“And you have all the necessary components to create it?” Deneb looks at him. “Then do it.”
“Hey, no! Too risky,” the Animal Handler says. “If it fries our guns—”
“Shut up,” Deneb tells him.
The Animal Handler goes silent, while the others look on. Meanwhile the Technician opens his equipment bag and starts taking out the necessary items. The contents of his bag resemble a microelectronics lab.
We wait and watch, while the view outside the Safe Base is still the same, with the four drones out of direct line of sight, but we know they’re there, right over the door.
“Are the walls of this shelter conductive or shielded? Also, our equipment bags might be partly shielded—or not,” the Scientist begins. “We’ll need to run tests.”
“Don’t take too long,” Deneb says.
The Technician nods to both. He then digs around inside his portable component lab for other gadgets. “We’ll establish the level of electromagnetic shielding around the perimeter, ceiling, floor, then go from there.”
I watch and listen to them, wondering if this Safe Base can function as a proper Faraday cage to protect our own electronic gadgets from the EMP, or if they are going to mess up and fry everything in the vicinity. But these guys definitely know what they’re doing. And they have super-advanced Atlantean tech to work with.
About fifteen minutes later—after measuring surface density, resistance, static levels, and other precise data, calculating distances including the exact location of the four drones, and putting together initial components—the Technician and the Scientist appear to have a solid design. They tell us to put all our bags in one pile against the wall, and place a thin metal net around them for additional shielding. My own equipment bag is taken from me and dumped with the others as I watch.
“Just because you die soon doesn’t mean your expensive weapons need to die too,” the Entertainer jokes, giving me a mocking look as she picks up my bag.
“Understand, this is only a precaution,” the Scientist reassures Deneb and his crew. “The EMP will be highly focused, so there’s almost no chance of it affecting our tech at all. The narrow wave will be aimed at the slit in the door. Even the surveillance cameras will not be affected.”
“Good.” Deneb nods. “Because I would hate to be you if something does go wrong. You know how fond I am of my custom guns. And we need the view cams to work.”
The Scientist blinks nervously, but the Technician only nods and continues working on the device.
Another twenty minutes later, it is ready.
“We’ll open the door just wide enough to pass a millimeter-thick conductive card in the slit between the door frame,” the Technician explains calmly as everyone stares at them. “There’s nothing to worry about, and even if the drones activate, they won’t have sufficient time to discharge long enough to cause the door much harm.”
“So you say,” Kateb the Inventor mutters, as he goes to put his long strange weapon in the pile with the other things, and stands back to look at it almost wistfully.
“Ready?” the Technician says to the Scientist who holds the slim lead of the device. “Open the door and position the lead in the center as marked.”
The Scientist moves the door very slowly and places the device directly over the doorway and through the resulting narrow space. On the surveillance screen we watch the view outside the door where the drones hum, just out of direct camera line-of-sight, but perfectly aligned with the angle of the device lead pointing at them. They haven’t reacted to the door opening a millimeter, which is a good thing.
“Activating now,” the Technician says, holding the main body of the device.
He presses a button.
There’s a pop and a flash. The surveillance smart screen flickers, but does not go out. Neither does the light sconce on the wall inside with us. And the exterior cameras continue showing the view outside the door.
But the next second the drone hum stops.
In the new silence, the four drones fall like dead bugs onto the walkway right outside our door.
Chapter 46
Everyone inside the Safe Base cheers, and there are several rude hoots and claps.
“Well done,” Deneb Gratu says to the Technician and the Scientist, who both look very pleased.
I let out a held breath along with everyone else. But now my nerves return, for obvious reason. This was a temporary distraction, and now Gratu is probably going to celebrate by killing me.
I’m right to be alarmed. After exchanging some banter, the Red Athlete looks at me and his cold blue eyes are hard and deadly. “My Imperial Lady,” he says. “Are you ready to say goodbye?”
Looking up from my awkward seated position, I stare back at him, as my breath grows still once again.
“Feel free to speak your farewells to the audience,” Deneb continues, almost sounding magnanimous, with a tiny growing smile. “No matter where we turn, we are being recorded, making everything we do a stage act, and everything we say just pretty verses. . . . Since everyone deserves a last monologue, by all means, tell your Bridegroom what you need to say, right now.”
“Oh, a lovers’ farewell!” Xofati exclaims, taking a step closer to watch. “This has to be worth additional AG points! Check the scoreboard, now, hurry!”
While someone goes to flip the screen views, I take a deep breath, and exhale. Then, slowly I stand up.
I look into space, trying to find a vacant spot to focus that’s somewhere between anyone, seeing only with my peripheral vision their figures spread around the room, and Deneb Gratu watching me.
I am about to die.
Aeson’s black armband lies folded in a hidden pocket close to my heart. . . . I failed him.
I open my mouth, and fight my own body’s failing control to keep my voice from cracking.
What do you say when you know these are going to be your final words?
“Aeson,” I say in a perfectly composed, calm, serene voice. “Aeson, I love you. . . . It’s all right. Please know, I love you so much! You must be strong! I am with you always—”
Deneb takes a step to narrow the distance between us. And he reaches for me. . . .
In that same instant, a familiar hum sounds right outside the door of the Safe Base.
Deneb stops.
He turns around and looks at the surveillance screen.
We all stare as the view shows us four drones slowly rising back up from the floor of the walkway. . . .
They are live and re-activated. And now they hover in a line formation at eye level, only a foot away, blocking the door.
“What the—” Fadut curses loudly. “The EMP! What happened? Why are these drones back on? Didn’t it kill them?”
“Apparently not,” the Animal Handler says with a smirk.
The Technician and the Scientist exchange glances then approach the screens. Deneb forgets me entirely and returns there also. The others crowd in closer to stare.
“The EMP burst worked,” the Scientist says. “We know that, because they were knocked out. But they must have some kind of special shielding, and possibly the components survived undamaged, with only a reboot needed to function again.”
“So we send another EMP burst,” the Technician says. “No problem. And we increase power.”
Deneb frowns. “Check our own equipment first. I want to make sure things inside this room are as unharmed as you claimed.”
The team returns to the pile of bags and everyone—except me—starts checking their firearms and gadgets for functionality. Nothing seems amiss.
I remain standing, barely able to calm my breathing, as I have once again escaped imminent death.
Outside the door, the four drones hum menacingly, lined up at eye level.
The Technician tweaks and calibrates his EMP device. Then he and the Scientist send out another directed EMP wave at the drones outside.
The interior light on the wall and the surveillance screens in
side the Safe Base flicker, this time for an extended moment, and take a few seconds longer to come back. . . . In that same flickering instant, the constant humming of the drones is interrupted. The nature of their hum goes into a warble, and changes in pitch, but it doesn’t go out completely.
When the view clears, we see the four drones still hovering in place, lined up in steady humming hostility right outside the door.
Apparently these drones are not merely well-shielded, but they have now learned to overcome the EMP attack.
This time Deneb himself cusses softly under his breath. I don’t recognize the Atlanteo terms he uses, but his tone is so menacing it chills me. . . .
“We’ll try again,” the Technician says in a hurry. “Even more power, and this time I’ll modulate the wave pattern so the drones don’t have the chance to learn—”
“Don’t bother,” Deneb interrupts him with a rough gesture. “You raise the power again, you risk our equipment. Enough.”
“Agreed,” the Scientist says. “The more we raise the electromagnetic field levels in any parameter, be it range or voltage, the more likelihood we start damaging our own electronics. It can even spark a fire.”
“Wait, so what does it mean?” the Warrior says. “These damn things are still out there, what are we going to do?”
“We’ll figure out something,” the Entertainer says, rubbing her forehead, and glancing at the stockpile of equipment bags against the wall. “There’s got to be something in all those bags we can rig.”
Deneb nods. “Go, check your things, all of you.”
The others return to their bags and start going through them.
I sit back down against the wall, and pull my legs in, wrapping my hands against my knees. My mind is feverish and dull at the same time. I listen to them talk in angry voices, accompanied by the ever-present buzzing of drones from outside.
And then comes the sound of arena bells, ringing three times.
“Contenders, your Games Meal is now served!” the Games Commentator announces, and then proceeds to tell us where the meal packs and water grails are located. It’s a mockery, really.
Deneb swears loudly, hard. And so do several others.
“We can’t stay here, we need water,” they grumble.
“Agreed. No one is staying here,” Deneb says. “So keep looking for a solution.”
“Just four drones,” Xofati the Vocalist says. “It’s not like we have to deal with a drone army. Can’t we shoot them down?”
The Scientist makes a sound of derision. “They are shielded from standard gun fire.”
“Yes,” Fadut the Entrepreneur says. “It’s been tried, and those who tried it got killed. I watched it myself. If we try shooting directly, we make it worse—we activate them.”
“Well, we can’t just sit and do nothing, while other Contenders are out there earning AG points! Do we wait for that drone tech chazuf to return with the rest of his drones—”
I listen to them, while my own thoughts race, and painful nerves wrench my gut. There’s got to be a way out of this predicament for me, I think. I need to make myself more valuable to them alive than dead.
But how? And if I draw their attention back to me, it’s another risk.
“Hey,” I say out loud, to no one in particular. “What’s their power source?”
Heads turn in my direction, including Deneb Gratu.
The Scientist turns to me. “What? You mean what’s powering and arming the drones? Could be a number of things, and redundant combinations. Solar cell, chemical battery, sound tech, quantum—”
“Okay,” I say. “But is it unlimited? Or can the source be depleted?”
“Stay quiet, My Imperial Lady,” Xofati mutters angrily. “No one asked you—”
“Why not? Let her speak,” the Technician says, for the first time examining me closely. “She might have something useful for us.”
“She’s a useless privileged fool from a backward old world,” Xofati says angrily. “There’s nothing she can tell us. Just kill her already—”
“Enough.” Deneb’s cold voice interrupts once more, sharp like a knife. “As long as she lives, we can use all the input. Let’s see what she has to say.”
And he nods to me.
I take a deep breath. “Let me live, and I will tell you my idea.”
Deneb smiles slowly. “You know I can’t do that, My Imperial Lady. Nothing personal, it’s just your points are too valuable.”
“You can always kill me later,” I say, meeting his gaze without flinching—and I realize that I’m echoing Zaap’s favorite phrase. “Just promise me a few more hours. Besides, do you really want to be locked in here with my corpse? It’s warm and stuffy here, and it’ll start to reek very soon, while the drones would still be out there—”
As I speak these gruesome imagined details of my own death, my heart starts pounding again, and it feels like razors turn in my gut.
He does not answer immediately, and his smile does not reach his eyes. “Tell me something useful, and we’ll see.”
Deep breath, Gwen. . . . Breathe.
I straighten, sit up, and look at the Scientist and the Technician. “As I was saying, can the power sources be drained or depleted somehow?”
“I’ve already considered it. It’s not a practical idea,” the Scientist replies. “The charges are likely meant to last for a long time, days or even weeks. They are also probably auto-rechargeable from a distance or self-charging. And even with continuous discharge of energy the drones will likely have redundant power supplies. Even if we somehow could force them to empty their power cells, it would take much too long. We need a solution that will work for us now—within the hour or two at most.”
“See, they already know everything, and thought of everything,” Xofati says with gleeful energy. “You have nothing new to add. These guys are two of the best in their Category, or Deneb wouldn’t have them on his team.”
“Okay . . .” I say, thoughts racing desperately, in a fever. “Can the lasers or—or whatever energy they discharge—burn through other metal?”
“Hmmm.” The Technician appears thoughtful. “It obviously depends on the kind of metal, the thickness and density—”
“How about a metal net?” I say.
“What are you thinking?” The Scientist looks at me with alert eyes.
“I’m thinking, a net made of metallic fibers or chain links. Something that can be used to catch and trap these flying things—sort of like you might trap birds or flying insects.”
“Insects?” Fadut echoes me.
“Yes, big robot insects that can shoot lasers,” I say. “And I know most of you have a net or two in your equipment bag. I have several.”
“Interesting idea.” The Scientist gets up and approaches me, sitting down a few feet away. “Describe what you have in mind.”
And so I tell them. As usual, my idea is halfway insane, rambling, and develops on the fly: “We open the door a crack, while we hold up, or better yet, attach a fine-mesh net over the slit opening in the door. We stand off to the sides of the doorway, away from the direct line of their fire. . . . Drones enter, we pull some kind of cord, the net tightens and pulls them together, so that they would have to start firing at each other. Maybe there’s some kind of override program that will not allow them to fire at each other, so they stop. . . . And if not, well, at least some of them would be too trapped to fire properly. Then we bundle them in more nets, hopefully magnetic ones, covering them up in a cocoon of many layers—kind of like a spider web—so that if they continue firing, at least they would be shielded, and then maybe we can put them in a bag—”
As I rattle this off, I notice that everyone in the Safe Base is staring at me with curious fascination. The Scientist flips his knife faster and faster in his fingers, as he definitely appears intrigued.
“Are you crazy?” Xofati the Vocalist exclaims suddenly. “This is ridiculous!”
The Scientist stops twirli
ng his knife and raises one hand to silence her. “It’s unusual, but it actually makes sense.”
“Yes!” the Technician adds. “With a few adjustments, it might work!”
And that’s how, in about half an hour, we rig a magnetized net and shield contraption over the door, open it, and then catch us some very angry buzzing drones. The layers of nets and other shielding enclose them so well that they never have the chance to fire at us—not through all that metal and other protective material.
The cocoon holding the four immobilized drones buzzes like an angry hornet’s nest, and we take it outside and drop it over the walkway to the ground below. If anyone comes to investigate and opens this “package,” they’ll be in for a nasty surprise.
Deneb Gratu turns to me and inclines his head sideways, with a faint sarcastic smile. “Not bad, Earth Princess. You’ve earned yourself a few more hours to live,” he tells me.
And with those words I know I have another reprieve.
“Now, let’s get out of here,” Deneb adds to the rest of his team. “Time to air out that indoor stink. . . . Let’s go hunting!”
The next hour is a horrifying blur. I’m given back my own equipment bag and made to carry it, as Deneb Gratu’s team takes me along on the most hectic, unpleasant, and violent “group run” of my life.
The team ranges around the arena, picking off stragglers. They search every structure for easy kills, pulling out unfortunate Contenders from their hiding places, and racking up AG points, while the stadium audience roars its approval. And they size up the other major celebrity teams (who are doing the exact same thing in other sections of the arena), without engaging them yet.
Since they disarmed me and appropriated my best weapons and high-end tech gadgets during this morning’s capture, I am now carrying a bag of mostly secondary tools and basic supplies, with nothing to protect me from hostile attackers. And because they know I’m unarmed, I’m loosely guarded—Deneb Gratu and his team firmly believe I’m incapable of putting up any real resistance. Or at least they’re sure I’m no match for any of them.
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