Discarded

by Mark A. Ciccone

  ‘Three for three,’ Greg said, resisting a small smile. Even after everything they’d found here, she still knew him best. The mild pleasure died. ‘Although to clarify, I wasn’t set on leaving him for them – alive, that is. And Cayden might have us beat there, soon enough.’

  ‘You’ll both have to wait your turn, then,’ Leah replied coolly. ‘Until we’re done with Taylor’s… friends, though’—she grimaced, in disgust or remembered horror—‘it’s better we deal with him later. Otherwise they’ll do worse – to all of us here. Then it’ll be Hiroshi’s turn, then Megan’s, then Jorge’s – then the whole Sanctuary. If we’ve got any kind of mission now, it’s stopping that.’ She came closer, glowing eyes drilling into him. ‘Can you handle it?’

  Can YOU? Greg almost asked. He bit it down, and managed a nod. Seeing her scepticism, he nodded again, more vigorously, and zipped up his clinger. He pulled his knife free, twirling it once to test his grip, then sheathed it and drew his pistol, checking the load. Leah nodded herself, convinced, and moved to grab her own clinger from where it lay wadded in the corner. The sheet slipped to the floor as she laid the garment out and stepped into it. Just for a moment, Greg’s breath faltered at the view. He still felt confused, unsure – and not a little thrilled. Leah looked over her bare shoulder. Her smile showed the same emotions. He found himself returning it, almost by reflex. Something else to sort out, when all is said and done. He finished the weapons check, and moved to the door. Unlike what they faced now, though, the thought didn’t anger or scare him in the slightest.

  The hallway outside was silent. Greg checked both directions regardless, keeping his body out of easy sightline, before emerging and starting for the main workout and mess areas. Leah matched his clip, crisp and businesslike. The hallway was one of twelve, as he’d seen when they arrived, with around fifty rooms. Each one’s door was shaped like the hatches on a ship: small, thick, with multiple outside locks. More safeguards, Greg thought. He clenched his teeth. Not now. Soon enough, though– that’s a promise.

  They came out into the main exercise area. Most of the gear had a thick layer of dust, proving no one had come through in months, more likely years, proving one part of the Doc’s story. He glanced up toward the mirrored glass – and saw that it had changed, showing the room within: a bank of servers and screens, with a large Gaia lens suspended over them all. Garrett was standing at one window, hand flying over his tablet. He looked up at the motion, and waved: Come up. Swallowing a last bit of anger, Greg climbed the stairs to the walkway, Leah following. He glanced at the other gallery, where they’d first come in. The multi-ton doors were sealed, yellow emergency lights whirling. If Cayden had left the Facility, he wasn’t getting back in that way.

  The door to the gallery – a larger version of those in the dorm area, and far heavier – popped open with a loud hiss at the Golems’ approach. Greg pushed it open farther, and strode in. ‘What’s going on?’ he demanded.

  Garrett didn’t look up from his tablet. ‘Perimeter sensors detected movement thirty seconds ago,’ he said. The mournful resignation from before was gone; the Doctor spoke in clipped, steady tones, and carried himself the same way. ‘It’s storming hard outside, and the fallout coming down or being stirred up tends to play havoc with the net.’ A half-second’s pause. ‘Except the havoc never registered as anything larger than a deer or rabbit, and never already well inside the line.’

  ‘How far inside?’ Leah asked. She looked sharply over the computer banks, and out at the main entrance, searching for any threats. ‘What showed, when it did register?’

  The Doctor tapped once at the tablet. ‘The perimeter covers everything between Liberty Bay and the Hood Canal, and extends from Dyes Inlet to Lofall.’ Another tap. ‘The blip popped up on Kegley Road, near where we came in – moving west, before it vanished again.’ The older man’s face grew grimmer. ‘It came up as one object, possibly human-sized, but the scan was too fuzzy to be sure.’

  ‘So it could be more than one,’ Greg said. He arced a half-mocking eyebrow. ‘Maybe two – three, even? Looking for a friend they lost around these parts?’ Garrett ignored his tone, still typing. Deciding to let it be – for now – Greg continued, less abrasively. ‘How soon till they’re into the base itself?’

  ‘Three minutes,’ Garrett answered. ‘Assuming they’re at their peak, despite the storm, and no serious obstacles.’ Now he did look up, to them, then to the main entrance. ‘There’s no way to breach those, short of a dozen armour-piercing rounds from an M1 tank. They’re locked and sealed, along with every other section down here. Only other way in is digging – not even a ground-penetrating nuke would get through.’

  ‘So we’ve seen,’ Leah said, no mockery in her words; just fact. ‘What about the fire exits? Where are they?’ She went to the window, looking over the room below. ‘Do any lead to the surface?’

  Garrett frowned. ‘Only one, from this level.’ The pain entered his words, for the briefest moment. He pointed out the window to a single vault door, set into the east-facing wall of the training and mess area. ‘Cayden used it earlier, when he left.’ He tapped and swiped again, more forcefully, then paused. ‘Leads up to one of the hospital outbuildings. It’s sealed, same as the other section exits and entrances. Still a weaker point, if they try a breach, but one we can manage.’

  ’We?’ Greg demanded. Leah elbowed him in the side. A little less belligerently, he went on. ‘Assuming they do, hopefully you’ve got more than the standard mission gear lying around somewhere?’ He let some acid back in. ‘Because it seems the First Five – and Taylor – turned out better than expected, when they left the tanks.’

  ‘So it would seem,’ Garrett said, outwardly unbothered by the caustic words. ‘Even assuming they broke through the first layer, they’d still have to breach the second – at which point a secondary door will engage to reseal the passage, and the oxygen depletion will have already kicked in.’ He didn’t show any pleasure or distaste at this prospect. ‘As for gear—’ He nodded to the back of the room. Following this look, Greg spotted a thin black case, sitting atop another, larger crate. On the surface, it was the same as the countless others they’d seen and used, when in the Project. Greg approached it cautiously, nevertheless, flipped the clasps up, and threw back the lid.

  Instead of assault rifles or heavy weapons, as he’d expected, the case held two sheathed machete-length blades, nestled in packaging foam, and the empty space for a third, in between. He pulled one of them free, and drew the blade. The metal shone brightly. The edge itself was razor-sharp, and had a strange, near-imperceptible sheen; almost like a rainbow, when he tilted it the right way. He swung it once or twice, impressed with its balance and weight. He wasn’t much of a fencer, but he could handle any blade given him – like everyone in his class, he’d trained with knife and empty-hand skill above all else, even firearms. Not much help against a bullet, of course. Still, a longer reach can’t hurt. He pressed it flat against his hip experimentally. The clinger fabric closed over it at once. ‘Nice,’ he grunted in modest approval. ‘Anything else?’

  ‘Not unless you want to try the arsenal, three levels down, for which the whole system would have to be unlocked.’ Garrett shrugged at Greg’s hard look. ‘Fail-safe, built in when Gaia came online and the Facility was completed. Every room and level locked down and cut off from the other, except for a single comm line, and all entries, movement and Wi-Fi/radio usage controlled by the higher-ups.’ He spread his hands, indicating who that was supposed to be. ‘Supposed to be a way to keep any unauthorised types from getting to weapons, sensitive files or the lab wing – including any from the Project’s ranks.’ The Doctor held up the tablet again. ‘So long as remote access stays with me, no one inside goes anywhere, or reaches anybody outside, and no one outside gets in, unless they—’

  A strident beeping interrupted him. He checked his tablet, stiffened, and dashed to the nearest terminal. The light from the holo-screen showed his face losing its c
olour. ‘Shit,’ he whispered. ‘Shit!’ He typed some more, rapid-fire.

  Greg and Leah joined him. ‘What’s wrong?’ Greg demanded. Multiple dialogue and code windows were opening and closing on the screen, too fast for him to see.

  Garrett kept his eyes to the terminal. ‘Someone uploaded a Golem access code to unlock the fire exit passage to this level. Soon as that code went through, another that was piggybacking came in as well. Door locks, Wi-Fi, internal/external comms – it’s spreading to every part of the system, crashing what it doesn’t take over.’ His hands became near-blurs as they typed. ‘Gaia’s mainframe’s shielded, physically and electronically, but that won’t last once they’re through, and can just walk into the server areas.’

  ‘Which code was it?’ Leah demanded, moving to look over the Doctor’s shoulder. Greg joined them, trying and failing again to read the pop-ups and scrolling digits. Maybe it’s Hiroshi, or one of the others? The chances were dim, but if the Council leader had gotten close to the Kitsap area before, he might have again, pinpointing the source of Gaia’s signal, and thus the entrance. There wasn’t much else to hope for; if the comms were cut or hijacked, they wouldn’t be able to reach the Sanctuary – or Cayden, if he was still out there.

  Garrett opened yet another window. He frowned. ‘One of the first ones to be issued. Came with higher priority tags, too, which is why it wasn’t kicked back, or—’ He stopped. His hands stilled over the keyboard, mid-type. ‘Christ,’ he whispered. ‘It’s—’

  The roar of the explosion drowned him out. Blast knocked Greg off his feet, throwing him into the far wall. In the dazed moment before the windows burst, he saw the last of the fireball pouring through the gaping fire exit door, and chunks of the ceiling crashing down. He threw his arms up, protecting his face from a glittering blizzard of supposedly blastproof shards – then leapt to his feet, drawing the new blade and yanking the clinger hood over his face before the spray had fully subsided. Whatever the blast had come from, the Brown Coats would be right behind it.

  He stood in the open window frame, assessing the view. The level was already full of smoke. He blinked once, activating the infrared filters in the hood’s eyes. Most of the mess area and exercise gear was scattered all across the room, or crushed in place beneath ceiling fragments or other wreckage. Several small fires burned in the fringes of the wrecked doorway, and smaller spurts rose from amid the debris, already dying fast; nothing else.

  He jumped down from the gallery, landing easily and almost without sound, and started into the greyish-white fog. A whispery thud made him turn: Leah rose up from a crouch behind him, blade hefted and pistol ready. He considered drawing his, before raising his own sword, and kept moving toward the door, stepping delicately over the piles of rubble. For the close quarters they were in, the blade would be better.

  A low hum started somewhere above him. The smoke began to clear, wafting up to the ceiling. The filters, by Garrett’s command or their guests’. He moved to the right of the door, keeping back far enough to avoid any potential fire. Leah made the same move, to the left. He pressed up to the cracked wall, coiled and tense. They should be hitting now. Every second counted, after a breach; infinitely more, for Golems. Why’re they holding—

  Three loud pops sounded from the stairwell within, before his mind formed the word back. He went rigid as a trio of smoke trails shot through the opening, landing with a clatter amid the ruined training gear. A thick grey-blue cloud rose up, expanding and replacing the smoke in seconds. The clinger’s mouth sealed shut automatically, the lips of the breathing filter poking between Greg’s lips. He didn’t recognise the stuff; a low beeping in his ear said the clinger’s system didn’t either. CS? Sarin? The filter was proof against both, and plenty of other gases. Another delaying tactic; keeps us tense and off-balance, even if it doesn’t kill. He took a slow sip of air, readying himself for the first Brown Coat to charge through.

  Suddenly he felt a tingling pain spread through his chest. He gasped and stumbled, coughing and hacking. This only made the pain spread further, down his torso and into his limbs. On its heels came a cold numbness – one he remembered vividly. Pax, his mind wheezed, in between coughs. He tried to straighten up, to shout it to Leah. She was half-sitting against a knocked-over table, weapons at her feet, retching as badly as he. When she looked up, searching for him, Greg could see the same terrified realisation in her eyes.

  He slumped to his knees, then to all fours, still gasping and coughing. The sword fell from his senseless fingers. The numbness had spread over his entire body; it seemed a miracle he wasn’t flat on his face. From somewhere above or behind him, he heard a man’s voice, muffled and shouting like he was speaking through a wall of gauze. Very soon, it faded away; he wasn’t even sure it was real.

  His elbows gave way, dropping him to the floor. His eyesight grew darker and blurrier. He forced his head up, and looked to the door. Three dark-clad figures were stepping through the exit, wearing gas masks, blades shining in their hands. They fanned out, one each to the fallen Golems for a split second, then farther into the room. A fourth figure stepped inside after them, wearing a gas mask like the others, but dressed in a plain blue coverall. It ambled over to where Greg lay, and stood over him, eyes watching in curiosity or amusement through the mask’s goggles. They were dark green – and with a tinge of light that seemed somehow familiar.

  New motion made the watcher turn his head, and step away. Greg struggled to squint through the blurriness. The two other men were approaching, dragging a third man between them: Garrett, his mask hanging askew, head lolling. The leader yanked the mask away. Garrett coughed, then looked up, mouthing words Greg couldn’t make out. With a more ceremonial air, the leader lifted his own mask back. the Doctor’s eyes went wide. His mouth formed a single, slurred word: Sam.

  Just before everything went completely black, Greg tried to reach for the blade again. Nothing worked; he could barely make his fingers wriggle. The leader swung a fist, cracking Garrett across the jaw. The Doctor slumped forward, dead or knocked out. Greg made one last lunge, fingers quivering for the hilt. A boot stomped down on his wrist; he felt the crack of bone, but no pain. Before he could blink, a second hard blow smashed into his own temple, and the blackness dropped over him in full.

  Chapter 26

  A jarring thud made Greg’s eyes crack open. He squinted at the light overhead; the clinger’s hood was off, letting it shine right in his face. He tried to lift his arm and found he could only raise it an inch or so – the limb felt weighted down by little sacks of cement at the joints and shoulder. He was seated, his back against some hard surface. Every inch of him ached in some way, though it seemed to be fading. Whatever they’d inhaled, it was losing its effect, or most of it.

  Inhaled… Pax… He tried to stand, but his body wrenched itself painfully, and he sank back down, gasping through his teeth. With another painful effort, he turned his head, blinking away the spots and haziness as he gauged the surroundings. The walls around him were pure white, and he felt a sticky, half-dried fluid beneath the footpads of his clinger. The lab wing. He heard a crashing sound, rock on metal, and footsteps. Looking to the right, he saw the Doctor, seated in an office chair below the broken Gaia screen. His arms and legs were ziptied to the chair; his head was tilted into his shoulder, apparently in unconsciousness or stupor. Greg could see the tension in his shoulders, however, showing he was awake and aware. Much good it’ll do him, unless we get the chance.

  Looking past the older man, he saw Taylor, clad in white hospital shorts and nothing else. The garish scars on his chest and limbs shone in the light. He was sporting the same silver eyewear, and two of the ultra-thin blades the Brown Coats had carried before. Unlike before, however, he seemed ill at ease, or still not fully out of the semi-coma he’d been in on arrival. He was standing beside another clinger-clad form, also propped up by the wall, unmoving. Leah. He tried to speak, call out, but only a croaky whisper emerged.

  Somebody
stepped in front of him. ‘He lives,’ a cool voice said. Looking up, he saw the blue overalls, and a pair of vivid green eyes, behind silver glasses. The face wasn’t one he recognised. Nearly as old as the Doctor’s, with sharper features, and more grey lacing the dark blonde hair. ‘Wasn’t a sure bet on my old access code working, so you can imagine how I felt reconfiguring that Pax stuff to gas form, with the extra trank to pierce any mask. Always the risk it would’ve turned out to be fatal.’ He paused, leaning in closer. Greg thought he could see the edge of a white-red scar, below the collar of the overalls. His breath was hot on the Golem’s face. ‘Of course, with all the trouble running the three of you to ground, that was one risk I didn’t mind.’

  Greg glared. His arm twitched again, trying to come up in a swing; no luck. The stranger smirked, and moved away, toward Garrett and Leah. Greg watched, running a silent check on himself. Still no lift in any limbs, but the aching was nearly gone, and he could sense the strength building again in the rest of his body. They hadn’t been brought here long ago; several minutes, at the most. Soon enough, the right moment would come.

  Keeping the movement slow, he swivelled to the left. In the ‘recovery room’, he saw a shadow moving back and forth, and heard heavy thuds, from objects thrown or from someone punching the wall – maybe through it, too, looking for hollows. He’d hardly noted this when two of the men in green stepped out from the room, and halted in front of the door, arms crossed. Another did the same from the office closest to Greg. His hands and the front of his coveralls were covered in dust. Greg’s knife – he recognised the small chip in the carbon-ceramic hilt, below the grip – Cayden’s blade, pulled from the wall, and the new blade Garrett had given him hung from clips at his waist. His hair, probably once black, was singed close to his head, almost gone in places. That, the silver glasses he also wore, and the thin, almost-healed white line across his throat, brought back Greg’s memory.