The Black Sentry

by Bernhardt, William

  “I’m so glad to see you all here,” Drake said.

  “Then you’re one of the scientists?” she asked.

  “Didn’t I tell you that when we met? That I invented things?”

  “Well...yes, but—”

  Drake laughed. “But you didn’t really believe it, because I acted like a crazy man? Don’t feel bad. That’s what you were supposed to think. I tried to do the Savage routine, but I was never very convincing. So I went with the lunatic act.”

  “Why were you out on your own?” Daman asked. “Isn’t that dangerous?”

  “Extremely. But someone has to do it.”

  “Why?”

  “Reconnaissance, my boy. Reconnaissance of the past.”

  “I’m afraid I don’t understand.”

  “Have you seen the library yet?”

  “We certainly have,” Brita said. “It’s extraordinary.”

  “You’re right. But it didn’t collect itself. It only exists because I–and others like me–have roamed the countryside, searching, collecting. And not just books. All those artifacts you saw in the storage room. Machines. Relics. Hard drives.”

  “Are you making...a museum?” Brita said, mispronouncing a word she had only read in books.

  “Oh, much more than that, my dear. We collect relics because we hope to use them.”

  “Is that possible?”

  “Our goal is to gather up the knowledge of the Ancients so we can restore or recreate their technological marvels. With the strength of these tools, we hope finally, someday, to break free of the Sentinel’s iron grip.”

  He felt his heart beating faster. So that was the plan. That’s what all these scientists and laboratories worked toward.

  “Come with me, my friends.” Drake took them back to the laboratory, showing them projects and experiments, introducing them to friends, explaining everything patiently. He was surprised at how many people were there. Most had escaped from their birth village, but some had slipped through the Sentinel’s grasp for generations.

  Drake took them to a part of the lab he called the foundry and tried to explain how they made metal. Basically, they took ores mined from the ground, heated them, mixed them, then let them harden into molds that gave them new shape. There were other steps involved, but Daman couldn’t grasp it all at once. His lack of comprehension made him feel insecure. The only thing that made him seem more insecure was watching Brita nod and smile with understanding.

  He noticed that the metal was being molded into small rectangular metal boxes. Although the work was slow, they had already made dozens of them. “What’s the purpose of the black boxes?”

  Drake answered. “That’s our newest project. We’re making a weapon.”

  Brita seemed to understand what he meant. “You mean like–a gun? Like we saw in your flicker?”

  “Similar. Guns are far more complicated–they require powder and bullets and complex firing mechanisms. And they’re potentially lethal. The weapons we’re making would stun attackers, but not kill them. Rather than propelling a lead bullet at high speed, it would transmit an electric charge. The opponent would be incapacitated for a while but would suffer no lasting harmful effects.”

  “How do you generate the electricity?” Brita asked.

  Drake seemed impressed that she knew enough to ask the question. “Batteries. We’ve been working on them for years now, but as you can see we only have a few finished stunners. We have few hands and mining is hard work. And it’s difficult to construct an electrical machine when you can’t test it.”

  “Why can’t you test them?” Brita’s brow wrinkled.

  “They should work. I’m confident we followed the blueprints correctly. But the Pulse prevents them from functioning.”

  “The Pulse? Is that how the Sentinel prevents machines from working?”

  “Exactly. And it’s a shame, because we need those weapons. We’re planning a major assault on one of the Sentinel’s fortresses, and we can’t put it off any longer, weapons or no weapons.”

  “Why must you act now?”

  “I think you already know the answer. You’ve encountered them yourself.”

  “The Silver Sentrymen.”

  “Correct. If those automatons spread throughout the land, we’ll never be able to overthrow the Sentinel.”

  “Do you know where they’re being made?” Xander asked.

  “We certainly do. Balaveria.”

  His lips parted. “Balaveria! But—Balaveria is paradise.”

  “Balaveria is a prison camp,” Drake said grimly. “When the men and women of the villages reach the age of fifty, the Sentinel eliminates them from the village work force, so they can be replaced by younger and more productive workers. Those from this region are shipped to Balaveria, where they’re forced to perform repetitious menial labor to keep the Sentinel’s evil operations running–maintaining his machines, building new ones, powering the Pulse. And they continue doing that demeaning work until the day they die.”

  “But–all my life—”

  “Lies,” Drake said, not even waiting to hear the end of the sentence. “Like so many others the Sentinel has propagated.”

  He was overwhelmed just thinking about it. He had seen so many people go through the Ceremony of Passage. Now he was told they were not headed for paradise but to a slave ring. And yet, he did not doubt what he heard for an instant. He felt the same certainty he’d had regarding other disclosures made to him the past few days. Horrible as it seemed, something inside him told him it was true.

  “Why are the Silver Sentrymen made at Balaveria?” Brita asked.

  “Because that’s where the workforce is,” Drake replied.

  “But why is the workforce there?”

  “Because Balaveria is the source of the Pulse for this region.”

  “I have heard so much about this Pulse,” Brita said. “But I don’t understand what it is.”

  “The Pulse is a phenomenon discovered long ago by the Ancients,” he explained. “The records we’ve uncovered suggest that the discovery was almost accidental. It was a side effect of a great weapon the Ancients created, one that split the fundamental building blocks of matter itself to unleash vast destructive energy.”

  “Why would the Ancients want such a horrible device?”

  “The Ancients’ world was far from perfect. People wanted weapons, sometimes to fight, sometimes in the hope that having such weapons would prevent future fighting. At any rate, this particular weapon was discovered to have a strange side effect. It emitted what was called an electromagnetic pulse.”

  “And what did that do?” Daman asked.

  “It made everything stop working. Every kind of machinery. Anything that had any magnetic or electrical mechanism. Any kind of engine. If it was within the range of the Pulse, it ceased to function. The Sentinel discovered a way to make a Pulse without the bomb. He broadcast the Pulse like a blanket so it covered the countryside. He developed a machine that would constantly emit the Pulse so that it never faded.”

  “And that’s why the Constructs stopped working.”

  “Except the ones he wanted working. He created a shield that immunized his own machines from the effect. Suddenly, no one’s machines worked–except the Sentinel’s. You can imagine what happened after that.”

  “The Sentinel took control,” he said. “Easily.”

  “No one could oppose him effectively, when he was the only one with functioning machines. Once he had the land firmly within his control, he eliminated all machines from public view. He wanted to turn the clock back and create an artificial world of the past, a time when life was supposedly simpler and better. None of it was real. It was an egomaniacal tyrant’s fantasy of the way the world once was, the way the world should always be. With mass-produced reproductions of nature.”

  “Once we left the village walls,” he said, “the world seemed very different.”

  “Of course it did. Outside the villages, the world has not be
en reshaped into the Sentinel’s nostalgic vision. But inside the village, it’s an orderly fantasy. An amusement park for the Sentinel’s amusement. The villages differ from one region to the next, but they are all equally artificial. So much time has passed since the Sentinel took control that most people don’t realize life was ever different. They think the Sentinel’s way is the only way. They can’t imagine a life of true freedom. That’s what we must change.”

  “If you could stop the Pulse, you could use your stunning guns,” Brita said.

  “That’s true–but it’s much easier said than done. The Pulse is emitted from four fortresses positioned throughout the Sentinel’s land. The one that covers our region is located in a tower at Balaveria, only about two hours walk from here. The tower is surrounded by a high stone wall–a fortress.”

  “Is it possible to turn off the Pulse?”

  “It is now. Thanks to you three.”

  The Old Man entered. He looked much better than he had when they saw him last.

  “Because you and your friends had the courage to rescue this.” In the Old Man’s hand he held the glittering red stone he had once worn around his neck. “This is the key to restoring the freedoms and marvels of the Ancients. The means of ending the Sentinel’s cruel reign and establishing a better world for humanity.”

  “How does it work?” Brita asked.

  “Mind you,” the Old Man said, “what I’m telling you now has taken us decades to learn, years spent reading and rereading the books of the Ancients, the science books and the history books, even sending spies into Balaveria. We learned that the tall central tower of Balaveria has hidden, in its highest and most inaccessible room, the machine that broadcasts the Pulse. We also learned that there’s a device that would turn the Pulse off–this key. The Sentinel reasoned that the day might come when he chose to turn the Pulse off, but he didn’t want that power to fall into the wrong hands. For that reason, the Acolyte kept the key with him at all times.”

  “Until you stole it,” Xander said, grinning.

  “I didn’t work alone,” the Old Man replied. “I worked with four others, friends of mine.” His voice dropped. “Friends who did not return from the mission. And the Sentry would have caught me too–if it hadn’t been for you, Daman.”

  He felt light-headed. He thought he’d done the right thing by helping the Old Man. But he’d never exactly realized why, or how important it was–until now.

  “Balaveria is always well-guarded,” Drake explained. “More Black Sentry platoons than you’ve ever seen swarm the fortress. Over a hundred men. There are only about fifty of us, even assuming we all joined in an assault. And the Pulse generator is far from the entrance–deep inside and high up in a tower with few windows and only a single door.”

  “But we can’t wait any longer,” the Old Man said. “Even if the odds are stacked against us, we must act now–or everything we’ve worked for so long will be lost.”

  “There must be some way to get in,” Daman said.

  “Don’t think we haven’t thought about it,” Drake replied. “We’ve worked this problem from every angle imaginable. But we’ve never come up with a solution.”

  He pondered a moment. “What about some kind of airboat?”

  Drake arched an eyebrow.

  “In Brita’s books,” he continued, “she showed me pictures of great carts that transported people over long distances through the air.”

  “An airplane would be perfect,” Drake agreed. “It could fly over the walls of the fortress directly to the tower. If we could sail over the heads of the Sentry guarding the front gate, we might stand a chance. But we don’t have the means to build an airplane. And even if we did—”

  “The Pulse,” Brita said somberly. “The Pulse would prevent the engines from working.”

  “It’s true. We experimented with the possibility of building a glider, an airplane without an engine, one that floated on air currents. But we didn’t have adequate materials or knowledge. And we couldn’t figure out how to get it into the air. There are no cliffs or plateaus near Balaveria to launch from. And there were a million other problems. The truth is—it was beyond our capabilities.”

  “There must be some way,” he insisted. “When we were in the forest, I saw birds. They flew. And they do not have engines.”

  The Old Man smiled. “That’s true. But unfortunately, we are not birds. And I don’t think the sparrows are likely to give us a lift.”

  “There must be some answer.” Even though he had no idea what that answer might be, he wasn’t willing to give up. “You need some kind of flight that isn’t a machine. That doesn’t have an engine.”

  Brita turned to face him. Her eyes were wide as saucers. “Daman–that’s it!”

  “What’s it?”

  “What you said. You’re right–we need an air machine that doesn’t use an engine. One that can launch itself.”

  “Is there such a thing?”

  “There is,” Brita said. “And as it happens, I’m an expert on them. I’ve been experimenting for weeks. I showed you, back in Merrindale.” Her eyes were wild and excited. She grabbed the Old Man by his arms. “You don’t need an airplane. You need a balloon.”

  28

  Daman was amazed at how quickly they made progress from that moment forward. Plans were drawn for the assault on Balaveria, and he and his friends were at the center of them. They’d brought with them not only the Key, not only information–but also hope. For the first time, all the Rebel leaders could visualize the possibility of success. A slim possibility, perhaps, but a possibility, just the same.

  Drake and his team of scientists were at first dubious about Brita’s idea of constructing what he called a “hot air balloon.” On this subject, she was actually more knowledgeable than the scientists.

  “You do know what a balloon is, don’t you?” she asked, that first day the idea arose.

  Drake did not answer immediately. “But how could that help us? A balloon is a child’s toy—”

  “Not that kind of balloon,” Brita said hastily. “One large enough to carry people aloft.”

  “Is such a thing possible?”

  “It is,” Brita said emphatically. “The Ancients did it. And I’ve done it–on a smaller scale. With your help and your resources, I’m sure we can make it happen.”

  Their first steps were into the library. They divided into teams and systematically combed every book on the shelf, searching for information about hot air balloons. He tried to help as best he could, but since he could not read, his contributions were obviously limited, which he hated. More than ever before, he was determined to understand those scratches. He wanted to learn what they had to teach him.

  By the end of the first day, they’d researched every book available to them. Early on, they found several pictures of hot air balloons, huge constructions with baskets capable of carrying half a dozen people, which eliminated the question of whether such a thing was possible. The only question now was whether they could make one. They found a few short articles pertaining to hot air balloons, but nothing very detailed, nothing with as much information as the book Brita had been forced to leave behind in Merrindale. But she had read it–more than once.

  From that point forward, Brita was the leader of Operation Airlift.

  He watched attentively as they conducted several experiments to determine whether they could make something similar to what the scientists called “nylon.” As best he understood, this was an artificial fabric that was tough but light, easy for the hot air to lift aloft. Unfortunately, it was beyond their technological capabilities. They would be forced to use cloth, light and thin as possible while still strong enough to be dependable.

  While Brita led the construction of the balloon, Xander spent his time with what came to be called the “ground assault team.” Not every Rebel was a scientist, as he soon learned (to his great relief). Some Resistance members hadn’t learned to read or had no real talent for science—in
cluding Will, who became the ground assault team leader.

  The assault team spent the first several days reviewing charts of the fortress of Balaveria. Xander soon knew it as well as if he’d lived there all his life. Will pointed out a high outcropping of rock that would cover them until such time as they were ready to attack. Once they broke from cover, Will advised that they should make a frontal assault on the north fortress wall. True, the front wall was likely to be the most heavily guarded, but the only opening in the wall, a ten-foot-tall gate, was in the center. If they could get some of their team over the wall or through the door, the rest could storm the fortress. They might even be able to use their stunners—

  Assuming the balloon got off the ground. Finding enough cloth to make a sufficiently big balloon was not easy. Many people gave up all their spare clothing, even the shirts they were wearing. Stitching it all together was also a problem. Brita had emphasized that the balloon had to be what she called “airtight,” meaning there could not be even the tiniest of openings through which air might escape.

  Eventually enough cloth was gathered and the stitching began in earnest. He was pleased to find that sewing was a talent he could master. It might not be science, but he was glad to make a contribution.

  The first tests were not successful. They built huge bonfires, trying to generate hot air to fill the balloon. But they found that the air was difficult to direct and control. Every time they filled the balloon, they realized it was not airtight, which meant stopping and sewing on another patch.

  He began to wonder if this contraption would ever hold air. He noticed that Brita was also pensive. Although she did her best to hide her concerns, much rested on her thin shoulders.

  While Brita oversaw the construction of the balloon, Drake worked on the stunners. He believed it was urgent that they attack Balaveria before another week passed. Their spies indicated that another fleet of Silver Sentrymen–a larger, faster, deadlier version–would be produced soon. They had to strike quickly. To that end, he stepped up production of the stunners as much as possible. It was his goal to have one weapon for each member of the ground assault team. He knew they would face strong opposition. He wanted to do whatever he could to even the odds.