by RF Hurteau
This was it, thought Nelson wildly. He’d been captured. It was over. They wanted him strong, so that he wouldn’t pass out as they tortured him. Horrific images of the things they would do to extract information from him filled his mind, and adrenaline flooded his body. He sprang up from the ground toward his attacker. The man stepped aside in a single, fluid motion, and Nelson was only able to grasp a handful of fabric as his momentum carried him across the width of the hall, where he slammed into the wall. He groaned and turned around, raising his fists into a defensive position. He knew he had no chance of winning, but he refused to go down without a fight. He’d pulled off the man’s hood, revealing a pair of gleaming violet eyes, and two elongated ears that came to pointed tips just visible beneath a sheet of snowy white hair.
“I’m not trying to hurt you,” the Elf said, putting his hands up in a calming motion. “Just rest for a moment. Catch your breath.”
Nelson couldn’t argue with that. He leaned against the wall, panting, studying the figure before him. “Who are you?”
“Who am I?” The Elf stared at Nelson, pondering the question. “I had a name, once. But that was long ago. I know who you are, though. You’re one of mine.”
Nelson stared blankly at the Elf. “One of yours?” he repeated, confused. The Elf nodded, raising the hood back over his head. “Quickly. We need to return to the pod room, before anyone sees us. I believe there are yet still more to come.” He turned back down the corridor, taking long strides so that Nelson struggled to keep up.
“I don’t understand. Why are you here? How did you find me?”
“I was hidden in the pod room before you arrived. I had intended to stay there and wait until all of the others were long gone before leaving myself. But when you went toward the exit and didn’t return, I worried that you’d been discovered. I thought you might need my help. And now you should get back to your people. Edwin and the others are in trouble up there.”
“Edwin and the others…” Realization dawned on Nelson’s face. “But…you can’t be…you’re an Elf!”
“Yes,” the Elf replied, “and the Elves are leaving. For one hundred and twenty-five years, I have watched from the shadows. I have whispered, and heard whispers. I have woven the backdrop, but the masterpiece, that has always belonged to you, to Humanity. I wish I could stay to see it.”
“I don’t understand, why have you helped us? The Elves are our enemy. We wouldn’t even have known that, if it weren’t for you!”
“The Therans have a world of their own. A beautiful world. Many of us believed it was wrong, to take more than our birthright. This world belongs to Humans, not to us. You will always have friends on Thera, but not enough, I fear. This will not be the last you see of my people.”
“Then stay. Stay and help us!”
The hood shook, slowly, regretfully. “My intentions have ever been to preserve truth and to aid those in need. But ancient oaths forbade me to take up arms against my own. That is your fight, not mine. I must learn why they’ve left. I have done what I set out to do here. You and your friends know the truth. What you do with it is up to you.” The downward slope of the passage urged Nelson on, and they soon reached the giant double doors, breathless but unnoticed.
“Hide!” the Weaver said suddenly in a harsh whisper, shoving Nelson behind the nearest row of pods.
Nelson heard them before he saw them. Councilor Nero was cursing and ranting, shouting questions at the small entourage of Elven guards who flanked him on either side. He was limping, and grasping his arm, where bright red blood oozed from under his palm from a gash in his sleeve.
“I don’t care if they aren’t all out! There’s a riot going on up there. We aren’t going to wait around to see what happens. Hurry up and give the order!”
“But, Councilor, sir, we can’t possibly just leave them behind—”
“Give me that,” snarled Nero, yanking the guard’s comm away. “Commence shut down!”
Nelson could hear a muffled reply from the comm, which Nero was holding in front of his mouth as if he were about to enjoy a tasty treat. “Understood. We’ll be right behind you.”
He watched as Nero and his followers disappeared through the double doors, and turned back to the Weaver, who was watching him intently.
“Hurry, now. The city is yours, Nelson Boggs. You must hold it. Whatever it takes.”
Nelson stared at him for a moment, then nodded. “Thank you,” he said earnestly. “For everything.” He turned and began jogging across the long room. The city is yours, Nelson Boggs. The Weaver himself had just passed him the torch. Why wasn’t he more excited? Something was wrong, he could feel it in his gut.
He looked down at his hands, and saw that several of his fingertips had turned an ugly shade of purple. He hoped it was just the light playing tricks on him, but he had the feeling that this was not the case. Somehow, it didn’t really bother him. He had more important things to worry about. Edwin and the others needed his help. The Elves were leaving. What were a few fingers, in the grand scheme of things?
He rushed past the blinking, humming pods full of tiny monsters, but when he reached the door to the moving room, he skidded to a halt. The door was open, but the room had gone. He was staring into a massive, empty elevator shaft. There wasn’t a control panel beside the gaping hole, and he felt himself begin to panic slightly. The only controls must be in the room itself. But how would he get back? Maybe he could climb. He looked down at his frost-bitten fingers, dubiously. Climbing was out.
He would have to wait for whoever Nero had called on the comm to come down. Nelson considered hiding again but decided against it. He was finished hiding. He stood before the entrance, flexing his legs, getting ready to bolt. The room ground to a halt and the door opened. Nelson just had time to register the shock on the face of the two Elves exiting the moving room as he shot past them, slamming his fist against the controls and sliding the door shut in their astonished faces. He bounced impatiently as the room rose, and then he was finally back in Pod Manufacturing. He was out the door and into the maze of Sigil’s basement in moments, racing toward the lift.
He emerged from the basement into an unrecognizable world. Everywhere, things were smashed, people were screaming. He shoved his way through the crowd, looking for someone, anyone, from Tapestry. He was jostled from every side, but somehow managed to force his way out into the courtyard.
It looked like the world was ending. There were bodies on the ground, several people lay, clutching injuries and moaning, while others were unnaturally still. People were running, throwing things, brawling openly.
It didn’t matter. He kept moving, dodging projectiles and skirting around unconscious men and women. He stopped, feeling once more like he might be sick. Focus, he had to focus. A Halfsie child, perhaps six or seven years old, sat huddled in a corner, weeping as blood streamed down her face from a gash on her forehead. He scooped her up, tucking her head against her chest and covering her exposed ear with his hand. This isn’t right, he thought, still searching the crowd. This isn’t how it was supposed to happen. How did we let this happen?
There…by the podium set up for speeches, which had been knocked down, the streamers and flowers that had adorned it trampled and scattered on the ground…there was Edwin, his hands in the air, shouting words that could not be heard over the bloodthirsty roar of the mob.
“Edwin!” he called, knowing it was futile even before the word left his tongue. He moved through the surging mass of bodies, shielding the little girl as best he could, trying to traverse the distance between them. “Edwin! Edwin!” His cries grew more desperate.
He had nearly reached the stage when Edwin finally heard him. The taller man reached down, taking the child from Nelson’s arms so that he, too, could scramble up onto the raised platform. “What happened?” he shouted.
“You really think this is a great time for me to explain? Things got out of hand, all right?”
“Out of hand? Out of ha
nd?” Nelson stared at Edwin in disbelief. “Edwin, people are dying out there!”
“Do you think I don’t know that?” Edwin cried, eyes anguished as he pressed the quivering little girl back into Nelson’s arms. “Listen—take her. Get her somewhere safe. I’ll do what I can here.”
“No, listen! The Elves are gone, Edwin. They’re all gone.”
Edwin’s eyes widened. “What do you mean, they’re gone?”
“I saw them leave. There’s a door out of Sanctuary, Edwin. It leads right to Antiquity’s Gate!”
Edwin looked out over the seething crowd. “They’re…gone? Because of us?”
Nelson shook his head. “I don’t think so. I don’t know. Maybe?”
“And you saw them leave?” Edwin said, grabbing Nelson’s shoulders and giving them a shake. “You’re certain?”
“I’ve never been more certain about anything in my life,” Nelson assured him.
Edwin’s eyes darted back and forth. Suddenly, Sterling was beside them. She’d scrambled up onto the stage, one eye swollen nearly shut, blood dripping from her nose. “We can’t find the Councilors!” she shouted at them. “Any of them!”
“They’re gone!” Nelson shouted back.
“Gone?”
“Never mind,” said Edwin, pointing toward the back of the stage where a large metal frame held up a delicate fabric backdrop. “Help me push that down!” he commanded.
“What? Why?”
“Less talking, more doing!” he said. Without hesitation he threw himself bodily against one side of the metal frame, pushing hard. Sterling ran to the opposite side and mimicked him. They pressed in unison, and after a few moments, the frame began to tilt back. It wobbled back and forth for a moment, but one more shove sent it over.
It crashed to the ground with a tremendous clang that carried over the crowds. The noise was so startling that many of the people stopped what they were doing, turning to see what had caused it.
“Listen to me!” shouted Edwin at the top of his voice. “This must end now!”
“It won’t stop until they’re all dead!” came a voice from the crowd, and there followed many frenzied shouts of agreement. “Down with the oppressors!”
“Please, you need to listen. It’s over. The Elves are gone! They’ve fled through the Gate. We’ve won!”
This declaration was met with silence. Then, murmurs began, building to a crescendo. “That’s not possible!” cried an angry voice. “There’s no way out of Sanctuary!” said another.
Nelson stepped forward, alongside Edwin. “There is a way out,” he said confidently. “I’ve seen it with my own eyes. I watched the Elves as they fled. They’re gone. And if we work together, we can make sure they stay gone—for good!”
The crowd erupted with a mixture of cheers and cries of disbelief, but Nelson held up one hand, and to his great surprise, the noise died down again. He looked out, for the first time noticing individual faces, instead of just an angry mob. He could see several members of their Tapestry cell—Molly, whose face was tear-stained and anxious, and Briggs, who was breathing heavily. He saw co-workers from Core Systems, and the foul-tempered cook from the commissary. He saw people. Just people, who were frightened, lost. But the innocent, arrogant way he had viewed the world before was lost, too. It had been buried somewhere amongst the bodies lying prone in the Sigil lobby. He looked out on the crowd with new eyes, wiser eyes. And he knew that he would never be able to see these people the same way again.
“They’re gone,” he said, his voice calm and level, so that those in the crowd strained to hear him. “But is this how you want to remember the day the Humans retook their home? By destroying it?” He saw many people glancing around, some looking shame-faced, others appearing shocked as the realization of what they’d done hit them. “Please, stop this. We need each other, now more than ever. We’ve won. The Elves have fled. So, let’s stop fighting, and start turning this place into what it was always meant to be—let’s build a new sanctuary!”
“Get every able-bodied person organized into small groups,” Nelson commanded Edwin over the thunderous clapping. “Nero set something in motion before he left. I don’t know what exactly, but I think we ought to search Sigil and see what we can find.” Edwin nodded without argument and leapt from the stage, pointing to people in the crowd and gesturing for them to join him.
Nelson had pictured many different versions of this moment, where people applauded him and obeyed his commands without hesitation. He’d imagined the thrill, the joy of having this type of power and respect. But none of those dreams had been quite like this. Now, the only thing he felt was the sick feeling in the pit of his stomach, and the trembling of the sobbing child that clung to him, arms wrapped tightly around his neck.
eleven
Outside Perspective
Several hours had passed since Felix and Tobias had left to get supplies and bring Willow back. Ambrose had explained to Ripley how the Elves had been using the celebration preparations as cover to implement new protocols all over Sanctuary. "They want this to be quick and clean,” he said. "They're going to evacuate the Theran population in groups, during all the festivities. That's why the breach has had them in such a tizzy. They don't care about it being a safety issue, they just don't want the people panicking. If some industrious Sigil employee were to go poking around because of the breach, they're likely to stumble across some of the new protocols. If I had to guess, I’d have expected them to give up looking by now. But I imagine that most of the Elves don’t even know about the evacuation yet. They’d be worried about those that might sympathize with Humans giving them a heads up. They’re probably clueless, just going about business as usual."
"And what exactly do these protocols do?" asked Ripley.
"Well, I may be a mechanic, but the technology here is all PS, and there aren’t any experts on that kind of thing left where I’m from. The mechanical aspects, I understand. It’s all the computer systems and everything that’s thrown me for a loop.”
“PS?”
“Pre-Sequencing. So, as you may know, this whole place runs on a geothermal system. Steam moves the turbines, gets condensed, and gets sent back down into the earth. But the Elves plan to shut down the condensers. If the steam isn't cooled back to liquid, it will build up pressure. And if that pressure isn't vented, boom! It won't completely wipe Sanctuary off the map, but it'll rip open plenty of holes in the domes. Whoever isn't killed by the explosion will freeze in short order."
Ripley was shaking his head in disgust. "Why can't they just go, and leave us alone?"
Ambrose shrugged. "My guess would be, there are too many secrets here that they don't want anyone to find."
"I just can’t believe it. I can’t believe I defended the Elves. How could I have been so stupid?”
Ambrose was quiet for a moment. Then he asked, “So this Willow, is she a Halfsie, like Felix?”
“No,” replied Ripley. “She’s a pureblood Elf.”
“And the people who did that,” he pointed to Ripley’s swollen face, “to your face. They were Elves, I assume?”
Ripley looked at him, a little confused. “No. They were Human.”
Ambrose gave a solemn nod. “I see. So, you defended Elves, who are all bad, for trying to destroy Humans, who are all good. But since your best friend is a Halfsie, his wife is an Elf, and your attackers were Human, you can see where I might be a bit confused.”
Ripley didn’t have a reply, so he remained silent.
“It can be simple, at times, to put a label on things. On people. I see it a lot. Even now, after all that’s happened to this beautiful planet, people are always trying to find a way to put a label on things. Elves are bad; Humans are good. That nation is evil; ours is just. But I’ve found, in my experience, that you cannot just label a group of people and expect them all to fit neatly within that box. The Humans who attacked you were bad. The Elf that you care for is good. You must judge individuals based on merit, not on t
he way they look or the place that they came from.”
Ripley nodded slowly, turning the idea over in his head. “I suppose that makes sense,” he said at last. “Thank you.”
“Not at all, not at all,” chuckled Ambrose. “Always happy to help.”
“Okay, well, back to the plan—how do we stop them from destroying Sanctuary?”
"Tobias can explain it when they get back. I've been trying to figure it out for two months, but I'm still a little fuzzy on the details. Honestly, I don't think I would have been any help at all if he hadn't shown up."
Ripley looked at him in surprise. "You mean your people just sent you up here without a plan? Alone?"
"Well, uh…I may have…come without permission,” Ambrose admitted, looking guilty. "I'd been asking to attempt to fly here for years, but the Ministry deemed it too much of a risk. I finally decided, you know what? Pluto's mine and if me and the old girl want to risk it then—"
Ripley sat up. "You brought a girl with you? Where is she?"
Ambrose gave a sly smile. "Aye, that I did. Here, I'll introduce you." He helped Ripley to his feet and secured a heavy blanket over him like a cape. "She's in the station. Tobias was afraid to draw attention to us by heating such a large area, but there are lights at least."
He guided Ripley out into a passageway and down a short flight of stairs to the main platform. There before them was something the likes of which Ripley had never even imagined.
"Whoa,” was all he had to say.
Ambrose moved forward, slapping the side of the craft and producing a hollow clanging sound. It must have been twelve, maybe fifteen feet long, Ripley guessed, and it was shaped sort of like a teardrop. The far end came to a sharp point, and the front had a rounded nose. It was a patchwork of riveted panels and was covered in scratches and dents, listing slightly to one side at the end of a long skid mark that Ripley saw extended to a large hole in the wall and out of sight.
"This is Pluto. Built her myself, though I guess she's seen better days. We've been through a lot together. Stratus class, first prize three years in a row at the Grand Derby!"