by S. S. Segran
The Sentry put the monocular away. There we are. But how do I get past the Orcs and into Mordor?
His answer emerged from the Sanctuary a few minutes later: Another orange truck. Deverell rushed down the slope and grabbed his backpack from his vehicle. With no one in sight, he sprinted through the sludge and turned onto the hidden road before slowing to a walk. He held up his hand as the truck approached. The driver powered down his window and yelled at him in English. “Hey, you’re not supposed to be here! Site Three is for authorized personnel only!” To Deverell’s surprise, the man sounded American.
The Sentry went up to the window, putting on a thick Russian accent. “My truck broke down and my leg’s already in bad shape to begin with. Could I get a lift to the site office?”
The man looked as though he was debating with himself, then he relented. “Yeah, sure. Hop in the back.”
Deverell slid behind the driver, noting the toolbox on the passenger seat. Before the man could shift gears, the Sentry grabbed him around the neck. The driver flailed, fighting as hard as he could, but slowly weakened until he was unconscious. Deverell checked the man’s pulse, then with a quick motion jerked his right wrist back so the hoop on his finger pulled on the thin wire. A small hypodermic needle unsheathed from a concealed slot in his bracelet and pricked the man’s neck before ejecting itself as another needle took its place. Under normal circumstances, the sleeper hold would have left the man unconscious for a few minutes, but with the tranquilizer kicking in he would be safely out of commission for two hours.
If I could just figure out how to make this compound take effect instantly, this prototype would be even handier, Deverell thought.
He quickly changed into the driver’s white coverall and helmet, hid the unconscious man in the backseat under a tarp, then got behind the wheel and watched in the rearview mirror as he altered his facial features. Hopefully since this fellow was just there, they’ll let me in without checking the truck, he thought. Lucky he doesn’t have facial hair. I’d never be able to explain how I got to be clean-shaven so quick.
A sharp beep sounded and a small light on a tablet computer on top of the toolbox flashed. Deverell turned the device on and grinned. Looks like this is connected to the Sanctuary’s systems. So what was that alert for? Aha! A work order for some electrical malfunction. This lad must be an electrician. Perfect cover.
He turned the truck around, slowing as he entered the tunnel. One of the guards, a muscular African-American, came up to the window. “Hey, Richie. Back so soon?”
Doing his best to mimic the driver, Deverell said, “Yeah. Just when you think you’re done, another job pops up.”
“That’s the way the coin lands, my brother.” The guard nodded at the others and they waved the Sentry forward as the steel door slid open.
Inside, Deverell continued down through a long tunnel before emerging in the cavernous Sanctuary. He gasped. Mounted high on the ceiling at well-spaced intervals, large, warm-toned banks of LED lights illuminated the subterranean stronghold, bathing the entire place in a soft golden glow, leaving only a few scattered shadows around some of the buildings and structures.
Like an underground city . . . a perfect preppers’ haven. Wow!
He stopped in a parking lot near the tunnel; it was already filled with several trucks, a couple of smaller vehicles and three black Hummers. He surveyed his surroundings, then looked back at the tablet. In addition to work orders, the device contained a diagram of the layout of the Sanctuary as well as a highlighted note: ‘Eastern section of administrative building is off-limits this week as directed by Head of Sanctuary Zarya Yussupov’.
The Sentry checked the details of his work order, grabbed the toolbox and entered a building adjacent to the parking lot marked on the map as “Aquaponics 3”.
Inside, a fish rearing tank spanned the entire building, twice the length of a tennis court, with narrow walkways around it. In the tank, countless tilapia swam and splashed toward a dark-skinned girl as she tossed fish feed into the water. She wore a crisp gray shirt and black cargo pants with a utility belt around her waist. Deverell passed her and was stunned when he glimpsed her face. She can’t be much older than thirteen or fourteen!
Two other similarly-dressed SONES tended to a range of crops in hydroponic trays suspended above the fish tank, even harvesting tomatoes, lettuce, strawberries and kale. Deverell gave a small nod and squeezed past them to the other end of the building where the control panels were located. According to the work order, the automated light timers are acting up, he recalled. Reckon they use it to simulate a natural day-night cycle. This should be an easy fix.
It took him only a few minutes to get the lights working properly. On his way out, the girl feeding the fish grabbed his arm. “Hey!”
Deverell froze.
“Thanks for fixing the timers!” she chirped. “They’ve been driving me crazy all morning.”
The Sentry relaxed and gave a half-smile. “No problem. I’m glad to be of service.”
The girl beamed, letting go of him. “Of course. Everyone should be. This is all for a new future that we will lead. A brave new world awaits us. It’s just so exciting!”
“Let’s keep at it, then. We’re closer now to a fundamental transformation of the planet.”
“Yes! Absolutely!” The girl shook his hand and returned to feeding the fish, a big smile plastered on her face.
As he left, Deverell thought, Fundamental? Humph. Emphasis on ‘mental’. What a mess . . . It’s so tempting to get rid of Reyor once and for all. That monster is here, right here. I can actually feel it in my bones. Ach, what an awful sensation. Even my hands are trembling.
Stepping out of the aquaponics facility, he chanced a walkabout to get a feel of the Sanctuary. Teenagers swarmed the place, some tending to a variety of life-sustaining facilities, others trooping around with clipboards or tablets, and others still checking on structural and supporting systems. They wore different colored shirts and black cargo pants with boots while a few wandered around in civilian clothing.
Guess they get days off, the Sentry mused. This is fascinating. They’ve all been repurposed but they don’t seem to be mindless drones. Free will does exist to some degree. Bravo, Reyor. This was very well thought out. Still, it would be so easy to end it all here. Except, oh yes, the world would literally be obliterated. How twisted is this? Not only can we not eliminate Reyor, but we may actually have to protect that fiend against threats, including the authorities!
He threw his arms up and bellowed in frustration, causing a pair of youths to stop and stare at him. He paused and awkwardly waved at them until they walked away.
The lathe’ad is Reyor’s shield, he continued to himself. The only shield. It completely rests on the Chosen Ones to deal with this, but are they even capable of that monumental duty yet? What if they’re not? Argh . . . Okay, okay, focus on the task at hand. Think. Where would they hold Vic if they had him here?
He glanced at the tablet, rereading the note from the Head of Sanctuary. The admin building. It’s worth a look. Maybe I can find a way to sneak into the restricted area.
Rumbling engines emanated from the tunnel as a couple of Hummers rowdily rolled in and parked beside Gareth’s truck. Three guards with backpacks got out, joking with each other. One checked his watch. “We’re fifteen minutes early.”
“Let’s relieve the guys anyway,” a second said. “They’ve had a long shift.”
Deverell followed them as they headed past the lot. A hundred yards across from the parked vehicles, a platoon of SONEs in military fatigues participated in drills on an open gravel field. The teenagers, taller and beefier than the others he’d seen so far, looked hardened with physical training. Men and women with stony expressions inspected them while one stood in front and barked commands.
The three guards turned a corner and entered what must have been a locker room, because they quickly reemerged without their backpacks and ambled toward a sizeable conc
rete building. Without anything to hide behind, Deverell tailed them as casually as he could. He checked the site map on his tablet, then slowly smiled. They’re heading to the admin building, and yet it’s off-limits . . .
One of the guards stopped short and spun around. Deverell hastily looked down at the tablet as if to read something, then craned his head back to inspect the ventilation shafts overhead that led to an imposing steel enclosure. The enclosure stood out starkly against the warmer hues of the other buildings and had no windows, only a fortified door. Strange sounds came from within, almost like thunder.
Deverell didn’t dare check if the guard was still watching him. He wandered around, pretending to examine something or another as he tried to work out a plan to infiltrate the administrative building.
Moments later he heard approaching voices. Three different guards, all with shadows under their eyes, passed him. They gathered their belongings from the locker room, then trudged to the parking lot. The Sentry followed them and made a show of searching for something in his truck’s flatbed; all the guards had parked a row ahead of him.
The guard closest to him checked his pockets and backpack, then groaned and said in a Southern accent, “I can’t find my keys.”
“Check your locker,” one of the others said. “We’ll meet you back in town for a nightcap.”
“Naw, you’re waiting here. You ain’t gettin’ a head start on the drinks, pal.”
“Sure, sure. No problem. We’ll just . . . be here, of course.”
As the first guard started back toward the lockers, the other two cackled and jumped into a Hummer, tearing toward the tunnel and out of sight. The remaining guard cursed out loud. He took a step forward and a metal jingle emanated from his pants. “What the—”
Before he could check his pockets again, Deverell slid behind him and applied the same chokehold and tranquilizer strategy he had used on the electrician earlier. He crouched out of view when he saw a SONE heading toward the aquaponics facility, then dragged the guard behind the truck he’d stolen. Once he’d again changed clothes and facial appearance, he dug the missing keys out of the guard’s pocket before stowing both the limp guard and the electrician in the back of the remaining Hummer. Then he grabbed his bag and jogged to the administrative building.
Three doors twenty feet apart provided access. Deverell opened the first and found himself staring down a hallway with doors evenly spaced along either side. Looks like some kind of a dorm, he thought. He looked up and saw a camera above his head facing the long passage. This probably isn’t it.
He opened the second door and walked in. When his boot touched the ground, a sharp snap sounded. Whoa, that’s some solid flooring. Can’t sneak up on anyone with these.
A few paces ahead, a darkened corridor extended to the left. It was empty except for a couple of brightly-lit vending machines. To the right was a door with the word ‘Boardroom’ inscribed in Kazakh on a plaque. Deverell thought he heard voices on the other side. He stopped and pressed his ear against the door, feeling a slight chill as he did.
There was a low drone of male voices and a female one. They went silent within a few seconds. The Sentry quickly turned and started down the corridor but glanced back when he heard the door open. An incredibly short man with greasy black hair and thick glasses glared out at him. Deverell had never seen Dr. Nate before but knew it was him right away.
“Mornin’,” he said crisply.
The doctor mumbled something and shut the door, though not before Deverell glimpsed a figure garbed in a long black coat with a golden hood in the back of the room. Terror shot through every nerve in his body. He steadied himself against the glass window of one of the office rooms lining the corridor. It was as if he’d completely forgotten how to breathe. He rode out the fear in silence, then continued down the hallway.
That was Reyor! My God, that was Reyor! He halted suddenly. What if Vic is in there? There’s not a chance I’ll be able get in with just my adaptive appearance . . . Bah, why wasn’t I born with additional abilities?
The offices were all dark and empty but at the far end of the corridor, light spilled from a window of a corner room. A camera on a wall directly ahead made Deverell regret pressing his ear to the boardroom door. I hope whoever’s monitoring the cameras didn’t see that . . .
An Asian man with a rifle slung across his shoulder looked around the corner at the far end of the hallway as the Sentry passed in front of the lit room. “Hey!” he greeted, his accent perfectly American. “I knew I heard footsteps. You’re done with your shift, man. Why are you still here?”
“I lost my keys,” Deverell drawled. “Was wonderin’ if I dropped ’em ’round here?”
“Not sure. We’ve stayed put, keeping our eyes on this chump.” The guard nodded into the lit room.
Deverell turned to the large glass window. Fury made his breath hitch in his throat.
Victor sat slumped in a chair facing the mirror, his t-shirt torn with red and purple welts peeking through the slits. Blood caked the sides of his face and mouth. His head hung so low Deverell feared he was unconscious, but when the older Sentry raised his chin to glare at them, he let out a loud exhale.
“I know, right?” the guard beside him said. “It’s so creepy how he keeps staring directly at the mirror like he can see us. He always looks like he’s ready to kill everyone.”
Of course he does, you witless arse, Deverell thought, outraged. Look what you’ve done to him!
He let the guard lead him around the corner where two other armed men were stationed in between three doors—the left one leading to Victor’s holding cell, the second directly ahead leading out of the administrative building into the open cavern, and a third to a room on the right. The Asian guard opened the third one. “Maybe you left your keys in the pantry. Have a look.”
“Thanks.” The Sentry went into the converted office that served temporarily as the guards’ break room and made an act of searching the place. There are three of them and they’re armed, he thought. They think I’m one of them. The camera is pointed down the corridor, not around the corner, which is perfect. But I can’t take all three at once.
He stepped back out, shaking his head. “They ain’t there.”
“You could always walk back to town,” the Asian guard grinned. He wiped some sweat off his brow, which Deverell found strange in the chilly building.
“You alright?” he asked.
“Yeah,” the guard replied. “Had too much coffee, so I’m a little jittery.”
“That’s what you get for emptying the pot,” one of the other men said crossly. “I really needed some caffeine. That’s karma for you, Arnold.”
“Well, I’m on my way to flush karma down the urinal. Hold the fort, hey?”
“Grab me a soda on your way back, would ya?” The third guard flicked a silver coin at his departing companion, who caught it easily.
Seeing an opportunity, Deverell followed the Asian guard down the hallway and turned into the bathroom. When the man shot him a questioning look, the Sentry said, “I might’ve dropped my keys in here.”
The second the door shut, Deverell pounced, knocking the man out and pricking him with a tranquilizer. He switched their nametags, picked up the rifle and coin, then locked the guard in one of the stalls. There was nothing he could really do to pass as a non-Caucasian; the other guards would know something was wrong, but he still had the element of surprise.
He bounced the coin on his palm, noting the symbols on either side; a rising phoenix on one and on the other, a Dema-Ki symbol similar to the letter Z with a horizontal line crossing through the center. Strange, he thought. If the symbol was a lighter shade, that would mean creation. Darker, destruction. This is mid-tone. What statement are you trying to make, Reyor?
The guards stationed by Victor’s cell looked up when Deverell returned with a can of root beer. Confusion had just started to appear on their faces when he tossed the can high into the air. “Catch.”
One of them instinctively grabbed the drink as it soared over his head. Deverell swung his fist into the man’s face then pivoted on his heel to grab the second guard around the neck. By the time the first man recovered from the punch and got over the shock of a broken nose, the Sentry had dealt with the other guard and had his gun pointed at him.
The guard grimaced, a red stream trickling down his lips. “Who are you?”
“On your knees,” Deverell said. “And remove your gun.”
The guard gave him a nasty look but obliged. Deverell reversed his hold on the rifle and jabbed the butt at the man’s head, but the guard rolled aside and kicked out, catching the Sentry’s knees. Deverell buckled, nearly dropping the gun. The guard shot up and slammed his forearm against Deverell’s. The Sentry muffled a yelp and let go of the weapon, then found himself staring down its barrel. He put his arms up slowly and concentrated with all his might.
The guard’s expression transformed into horror as the Sentry’s face morphed into his. “Holy—”
Deverell shoved the gun away from his head and slammed the confused guard into the wall before forcefully wrenching him to the ground in a reverse chokehold. The guard swung wildly, nearly landing a few punches on Deverell before going limp and getting pricked with a needle. The Sentry shoved the guard off, breathing hard, then pushed himself up and opened the door to the holding cell.
Victor turned to him as he entered. He bristled, fighting against his restraints and spitting imprecations. Deverell stepped back. “Whoa, hey! Vic! It’s me! It’s me!”
That only riled Victor more. Deverell, realizing his mistake, morphed back to himself and watched the hostility drain from his friend’s eyes. As he crouched to unbuckle Victor’s restraints, the older Sentry stared at him like he couldn’t believe what he was seeing. “My message got through?” he murmured.
“Some of it, yes. Where’s Chief?”
“They took him away.”