by DG SIDNA
We rush in.
There are scorch marks everywhere in the giant domed hall that had previously reminded me of a cathedral. The bodies of several slain constables and ministry guards lay on the floor, along with many of those of the enemy. Three or four of the great marble statues that encircle the room, the seven pioneering agents of time, have been shot to pieces, some now resting on their sides on the floor. The room no longer feels like a sacred place of worship.
It feels like a tomb.
There are the two halls facing us, the two wings of the building, East and West. Either leads to the Chronos Imperium, that mysterious chamber under Parliament Hill, built by Jonathan Baker centuries ago.
Captain Bashir splits his forces in two. He takes one hall with half his marines while Careena, Rhoda, and I take the other hall with the remainder. We follow behind. Careena is armed with Old Bessie. Me, only with my wits.
At first the hallway is quiet, peaceful almost. It's the same corridor I was brought down before. There are large alcoves to my left with gods and goddesses of antiquity displayed. Further ahead are columns on the right side, opening into that meditative, cave-like courtyard with the skylight sun.
It's from that garden the gunfire erupts. The three of us take cover in an alcove as the marines return fire. It's impossible to tell what's happening as bits of stone and dust explode from every direction. After a moment, the noise and chaos dies down.
Careena peaks into the hallway. "Come, ladies."
No one is left moving, neither in the hallway nor in the courtyard adjacent. Either the marines we were with continued ahead without us, or they're all dead. Given the number of bodies on the floor, I'm very afraid it's the latter.
We're not far from the Chronos Imperium now. I grab Careena's shoulder. "What do we do once we get there?"
"I really don't know," she says honestly.
We come to the large foyer fronting the chamber, that strange dark space called the Ananke, designed by Soolin who placed two white, geometric trees to either side of the chamber's entrance. I don't see anyone, but I hold out hope that at any moment we'll encounter Bashir and his marines approaching from the other wing of the building. Perhaps the Red Man's forces have already been neutralized. Perhaps we've already won.
Careena decides not to wait and find out. We follow her into the foyer, into the open, heading toward the doorway of the Chronos Imperium, which glows with gold light from within like a portal.
That's when everything goes wrong.
There's a blast out of the darkness from the other side of the room and half the wall near us explodes. I'm thrown to the ground as bits of stone and marble rain down. Careena returns fire, but I can see almost nothing of what's happening. Smoke stings my eyes. I hear Careena scream. Everything goes silent.
I'm still on the floor, waiting for my ears to stop ringing and for the smoke to clear when I see the figure approaching. All I can make out in the fog and filthy air is a silhouette; huge, fearsome, hovering over me. But a silhouette is all I need. I'd know the shape of this foul devil anywhere.
The Red Man.
He takes another step toward me, his hefty frame lumbering like a giant. I can see his eyes now, smeared with dark mascara, the intent in them all too clear. He means to extinguish my life.
I grab a shard of marble and clutch it like a dagger. In response, his knotted hands pull free a blade from his belt. No sound is made in the act. Another step forward and that red beard hangs over me like the pendulum of death.
His knife sweeps down.
THIRTY-FIVE
I expect my life to flash before my eyes, to relive cut scenes of my youth, brief as it was, in my mind's eye. That's how it always happens in the movies, after all. But before any of that can happen, a hand is on my shoulder and I'm skidding backwards across the floor.
The Red Man's dagger strikes nothing.
And in my place now stands Rhoda al-Khansa.
As her nemesis looks up in surprise, she throws her first punch, which lands squarely in his throat. He instinctively grasps for his windpipe. She strikes again, this time going for his knife, which flies out of his hand and vanishes into the darkness.
Her slight frame continues to deliver impossible shock waves of force. She breaks his nose, fractures his eye socket. She doesn't hold back, not this time, not after what he had done to her before. She reaches deep into her genetic code, into the part of her brain that is still human, and pulls forth the most feral shards of her ancient DNA.
There's a moment, as the Red Man staggers, where the two opponents lock eyes.
"You," the giant curses.
They hover like this for only a moment before he comes back at her. He's no stranger to pain and her attacks only momentarily caught him off guard. His swipes are fast and calculated. It takes every ounce of Rhoda's speed and concentration to avoid being completely pummeled. Each lands horrible blows upon the other. But neither offers an inch of ground.
Behind me, lining the hallways of the Ministry of Temporal Affairs like a museum, are the statues to the gods of ancient fancy. But here, in this foyer, I watch as two authentic gods do battle, locked in mortal combat, the fate of humanity the prize in which to be awarded the victor.
The Red Man gets Rhoda by her arm and swings her skidding across the floor, into the Chronos Imperium chamber itself. He charges in after her. Before she can stand, he's on her, bringing down blows of terrible wrath. One, then another, then another.
He lifts her like a rag doll and throws her up against the computer terminals lining the wall. Sparks fly. He rakes her body over the consoles, the sharp edges ripping the flesh off her back. I flinch at the amount of blood left behind streaking across the computer screens.
He hurls her back to the ground, his rage and eagerness on full display as he rips a panel off a terminal, holding it in both hands over the Kheltic girl like a guillotine. Piercing her heart before was not enough. The only way to end her is to take off her head. The sharp edge of the panel is ready to do just that. A heavy foot on her chest holds her down helplessly.
I scream. But what can I do? This is not my fight. Every challenge these two warriors have ever overcome, every hardship and obstacle they've ever conquered; it has all led them to this moment, to stand against one another there, inside that mysterious chamber.
The Red Man seems to know this. It's visible in his eyes. Even though his face is bloody and busted, for the first time in many decades, he feels alive again. He feels purpose; something that was robbed from when he became an immortal being that could not be slain, a demon who could not be conquered.
Rhoda is the adversary he's sought his entire life.
Her death will be his greatest accomplishment.
Well, fuck that. His knife landed only a foot away. Part of me dreams of yanking it off the floor like Excalibur and plunging it into that pathetic hobgoblin's heart. Instead, I do the next best thing—I send it flying across the floor to Rhoda. She catches it just in time to deflect the sheet of metal coming down on her, slicing the Red Man's calf in the process.
He staggers back in pain—but now Rhoda is on her feet and she's armed. He's forced to use the metal panel like a shield, desperate as each of her strikes cause a flurry of sparks. In another instant he loses his grip and the panel goes skidding across the floor. Rhoda charges forward with his knife.
Knowing he's been defeated, he wills himself away, just as he had done on the Valeyard, jumping away in the same moment that Rhoda tackles him with the knife.
Coward, I scream!
Worse still, intertwined in that instant—both warriors are teleported away. To where I don't know. But Rhoda has been taken with him. She's gone and the chamber is quiet.
I'd worry—I'd worry that their battle is now destined to continue across time and space, across the heavens, like the ancient myths of gods locked in combat for all of eternity; but the truth is I know that she's already won. I know because left behind on the floor of the Chrono
s Imperium, discarded in the heat of battle, abandoned in the escape—is the Red Man's severed head.
"Freckles," someone coughs.
I turn. "Careena!"
I almost forgot about the old woman in the melee. She's sitting propped up against one of the fallen statues in the hallway we came down. Near to her are the lifeless bodies of two mercenaries she shot moments ago, each in a jumpvest. Such wicked technology. I'd burn it all if I could.
Her voice is weak as she tries to talk. I see her wound and am filled with sudden dread. I've seen this sort of wound once before, a glowing crater of black ash. Those tiny nanites are eating her away from the inside. And this time she doesn't have any fancy defenses to fight them off.
"I haven't much time," she whispers.
"We can save you."
"Not this time, deary. All things come full circle."
"You've cheated death before."
She touches my cheek. "Maybe I don't want to. Not anymore. At least now I can say it meant something."
My eyes tear up. "Careena..."
There is the echo of steps coming from down the other hall. I'm no longer so optimistic or naive as to believe it might be Captain Bashir and his marines come to save us. We crouch against the wall of our hallway, out of sight, obscured by a fallen statue of the goddess Parvati.
What I see I almost don't believe. Pairs of men and women, dressed in simple white tunics and brown slacks, each carrying a canvas bag of belongings on their shoulders. There must be around a hundred in all. A few mercenaries escort them.
On the faces of these men and women I see innocence, and no small amount of horror at the carnage they're forced to pass as they walk. They enter the Chronos Imperium without ever noticing us.
Looking back to Careena, her wound has already nearly doubled in size. Next to her is an empty eye dropper, the nanites she gave us before we left for Kryten. They'll slow the growth a little, but they won't save her.
"Who are they?" she asks of the men and women. She's too weak to look over the statue and see herself.
"I don't know," I tell her. "This is the end, isn't it, Careena?"
She takes my hands in hers. She speaks with great strain. "Do you remember once, freckles, that I told you we had an ace in the hole? I think it might be time we use it. Look, I need you to do something for me."
When she pulls her hands away, I realize she's place Hecate in my palm. I know what she wants. For how long I've known, I don't know. But I know. In a strange way, it feels like I've always known, that I've been running from this moment my whole life.
As children we believe the world can be easily divided between good and evil, between black and white, between noble people and bad people. But this moment, this is the grey in-between. This is the real world. The adult world. The world of only hard choices. Sometimes there are no good answers. There's only what's necessary.
"I can't do it," I tell her.
"Then you don't have to," she says. "You don't owe this world anything, deary. It took everything from you. And now it wants to take all that you have left. You can tell it to fork off. Heavens knows for a long time, I did."
She takes a deep, difficult breath and then continues. "But you won't do that. Because you're you. And I wish it wasn't like that. I'm sorry, freckles. I'm sorry this responsibility falls to you. I'm sorry for everything. I tried to protect you from this. I really did..."
"Careena..." I can't hold back my tears.
"You remind me of her, you know."
"Who?"
"My Samus. You would have liked her. She wasn't at all like me. So miserable. I wish you could have met her. But even we gods can't defy our destiny. Now go, luv. Go save this forking world, whether it deserves it or not."
I nod.
I stand.
I go confront my destiny.
THIRTY-SIX
The one hundred and eight mysterious newcomers have already filed into the Chronos Imperium. I slide along the wall of the darkened foyer to get closer to the chamber's entrance, but I'm forced to take cover behind one of the white trees standing at the entrance. A mercenary guards the doorway.
Still, I have a view into the chamber. I see the men and women in their white tunics and over those tunics are jumpvests, also painted white. Most are adults, though there are two little girls in the group.
I recall the man who betrayed Tegana to Patmos had two daughters, Bell and Doria; it was for their passage that he had sacrificed himself and sold out his planet. Were these his girls? Was Patmos the type of man to keep his word?
Who are these people?
What destination could be so important to them?
Where do they intend to go?
"Isabel."
I turn at the sound of my name; it's Story Beckett.
"Story! You're safe!" I'm immediately worried that the guard will have heard me, but then I remember that as long as I'm careful, I'm speaking to her only in my mind. A trick of the 31st Century.
"For now," she says.
"Where are you?"
"Not far. A few of us are in the mess hall in the west wing. We're trying to reactivate the building's security measures, or at least open the doors, but Patmos has a hacker tapped into the system. They've locked us in here."
"I can come get you out."
She shakes her head. "You won't have any more luck with the door than we do. And there's probably a guard down that way, regardless. Where's Smith?"
Until now I've refused to look behind me, to see what has become of my friend and mentor. But I can't help it now. I nod in Careena's direction.
All that remains is the woman's frumpy overcoat. She's been reduced to nothing, erased from existence. Not far from her are the bodies of the two men that killed her, one wearing a vest and the other not. I don't believe in Hell, but had I the power I would create one. Just so they could burn in it.
Story looks down. "I'm sorry, Isabel."
I don't say anything. There will be time enough for tears later. I've promised not to let Careena's death be in vain.
I look back toward the acolytes in white. "Story, who are they?"
"I don't know."
"Which one is Patmos?" I ask. There's an edge to my voice. "Tell me his name."
Did my question tip my hand? If Story knew what I was planning, would she attempt to stop me? Was she, like Soolin and the others of the ministry, so beholden to the institution she served that it had become a religion, the violation of which was unthinkable?
Unforgivable.
"I don't know that either," she tells me. "Assuming that's his real name, which is unlikely, there are 2.16 million men with that surname registered in the database. I would need more information. A first name. Or a planet of residence to cross-reference it with."
"Then you need to go in there," I tell her. "I need to hear what they're saying."
"It doesn't work that way. I can only hear what Hecate hears... unless."
"Unless what?" I ask.
"Soolin is in there," she says with some surprise. "I can use her communicator to let us hear what she's hearing. We can see what she sees."
I can't explain my sudden double vision, a consciousness overlaid upon my own—but in my mind's eye, I'm seeing from inside the Chronos Imperium. I see the disciples in their white tunics. They are crowded together. The looks on their faces range from purpose to anxiety to fear.
Why haven't they jumped yet?
Something is in my hands, only it's not my hands. They must be Soolin's. She's holding a small rod with a blue a light. I start to understand what's going on. The rod is creating a distortion field—it's negating the effects of the chamber!
Patmos and his people can jump away should they wish, but they'll lose the benefit of the room if they do. And they fought very hard to be here.
An older man, tall with the imperfect posture of an academic, steps forward. He could have been a loving grandfather, his face so gentle and his eyes so caring. He's not at all what I had
imagined.
"Patmos, I presume," Soolin says in her dignified voice.
He addresses her politely. "Portreeve. Please, there's been enough bloodshed this day. Put down your device. If you do, we will leave and harm no one else."
"Harm no one?" she scoffs. "Sir, you ask for the powers to end the world. You can't expect me to grant you that."
He motions to his mercenaries to lower their weapons. "We've come to end nothing," he says. "We only wish to start again. And the path before us is not an easy one. Come with us, Doctor Soolin. Help us."
To her credit, the woman is defiant. "I won't help a gang of petty butchers."
"It's regrettable what had to happen today." He says this as though he believes it. It makes my blood boil. He goes on, "But my friends here are not responsible for any of this. I planned this attack. Me alone. They are blameless of my sins."
"If that is true," Soolin says. "Then I would ask them to leave. The door is just there."
"Some of them may wish that, having now seen today's savagery. Given your second shield, it was not something that I could hide from them. But what they will build for us is too important to turn back now."
"And what is that?" Soolin asks. The same question is in my mind, as well. Who are these people? What could be worth so much death and destruction?
There's pain in his voice as he answers. "Have you not seen the rot in humanity? I know you have. You and your agents have dedicated yourselves to fighting it across all of time and space. And for that I commend you. But our weapons have grown too powerful, our ambitions too great. It's only a matter of time before we destroy ourselves. That is why I'm here. That is what I hope to prevent. A lone madman today can accomplish more destruction than entire states could have dreamed of just a few generations ago. We can no longer simply cut the weeds as they appear. We must pull up their roots. Once and for all. Before they strangle us."
He motions toward the foyer outside. "I've seen from your halls, that you are a student of the classics, the fables, our shared mythologies. You know then that there are truths sometimes hidden in those allegories. Truths about our nature. Let me tell you of one. Since the first bite of the apple, we've allowed the darker demons of our nature to hold us back. True, we've tried to outgrow our barbarism. We tell ourselves our generation is more enlightened than all those who came before. But you need look no further than the refugees left forgotten on the Valeyard to know this is not true. You need only consider our outer colonists, left abandoned to suffer at the edge of nowhere, to know this is a shameless story—a lie that we tell ourselves in vanity."