she was shedding a dream and barely trusted her feet. “Why?”
“I …” Cameron paused, probably unsure if he should continue. “I could have sworn there was someone ahead of me. I was following him.”
“Who?”
“It was hard to see, but …” A shake of the head. “I thought it was Viceroy Dempsey.”
Heather looked up. “Where are we?”
Cameron ran a hand over the rock wall. “I think we’re under the Apex.” He shone the light around again then located a small stone stage against the far wall, covered in otherworldly glyphs. Cameron had seen it before in a photo with a tablet computer leaning against it, proclaiming Device missing.
He moved closer.
“What?” Heather asked.
Cameron stooped. Ran his fingers across the stone. “I’ve seen this before.”
A pebble struck the floor to her left. Heather looked over then back to Cameron. Then there was another small plink, and she looked over again.
Cameron stood, and they approached the plinth. With the small depression in the center, like a fountain without water. A depression with a curious black shadow now sliding from it, its job of attracting their attention duly finished.
“What is it?” Heather asked.
Cameron reached into the satchel at his side.
“I have a guess,” he said.
Chapter Seventy-Five
“You were wrong about us, Raj,” the viceroy said.
Raj hurried to catch up. Meyer had a sickening walking pace. Every time Raj tried to reach him, the viceroy walked farther. He did it without precisely moving his legs. He just sort of sped away. Raj was getting tired of not being able to see him in the shadows.
“Wrong how?”
“I accepted you. You didn’t realize I did, but I did.”
“I know that. I know it, sir.” Raj could hear the sycophant slobber in his voice but didn’t try to fight it. Something big was obviously happening in Heaven’s Veil. First, the network virus, then the Apex powering up, followed by the arrival of another three motherships. Shuttles had been swarming nonstop. The Titans had streamed to the Apex, abandoning all pretense. Only Raj had been smart and loyal enough to hold his post then head toward the action. Only he had proved himself.
It was okay to beg a little. Flattery greased the world’s wheels. Maybe the universe.
“You were always loyal.”
“Of course, sir. Thank you, sir. Can you wait up?” Raj scuffled faster. He could barely see. The tunnel through the ink seemed to be sloping down. Turning. Headed somewhere. Somewhere privileged, probably, for the ceremony of Raj’s promotion.
Get your head straight, said an obnoxious, meddling voice inside his head. But Raj ignored it. Meyer had always talked to the Astrals with his mind. There was no question right now that Raj could hear them too. He could sense the alien mood. He could tell how single-minded they were. How agitated. Focused on an outcome that Raj couldn’t quite see. Yet. But there would be time for that.
You came here to turn them in, said the voice. But they’ve gotten away.
No, no they hadn’t. Raj was quite sure about what had happened. He’d come with his charges; the Astrals had seen it; the blackout had come and … and … well, Raj supposed the Astrals had taken them away. Just as Raj was being taken away under the cover of darkness. For his promotion to viceroy.
Snap out of it!
But Meyer’s voice, in Raj’s ears, was more compelling.
“You’re a good soldier, Raj,” Meyer said. “You did whatever you were asked to do.”
“Yes, sir.”
“And even when you weren’t asked, you did what was right. Because you have superb instincts.”
“Thank you, viceroy.”
“Shooting me, for instance.”
Raj waited for more, but the viceroy kept walking, his back turned. There was no irony. Raj believed his sincerity. Why wouldn’t he? His head was flying. Ever since the fog’s descent, Raj had felt so much better about everything. He’d heard others fighting, but Raj didn’t feel like fighting. He felt like making peace. He felt like he’d finally done right in the eyes of those that mattered.
“You sicced the Reptars on Piper. I didn’t like that. But it showed your mettle.”
“Sure.”
“You were always part of the machine, Raj. Always loyal, well past the point of logic.”
Raj squinted. That didn’t sound right. But then again, he still felt good. Ever since the fog had entered his lungs. “Thanks?” he said.
“Goddamn right, thanks,” Meyer replied.
Meyer stopped. Raj came closer. He still couldn’t see the viceroy’s features well enough to read them, but he closed half the distance. Felt Meyer’s approval radiating like a furnace.
“To start a fire, you need a spark. You know that, Raj.”
“Of course.”
“You can lay out all the kindling and dry leaves and grass in the world, but the fire won’t start until the right spark is applied. That was you. You were the spark.”
“I was?”
“I have to thank you.”
“Okay. You’re welcome.” But Raj didn’t understand. Sparks? Fire? He was here for a promotion. He was here to be lauded, prais
ed, lifted up.
“If you hadn’t shot me, I might not have been forced to reconsider my priorities. If you hadn’t shot me, Raj, there might never even have been a Pall. It was your selfless intervention that forced me to reconsider. You were the spark. Reinvention is good for the soul, so to speak. And when I learned about Trevor? Well, I could accept it.”
“Trevor?”
Meyer nodded. Put his hand on Raj’s shoulder.
“I need you to do something for me, Raj. You’re the only one I trust. The only one loyal enough to do it.”
“What’s that?”
“Nothing much,” Meyer said. “Just watch a man turn a key.”
Chapter Seventy-Six
At first, Christopher thought it was dusk. It was the middle of the day, but it had been dark for so long that he felt his equilibrium slip, the way waking to afternoon light upsets an early riser.
Piper was somewhere ahead, and for what felt like hours (but was probably on the order of minutes), she’d been leading them forward. As far as Christopher could tell, Lila was as blind as he was. But judging by Piper’s tone and the confidence of her touch, she could see. Maybe not well, but definitely better than him.
By the time Christopher saw the first light, it was like the closing of a day that had never arrived. There were a mile deep shadows. Black and white shapes that he couldn’t make out. There seemed to be an eye of light in the distance, dim and barely there. They walked toward it, and as they did Christopher could see Piper’s shape in the lead. Lila’s gait picked up; her frame rose from its beaten posture. It was as if they were emerging from an impossible midnight, and even Lila’s worry abated as it lifted.
After a while, there seemed to be something farther ahead, near the scant light. Another shape. Maybe several other shapes. It took forever to reach them, but they finally did.
The night fled. And fled. And fled. Slowly, Christopher found he could see daylight overhead. Could see the land around him in patches. And looking back, he could see the spherical shadows of four motherships above Heaven’s Veil, now hundreds of yards distant.
In the light, there was a long shape, like a building.
A small girl ran forward. Lila recognized her before Christopher did; the girl leaped into her arms. Lila purred and cooed, filling the air with embarrassing noises of comfort. Watching her, Christopher felt the last of the fog subside. In seconds, it was gone, and they were in the bright light of midday, the fog a memory Christopher wasn’t sure he’d had.
He looked up. A man with serious bug eyes was looking at him through glasses. Beside him was a teenage girl, her black hair in a ponytail.
“Who are you?” the man demanded.
Christopher, feeling asleep, shook his head and looked to Lila, who showed no signs of recognition. Her focus was on Clara, whom she still held like the little girl she was.
Piper hugged the bug-eyed man. He made no acknowledgement. They were all standing outside some sort of a bus-sized RV, and it looked like those who’d been here had been for a while. There were chairs along one side, and the awning was down for shade that Christopher, until just recently, couldn’t possibly imagine ever needing again.
Piper stepped back from the man, who looked at her as if she was crazy, but he was willing to oblige if he must.
Christopher looked at Piper for an introduction, but it was Clara, in Lila’s arms, who did the honors. “This is Uncle Charlie. He’s the one who told Uncle Cameron what to do with the key.”
Charlie looked at Clara then at Piper.
“I did what?” he said.
Chapter Seventy-Seven
Cameron’s hands froze. He held the circular stone — the starter for Thor’s Hammer, supposedly, but apparently one key fit many locks — perfectly still. He’d been about to lay it in the plinth’s matching depression now that the last of the blackness had fled, but something made him stop with a sense like danger.
In his mind, he saw cartoon images of sprung booby traps: snares snatched from the ground, heavy rocks falling on a trigger, poison darts shot and walls beginning to squeeze inward. All were only symbols, but the meaning came through clearly, along with words as obvious as if they’d arrived in a letter.
Clara’s voice, as he’d heard it in his dream. As he’d heard it when they’d shared minds in the cell. It had all made sense back then; Clara was what they’d returned to Heaven’s Veil to find. She wasn’t Thor’s Hammer, but the girl knew his mind well enough to help him pinpoint its hiding spot, where Benjamin, a lifetime ago, had buried the knowledge in Cameron’s young cortex.
A historical joke. A doozy.
Obvious, Cameron felt certain, once Clara helped him find the memories.
Charlie says that Benjamin thought turning the key would call them. That once it’s turned, you’ll be trapped.
Cameron wasn’t sure how to respond. The communication seemed to be one way. Whatever in the fog had led him and Heather to this chamber, it had done so for a reason. Each of them had a purpose. Cameron had seen the stone’s depression and assumed this was his, as carrier of the key. It would start some sort of machinery. It might destroy the Apex.
But it would call them. They would come, and take the key.
Charlie says the same key does both things, and that you will need it again. You can’t let them catch you or they’ll take it. You can’t let them find you here after you turn it.
How do you know this? Cameron tried to ask.
I ran out to ask, silly.
Cameron stared at Heather. He felt his mouth hanging open, his eyes wide. He thought she’d tell him to get on with it. She didn’t seem to have any more of an idea how they’d reached the sub-Apex chamber than Cameron, and she was probably in a hurry to flee.
“I heard her too,” she said.
“I thought—”
“Live with Clara long enough, and you stop asking questions.”
Cameron’s head perked up. Something had moved beyond Heather’s shoulder, down the passageway. Someone was coming. The sounds were faint, but Cameron could swear he heard someone talking. To himself, maybe.
“What do we—” Heather said.
Cameron realized who was coming.
He dropped the stone key into the depression. Putting both hands atop the thing and pressing down, he turned it to engage the tabs on its sides, the way it seemed suddenly obvious that the thing must work.
The chamber’s light had been dim. Now, the Apex strobing above seemed to percolate down the passages, sending blue into the chamber, flashing off the stone walls like a sapphire disco.
As if the energy hadn’t ramped down, but up.
As if the key, turned in the plinth, had shoved the giant antenna station into overdrive.
Chapter Seventy-Eight
Nathan stopped when the mostly opaque mist began to throb in a sickly blue light. His guide had disappeared; he’d been leading Coffey and whoever else was following down a corridor that felt increasingly like a trap. He’d lost his bearings entirely. At first, it had seemed like he was headed toward the Apex, but he’d gone too far. He’d gone down, up, sideways, then down and up again. It felt like circles, and for a while Nathan thought he might have been following a loop — around the edge of amassed Titans to a more advantageous location above. But now it didn’t seem that way at all.
He turned and realized he could see Coffey behind him. Either the fog was beginning to lift, or the light was managing to penetrate what sunlight couldn’t.
“It the Apex,” Coffey said. Nathan couldn’t see much of her face but saw enough to know his usually staunch lieutenant was terrified. There were shapes behind her; the rest of the soldiers must have followed. But if any of them thought they were in charge right now, they surely had another thing coming. They were fish in a barrel. Soon, the unseen force would start shooting.
“Where is it?” Nathan looked forward, backward, to each side. The passage walls were still mostly opaque. Muted blue flashes were coming mainly from
each end and above. There was no way to tell the source, diffusing through the mist like light and concealing its origin.
“We were headed toward it,” Coffey said.
“We’ve walked too far. My sense of direction is fucked.” He looked backward, suddenly sure it was behind him. But he’d been turned in a maze; he was entirely uncertain. “It could be back there or straight ahead. I don’t know in this soup. All I know is it either got a lot brighter just now, or this shit’s finally breaking up.” He looked around. “Heather. Where did Heather go?”
“Lost her right away. I thought she’d be ahead.”
“I could hear her mouth.”
“I don’t know, Nathan.”
Another blue flash. And another. Goddamn if the things didn’t look stronger by the round. It reminded Nathan of an overheated coal, glowing bright as bellows blew oxygen across it.
“It’s that way.” He pointed.
“I’d be happy just to get out.”
“That’s noble of you.”
“We stopped having any control over what came next a while ago. We’re being led. Frankly, we don’t have much of a choice. If something wants to fuck us, then we’re fucked. Sir.”
“So your weak will is something thrust upon you, not something—”
Another blue flash, this one clearly from behind. The mist was thinning, no doubt. Nathan could see shapes moving around him: probably Reptars and Titans, somehow held at bay, soon to be visible — and the Andreus clan visible to them.
“It’s this way.”
“Nathan, I think we were being led away from—”
But Nathan could see it now.
The pyramid’s gleaming blue glass, now a few blocks behind.
And nothing else outside its front door.
Chapter Seventy-Nine
There was a circular, rotating skin of thin stone sliding over the top of the plinth’s key. It was closing the thing in, hiding it. Cameron had a moment of panic, but then saw the key’s far edge peeking out from the rotating skin’s other side. Emerging. But far too slowly.