“Why... why didn't you want to marry me?” It had been a long time since someone had refused her anything. Her appearance, wealth, and power led most to trip over themselves in an effort to please her.
“Outside the fact that, even then, I recognized your inherent selfishness?” He kicked a piece of debris away. “There was someone else. I couldn't marry you, even if it was a mere public show, when my heart belonged to another. Your father didn't care. I'd told him no. He rebooted his list, waited until he found my replacement, and found someone else for you.”
Roddy. She swallowed. “I'm... I'm sorry.”
“I'm not.” He started jogging once more. “I can't stop you from following me, Deirdre Silver. But I'm under no obligation to help you. At some point you'll need to eat. I won't provide you food. At some point you'll want to get out of that suit to bathe or relieve yourself. I will not stand guard, watching for the Hinterlands beasts, alerting you to their presence. Nor will I do sleeping shifts with you so that we can rest well, knowing that the other watches for creatures that might not be repelled by Diasteel suits.” He stopped and turned, fixing his withering gaze upon her. “I'd rather die than help you live.”
“I'll help you.” The words spilled out of her mouth, which felt dry, all the moisture in her body leaking out of her eyes as the cruel truth of his words slammed into her. “I'll stay awake while you sleep and stand guard while you bathe or otherwise leave your suit.”
He stopped and stared at her before turning around. “Why? Didn't you hear me? I'm not helping you, Deirdre.”
“I know.” She took a deep breath. “It's true. Everything you said about me is completely true. I had the chance to stop this before it started by just keeping my mouth shut. And I didn't. I don't deserve to live. But I promise you, I will do everything I can to see you safely to, and into, New Venice. Even if it kills me.”
He stared at her once more, looking for the sincerity in her eyes.
The howls in the distance began, drawn closer to them by the scent of blood still heavy in the air. Deirdre felt the hairs on the back of her neck stand on end.
The man smiled at her. “Sounds like we're about to have company.” He tapped his chest, and metal clanged loudly. “I guess we'll see how well these suits work. They don't care who you are either, Deirdre. They know only one rule. Eat or be eaten.”
He took off at jog. “The good news? I don't have to outrun them. I only need to outrun you.”
She opened her mouth to protest. But the words never came.
A dark, furry mass collided with the man. Man and beast tumbled down the massive debris pile.
Deirdre never hesitated before running to him.
It was time to prove her worth. To prove she was worth something.
—————
MICAH JAMISON
—————
JAMISON BRACED FOR IMPACT.
His vehicle slammed into the solid surface of the great lake, and he adjusted his posture and muscular tension to minimize the whiplash effect. The restraining harnesses held him in place as his head snapped forward and back. Once the forward momentum across the top of the lake slowed, replaced by a gentle bobbing as the car slowly sank beneath the waves, Jamison unstrapped himself and rolled to his knees so that he faced back toward the Lakeplex.
The immense devastation unfurled before him.
A billowing cloud of gray smoke and orange flame hovered above what remained of the city, masking the extent of the damage to some degree. But Jamison knew. Knew that the hundreds of buildings inside those walls were either gone or in the process of transforming from homes and business into more of the destructive miniature robots. He knew that the hundreds of thousands of people inside the walls were dead, and he hoped the ends they'd met were as quick and painless as what he'd arranged for his people inside the Bunker. He knew he'd prefer the instant death of the missile-induced massive fireball than the slow deconstruction wrought by the Ravagers.
He wondered if the family who'd tried to steal this car had gotten far enough ahead of the cursed machines to avoid that fate, or if they, too, had fallen victim.
Cursed. He was cursed as well. Sheila had damned him for allowing it to happen, for helping it come about, and he couldn't fault her. He'd tell her everything and hope she'd understand.
Motion to his left captured his attention, and Jamison turned. A giant ship sailed by, the engines churning watery foam. It headed for the docks ahead, the captain and crew undoubtedly wondering why the Lakeplex featured an unnaturally thick haze over the city this day. Jamison wondered if they'd ignore the new, empty skyline, perhaps thinking it an illusion brought about by the smoky haze.
He wondered if he could do something to help them. But he knew he couldn't.
He watched as another ship moved by on his right, watched as both ships slowed as they neared opposite ends of the dock, each waiting for the smaller tugboats that would pull them the rest of the way. He watched as the caches of Ravagers stowed inside of the dock exploded outward, triggered by sensors programmed to detect approaching ships. He watched as the Ravagers, resembling a small oil slick, stuck to the forward edges of each ship.
The first of the ships tipped forward, taking on water as the Ravagers devoured the front hull. Within minutes, nothing remained of either ship but a large slick of oily Ravagers sitting atop the water. But the machines didn't move. The coding prevented the machines from dissolving water. They'd back away if they could. But when they floated atop the surface of the lake? They had nowhere to go.
Jamison felt his face tighten into an awkward smile. That was one batch of Ravagers effectively neutered. He only wished he'd been able to kill them himself.
Not yet, though.
Jamison spun around in the car's cabin and reached for the dash. Seconds later, autopilot engaged, the vehicle plunged beneath the water and set course for the island.
He turned around and watched the trailer follow the car beneath the surface, looking for any tell-tale signs that the waterproof seals weren't working. But he saw nothing. No air bubbles, no leaking of the chemicals through tiny gaps between pieces. He'd prefer to pull everything into the main cabin with him so that he could check the stability of the batteries and generators, ensure that the water purification kits and seeds and dried food remained untouched... and most critically ensuring that the doorframe hadn't shattered on impact with the water. The trailer provided sufficient wiggle room and the expanding foam padding should absorb the shock. But he wouldn't know for certain until he reached the island and unpacked.
His plan might still work without the frame. But the added complexity would tax him in ways he didn't want to consider.
The hours passed in silence. He studied the swimming patterns of the fish as a means of passing the time. He wouldn't close his eyes until he reached the island and ensured everything had thus far progressed as planned.
He initiated a communication link with the house. Sheila had arrived without any physical damage, but her stress levels were quite elevated. Efforts progressed to reduce the stress levels. Jamison supposed her reaction was to be expected; it's not every day you're witness to the beginning of the end of the world. He'd not briefed her on any of this before it started. She wouldn't have believed him, not even coming from him. Not even coming from the him she'd known before today.
He'd need to rebuild that trust. Sheila was the key to everything. If he'd lost her permanently... then all would be forever lost.
The wheels contacted the sloping sides of the island and the traction systems engaged, allowing the vehicle to roll up the wet sand. The propeller engines used to move the vehicle through the water aided the ascent. The top broke the surface of the lake and the car continued along, the water cascading down the sides as the vehicle rolled to a stop past high tide water levels. Jamison killed the engine, released the seals, and opened the door. He felt the air wash over him and recognized the unique scent found only here.
He stood an
d moved to the trailer, working to release the series of seals that kept the lake water away from the precious cargo inside. With the seals undone, he unlocked the top and lifted it. Everything appeared intact, and the doorframe showed no sign of damage.
Success.
He closed the lid. With the supplies confirmed undamaged, he'd come back for them later. He had other matters to attend to now. He looked around and frowned.
Sheila had arrived before him according to the island communication system. Yet he saw no sign of the car he'd strapped her in hours earlier. He'd programmed it to stop here on the beach and let her out, trusting that she'd find the house.
If the car wasn't here? Something was wrong. He didn't think she'd had time to drive the car, and wasn't certain she'd know how to operate the hand controls in any event.
So where was it?
Were the reports incorrect? Was Sheila still in transit?
Or worse... was she dead, lost to some contingency he'd not considered?
He glanced around again, looking for any clues previously missed. But he saw nothing.
He jogged into the trees. The answers would be found inside the house.
The trees were ancient, and he mentally catalogued the species as he jogged by, listening to the leaves shaken free by recent wind gusts crunch beneath his feet. He reached the clearing and looked around again. He still saw no sign of Sheila's car. There were no obvious paths here from the beach wide enough to accommodate a car. That didn't mean that Sheila--resourceful as she was--hadn't found a way in anyway. He jogged up to the steps, moved up to the porch, and entered the door.
The familiar tinny voice sounded. “Greetings, Micah Jamison! May I offer you--?”
“Where is Sheila?”
“Sheila is--”
He heard the sound of the gun clicking behind him and froze.
“Hands up, General.”
Well, he'd found her. Or perhaps, more to the point, she'd found him. He lifted his hands into the air slowly. “I'm glad that you're safe, Sheila.”
She offered a mocking laugh. “Safe? The entire world's gone to hell, disintegrating before my eyes, and you're happy that I'm safe? What the hell does safe even mean anymore?”
He nodded, listening for any sound of movement that might provide him information on her exact location. “I could not stop the rest of it. I could not save any others. But I could save you. And I did.”
“Brilliant!” she snapped, her tone scathing. “You couldn't stop it, you say? Let's see. You managed to invent a car that drives itself--”
“I didn't invent it,” he said, his voice calm.
“--and that can propel itself around underwater. How long did it take to invent that car, General? How many years did it take you to invent that car?”
“I didn't invent it,” he repeated. He paused. “It took three years to build.”
“Three years, you say? What prompted you to start building the car, General? Sheer intellectual curiosity? A bit too much free time on your hands?”
He hesitated. “I built it because I knew it was the only way to save you.”
“Ha. Ha. Ha.” He heard a slight rustle of clothing. She was moving more to his left, still a half dozen feet away, far enough away that he couldn't reach her. She was keeping her cool, following her training, not surrendering the advantage of the gun by moving too close as the man had done earlier. “So let me get this straight. Three years ago, you knew you needed to build a car to transport me from the Bunker to this island. Three years ago, I didn't work for you, General. Three years ago, though, you knew this would happen. You knew a person who didn't work for you would need to be saved.” She inhaled. “You had three years to stop what we just saw. You had three years to go public, to make the wider Alliance aware of what you knew. You had three years to sound a warning, a warning that would have stopped every single person I've ever known or loved from dying in horrific fashion. Yet you did nothing.”
“I can explain, Sheila--”
He heard the desperation in her voice, heard the slight tap as her shoes settled on the floor. “Tell me, General, why I shouldn't just shoot you right now for your crimes against humanity.”
He paused before shaking his head. “I have no answer that will satisfy you until you know the wider context of what happened.”
“You have no answer?” She sounded incredulous. “No defense?”
He offered a brief nod. “There are no short answers, Sheila. Just long, tortuous ones.”
“Summarize. I'll decide if I want to hear more.”
He hesitated. “The shortest, simplest answer is this: I was following orders.”
“You have got to be kidding.” He could almost feel her eyes widen in shock at the answer. “You were just following orders. And now, because you just followed orders, millions are dead or dying.” He could almost feel the breeze as she shook her head in disgust, as she stared daggers at him. “I should just kill you now before you try to save me again by letting millions of innocent people die instead.”
He paused. Intriguing option. “Perhaps you should.”
He heard the hammer click as she pulled it back. He raised his hands.
The robot screamed as the shot rang out.
—————
RODDY LIGHT
—————
DELANEY PUSHED RODDY OUT OF the apartment and into the cavernous hallway outside. The unexpected shove caught Roddy off guard, and he stumbled to the ground. His chin hit the ground, and through the scent of freshly installed carpet, Roddy could still identify the coppery taste of blood in his mouth. The rough fibers rubbed against his face, and he suspected he'd find his face a bit worse for wear the next time he found a mirror. He rolled to his side and then back on to one knee, pulled the other leg up, and stood. He turned toward his old friend, a man he'd never known by name until now, and stared at him. “How did you get here?”
“You're not the only pilot in the world, Light,” Delaney sneered.
Roddy paused. “You're the one who's brought Silver here before.”
“Of course.” Roddy thought he detected a small smirk on his old friend's face, as if Roddy's recognition of his deeper experience in the world of flight was some major victory. He moved forward and tried to grab Roddy's bound hands. Roddy spun out of the way and faced the man he'd known as Gambit, who shrugged off his miss. “I've flown quite a few of the Phoenix dignitaries here, in fact. It paid a lot more than Special Forces work, as you've no doubt found.”
“But...”
James slipped around Roddy, seized Roddy's bound hands with his left and Roddy's shoulder with his right, assuming complete control of Roddy's ability to move. “Walk.”
Roddy didn't move.
“This isn't a joke, Light. I don't need to act any more. Resist once more and I put a bullet in your brain. Nobody will know that it wasn't self-defense. They wouldn't care, either.”
Roddy walked.
Delaney talked as they moved through the cavernous hallway. “Yeah, I've been here many times before this trip. Shocked the hell out of me the first time, especially when that gravity beam grabbed the ship and pulled us in. It wasn't quite the shock I felt when I learned about Phoenix, of course.”
Roddy frowned and tried to turn and face his captor, but Delaney pulled his shoulder back and pushed him forward. “Phoenix. What's... Phoenix?”
Delaney laughed. “Oh, no, Light. I'm letting Oswald Silver tell you all about that. But don't worry. I'll be there to watch. I want to see the horror on your face when you realize what's happening down there right now.”
Roddy felt his stomach clench. The evidence was scant. But he'd been left with the horrific impression that some engineered catastrophe roiled the planet's surface even now, and that his most recent flight had the goal of removing Oswald Silver and Deirdre from that catastrophe. He shuddered. Deirdre was down there. If his impression was correct... well, it was no wonder that Oswald wanted him dead.
His st
omach clenched further as he heard a familiar voice, the last he'd wanted to hear in this space station with his hands bound. “There you are.”
Oswald Silver himself appeared ahead, his head and body gradually rising above the horizon of the hallway. A team of security guards flanked him, and Roddy felt his stomach lurch. The look on Silver's face gave little sense of mercy. As the distance closed between he and Silver, Roddy felt as though a noose closed ever tighter around his neck.
Delaney and Roddy pulled even with Silver's group. Silver offered Delaney an approving nod. “Good work, Delaney.” His mouth curled up. “Bet you're enjoying the fact that you captured him, aren't you?”
Roddy could nearly feel the energy from his captor's grin. “You have no idea, sir.”
Silver laughed. “Capturing an old foe is a great reward, one I can certainly relate to.” He jerked his thumb to Roddy's right, aiming it at a door lacking a nameplate. “Take him in there.”
Delaney marched Roddy to the door and hurled him inside. Roddy's thigh hit the heavy wooden table inside and he went sprawling across the polished surface. Delaney laughed.
“Delaney. In.” Silver's voice barked the order. “The rest of you need to stay out here.”
The door slammed shut with the resounding thud of a coffin lid.
“Sit him up, Delaney, so we can see his handsome face.” The tone suggested some private joke between the two. Roddy wasn't sure he wanted in on the joke.
Delaney grabbed Roddy's legs and dragged him backward off the table, then grabbed his waist and hurled him into a cushioned chair, his bound arms trapped behind him. Delaney shoved the chair forward into the table, and Roddy tensed his core muscles to keep his head from slamming into the hard wooden table. He caught a glimpse of himself in the polished surface. The skin showed definite signs that the earlier encounter with the carpet had rubbed the skin raw.
The Ravagers Box Set: Episodes 1-3 Page 28