"Coral, I won't let you die!"
"And I won't let humanity die!" she shouted, tears on her cheeks. "I will do whatever I must to save humanity, to destroy the scorpions. If I must die, I will die. And I will rise stronger."
"And if you don't?" Bay whispered. "If you can't be brought back?"
She embraced him. "We'll cross that bridge when we come to it, all right? We haven't even found the Godblade yet. Come, I hear the scorpions drilling. Let's go get the damn sword."
They stepped deeper into the darkness. When they lit their lights, they found a tunnel sloping downward. They walked into the depths. The air grew colder, and the sound of the scorpion drills echoed.
A hundred steps later, the tunnel opened up into a new chamber. Bay and Coral stepped inside, raising their lights.
Coral gasped. "A tomb," she whispered, holding up her glowing palm. "The tomb of the sage."
Bay stepped forward, pointing his minicom's flashlight. Compared to the splendor of the other chambers, this place was simple. The walls were unadorned, carved from the living rock of the mountain. There was only one mural—an ouroboros painted on the ceiling, a serpent forming an infinity sign, biting its own tail.
In the center of the room rose a sarcophagus. The stone coffin was painted blue and adorned with silver runes. Its lid was sculpted into the shape of a man—the same man carved into the cliff, the same man painted on the murals. The stone engraving seemed peaceful, though tears were painted flowing down the cheeks. Here rested Gadriel, the sage, the Weeping Weaver. His hands were placed upon his chest, holding a stone blade.
"The Godblade," Bay said, touching the stone.
Coral knelt before the sarcophagus and whispered prayers. She rose and looked at Bay.
"The blade you touch is only a sculpture. The true Godblade will be inside the sarcophagus. Help me lift the lid."
The tomb shook as the scorpions drilled above, cutting through the last barrier. Bay and Coral grabbed the sarcophagus's stone lid. It was too heavy to lift, but they shoved, strained, and scraped it across the coffin. Finally they had to pause, and Coral activated runes on her arms, giving her extra strength. They managed to lower the stone lid to the floor, then rise, aching and panting. Coral especially seemed winded. Using aether always took a lot out of her.
The sage rested inside the sarcophagus, mummified.
A human born on Earth, Bay thought, staring in morbid fascination.
Gadriel's skin was papery, clinging to the skull. He wore faded blue robes. Silvery runes were still visible on his skin, even now, two thousand years after his death. His emaciated hands rested on his chest, as they appeared on the sarcophagus lid.
But the sage's real hands were empty.
They held no sword.
Coral let out a strangled gasp.
"It's gone!" she said. "The Godblade is gone!"
Bay frowned. He leaned over the mummy, squinting. He could just make out the faded outline where a sword had once lain. The mummy's robe was a darker blue there, the discoloration shaped like the blade.
"There's a note in his hand," Bay said. "Paper would have decayed. This note is new."
He plucked the paper from the mummy's knobby fingers. He unfolded it and read aloud.
"I've taken the Godblade. Please forgive me, spirits of the guildhall. But I cannot allow this weapon to fall into the wrong hands. It must be destroyed. Forgive me. Forgive me."
Bay looked up at Coral.
"It's signed with a single letter," he said. "D."
Coral stared back, eyes huge and terrified.
Stones rumbled.
Dust flew.
The scorpions came racing down the tunnel toward the tomb.
"Coral, get behind the coffin!" Bay shouted, aiming Lawless.
She stood, shocked, eyes wide. "It's not here," she whispered. "How could it not be here?"
"Coral, incoming!" Bay shouted and fired his rifle.
A scorpion burst into the tomb.
Bay's bullet slammed through its head, splattering brains.
More scorpions climbed over the corpse and scuttled into the chamber.
There was no other door here. This was a dead end. Bay and Coral were trapped.
Bay fired again, knocking back a scorpion, but another one of the aliens reached him. Pincers snapped, and Bay fell back, swinging Lawless, desperate to hold it back.
Coral cried out, snapping out of her daze. Her runes shone, and she lifted the heavy sarcophagus lid, then slammed it down onto the scorpion, crushing the creature. Its shell cracked, and its innards oozed. As more scorpions swarmed, Coral hurled the lid at them, knocking them back. Not pausing for breath, she leaned forward, arms outstretched, and blasted air from her palms.
Bay kept firing, but he was running low on ammo. He could not hold off the beasts forever.
"Humans, humans!" they chanted. "Filthy pests! Skin them! Break them! Eat them! Skin the filthy pests!"
One scorpion lashed at Coral, and she fell, bleeding. Another knocked Bay against the wall, and he fired Lawless, sending a bullet through its jaws. More kept rushing in, filling the tomb.
Bay reached into the coffin, pulled out the mummy, and tossed the corpse aside.
Coral gasped. "Do not desecrate the sage!"
Bay groaned. "Sweetheart, these scorpions are about to do worse than desecrate an old mummy. Come on, help me!"
He grabbed the sarcophagus, struggling to lift it. Coral helped, and they were able to flip the coffin over. They knelt, lowering the stone over their bodies, leaving just a few centimeters for air.
The scorpions surrounded them, clawing at the stone, trying to reach underneath. Bay tried to rise, to walk forward with the coffin over them, but the scorpions shoved against it, knocking them back down, nearly overturning the stone shield.
"I'm sorry, Coral," Bay said, kneeling, his head bowed. The sarcophagus weighed down on his shoulders. "I didn't want it to end this way."
Tears flowed down her cheeks. Coral kissed him. "I love you, Bay Ben-Ari. Goodbye."
Engines roared.
The smell of smoke and oil filled the tomb.
"Dudes!" rose a voice. "I'm here, dudes!"
Bay gasped. "Brooklyn!"
Explosions sounded. Firelight flared, and tongues of flame reached under the sarcophagus. Scorpions screeched. Smoke filled the tomb, and more blasts shook the chamber, deafening.
"Bay, Coral!" cried the voice. "Get in here, hurry!"
Bay and Coral rose, shoving off the stone coffin.
Brooklyn was there, nearly filling the entire tomb. Dead scorpions oozed beneath her.
"How the hell did you fit in here?" Bay said.
"The damn scorpions blasted the walls down," the starship said. Her airlock hatch popped open. "Get in quick! There are more!"
They entered the small starship. Brooklyn spun around in the tomb, denting her hull against the fallen coffin, then blasted forward into the tunnel.
Or at least what remained of the tunnel. The scorpions had demolished the guildhall. The walls were crumbling, the ceiling shedding dust. The aliens were everywhere, hissing from cracked walls, from boulders on the floor, spraying venom from their stingers.
Brooklyn charged toward them, cannons firing.
The starship plowed through the beasts, scattering their shells. She burst into the hall of murals. The front and back walls had fallen, and dust coated what paintings remained. A drill came at them, spinning, shrieking, showering sparks. Brooklyn cried out, bounded over the drill, and slammed onto the floor beyond, crushing scorpions. They raced over the ruins of a fallen wall and into the main hall, where the orrery lay shattered. More scorpions awaited them here, and Brooklyn roared forward, ramming into them, her afterburner blazing.
They surged through dust into the open air.
The idyllic scenery was gone. The front of the cliff had shattered. Chunks of limestone were strewn across the landscape, crushing trees. The sage's stone head lay by the river. T
he waterfalls gushed over burnt grass. All around, the world of Elysium burned, and smoke curtained the horizons. Strikers filled the sky.
"Brook, get us into space!" Bay shouted.
The starship hurtled onward. "Soon."
"Go up!"
"Forward!" Brooklyn said, racing toward a cloud of smoke. "We gotta lose pursuit first."
Strikers swooped toward them, plasma firing.
Brooklyn plunged into the cloud of smoke. They stormed through the veil. Strikers screamed all around, and streams of fire cut the smoke like blades. Brooklyn flew faster, vanishing in the darkness, skimming the ground.
Coral huddled in her seat, knees pulled to her chest, trembling. She seemed barely conscious, drained of aether and energy.
"It wasn't there," she whispered, eyes fluttering. "The Godblade is gone."
"Hold on tight, we're soaring!" Brooklyn shouted.
The starship changed direction. She flew upward through smoke and clouds and burst into a dark sky. Strikers were here too. Brooklyn barrel rolled, flying upward, whipping around the barrage of plasma. She breached the atmosphere and soared into space.
The strikers followed.
"We gotta go to warp speed!" Bay said.
"We're too close to the planet!" Brooklyn said. "If we bend spacetime, the gravity will crush us."
Bay grabbed the joystick. "Let me fly. We'll slingshot."
Brooklyn relinquished control. A hundred strikers were charging after them, firing their plasma. A bolt grazed Brooklyn's stern. The ship rocked, nearly cracking open. Bay turned and dived back toward the planet, letting the gravity tug them. He shoved the throttle down, flying as fast as he could.
This'll be close . . .
He winced and turned, skimming across the atmosphere, letting the gravity hurl them over the horizon and into deep space.
They shot forward, propelled by Elysium's force, flying much faster than Brooklyn could on her own.
The starship rattled. Fire blazed around them. Behind them, a few strikers attempted the maneuver too, only for three to crash onto the planet, and for the others to careen wildly into deep space, missing Brooklyn by thousands of kilometers.
Brooklyn charged forward, leaving the planet behind.
"All right, we're good!" Brooklyn said. "Warp speed in three, two, one . . ."
Spacetime bent around them, forming a bubble.
Bay cringed. Making the jump always felt like a vise crushing his skull.
The stars stretched into lines, and they shot forward. Within instants, Elysium was just a speck behind them, then gone.
Bay took a shuddering breath.
"Brooklyn, are you all right? Can you keep ahead of them?"
Her camera turned toward him. "I'm flying fast. We have a head start of a few million kilometers. But those strikers are fast bastards. I can't outrun them forever."
Bay cursed. His belly curdled. "Fly back toward Concord space. Fast as possible. We're small and hard to detect. We can lose them."
Her camera bobbed. "We'll be fine, dude. I promise." But there was uncertainty in her voice.
Coral rose to her feet. Silent, she stepped into the hold. Bay followed and found her sitting on the bed, hands on her knees, staring ahead blankly.
"Coral, you're bleeding," Bay said. "Let me bandage you and—"
"We failed." The weaver looked at him, eyes haunted. "We failed, Bay. The Godblade is gone. The galaxy will fall."
Her tears flowed. Bay sat beside her and pulled her into an embrace.
"We'll figure it out," he whispered. "If the Godblade is still around, we'll—"
He froze.
He leaped to his feet.
"Of course," he whispered.
His head spun. He clutched his temples and had to sit back down.
"Bay!" Coral glared at him. "What is it?"
He gave a mirthless, crazed laugh. The hold spun around him.
"The Godblade," he said. "The one painted onto the guildhall wall. The one engraved onto the sarcophagus. I've seen it before."
Coral gasped. It was her turn to leap up. She grabbed his shoulders. "What?"
With a trembling hand, Bay brushed back his hair, then reached for his minicom. He loaded up his gallery of photos and began scrolling through them.
"It was years ago," he said. "I almost forgot. Back before David Emery left us. Back when Jade still lived among us, just a little girl. She was good friends with Leona." He laughed again, a pained laugh. "She was my friend too."
Coral shook him. "Bay, what are you talking about?"
He pulled up the right photograph. He showed it to Coral.
"This is a photo from seventeen years ago, back when we were children. When we all lived together." He pointed. "This girl with the curly dark hair, holding a wooden sword? That's Leona. This boy holding a plastic gun? That's me. And this?" He pointed at a girl with blond hair, holding a crystal sword. "This is Jade Emery before the scorpions kidnapped her, before they implanted machines in her skull, turning her hair blue, turning her into a monster. She was our friend." He looked into Coral's eyes. "And she's holding the Godblade."
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
A nightmare.
It had to be a nightmare.
This place could not be real, not even in hell.
Ayumi stood in the Red Hospital in the heart of the gulock, gazing upon purest pain.
"Come, child." A nurse clattered toward her. "Do not be afraid."
Beneath her white uniform, the nurse had the body of a woman. A human. Yet instead of feet she had curving scorpion claws. A mask covered her mouth and nose, but her eyes were inhuman. Small. Perfectly round. White. Sunken into depressions. They looked like white marbles at the bottom of cups.
"Who are you?" Ayumi whispered. She stood barefoot on the cold hard floor, naked and bleeding and trembling. "What are you?"
"Do not be afraid," the nurse said. "Maybe you will be like me. I will help you."
The nurse reached out. Her fingers were long, twice the length of normal human fingers. Ayumi saw the stitches.
Fingers stitched onto fingers, she thought.
The deformed hand coiled around Ayumi's arm. Another nurse approached, clattering on her claws, and grabbed Ayumi's other arm. More nurses moved about the room, gazing with white marble eyes.
"Please," Ayumi whispered. "I can work hard. I can work the wagons. Or the chimneys. Not here. Please. Not here."
"Do not be afraid," said one of the nurses. "I will help you. Maybe you will be like me. Come now. Fear not."
They pulled Ayumi through the hospital. She walked with them, head lowered. She didn't want to look, but they pulled her head up. And Ayumi saw.
"Do not be afraid," the nurses said. "See? Maybe you will be like them. Come now. Fear not."
Prisoners filled the hospital. Dozens of them. Barely human. Barely alive.
The doors were open. She saw. She was afraid.
In one room, a group of children sat on benches, their skin burned off. They looked at her with huge eyes, nailed into their seats.
In another room, people hung on the walls from meat hooks. One man had two heads, one his true head, the other stitched on and blinking. One man was two men. Each split down the middle, sliced vertically, stitched together, forming rotting conjoined twins. In one room, a child sat in a bucket of ice water, shivering and blue, staring, wires puncturing his skull. In another room a boy hung from the ceiling, embers crackling below him, cooking him alive. One woman had several torsos, stitched together, turning her into an elongated scorpion with many arms. One room was labeled a maternity ward, and a woman lay inside, pregnant, surrounded by nurses with notepads, giving birth with her thighs tied together.
A nightmare, Ayumi thought. Just a nightmare. It can't be real.
"You are most lucky," said a nurse. "These experiments help our masters study our bodies. With these experiments, they learn how to win the war. You are serving the Hierarchy, child. Are you happy?"
&
nbsp; "Who are you?" Ayumi whispered, voice trembling. "Are you human?"
"Do not be afraid," said the nurse. "Maybe you will be like us. I will help you. Fear not."
They took her past these horrors. Past these weeping, begging humans. In one room, nurses were slicing a man open, pulling out his organs as he screamed. In another room, a woman was nailed to a table, carved open like a frog to be dissected and poked. In one room a man wept as the nurses sawed open his skull, then plugged electrodes into his brain.
Just a nightmare. Just a nightmare. Fear not. They will help you.
The nurses finally led Ayumi to a room at the back of the Red Hospital. A stark white room, the lights searing and unforgiving. When they lay her on the examination table, Ayumi fought them. But the nurses were so strong. They strapped her down, shone the lights upon her, told her not to fear. In the struggle, one nurse's mask fell off, revealing a face with no lower jaw.
Ayumi lay on the table under the stark lights, shaking, praying to die.
Please, ancients, she thought. If you're alive, let me die.
The nurses pulled tubes and needles from their toolkits. They ran tubes into Ayumi's arms. They shoved a tube down her throat. They pricked her body, drew blood, attached electrodes. On a tray, they arranged scalpels and rib spreaders and hammers. They gave her no anesthetics.
Please, ancients. Please. Kill me. Please.
Her tears fell. Her father had been a weaver. He had woven a marvelous rug with birds that flapped their wings, with rivers that gurgled, with mountains capped with snowy cotton that was cold to the touch.
We lived in an enclave, she thought. We were happy. My father knew you, ancients. You gave him the aether, the magic to weave rugs of splendor. I am the daughter of a weaver. Please hear me. Please pity me. Please kill me.
A nurse stuck her with a final tube.
"The doctor will see you now," she said. "Fear not. I will help you."
The nurses stepped toward the door, pulled it open, and the doctor entered.
He was a scorpion, but not like the others. The warrior scorpions had black shells, but this one was yellowish, the color of pus. Warts covered his shell like a coat of barnacles. An apparatus was attached to his head, a crown of many magnifying glasses that moved on gears. The doctor had the same eyes as the humanoid nurses, small round marbles, no pupils or irises, just white spheres sunken into his skull.
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