The Black Sentry

by Bernhardt, William

  As the stunners rolled out, Xander and the other members of the assault team practiced using them. An obstacle course was laid out, and the team members practiced running, ducking, and firing all at once. They did everything imaginable to become proficient in their use–everything except actually firing them, since that was impossible. For all the hopes they pinned on these little black boxes, they knew one thing with absolute certainty—if the balloon team couldn’t shut off the Pulse, the stunners would be useless. And they would never know if they really worked—until everyone’s lives depended upon them.

  *****

  Daman’s confidence in the Rebels turned out to be well founded. Eight days after Operation Airlift commenced, they had a functioning balloon. It was a crazy, patchwork bulb made of a hodgepodge of colors and fabrics, but it had held air for more than a day. It was smaller than they had planned. The basket attached was only large enough for two passengers. But it seemed to work. They held a series of tests, cautiously raising the balloon and lowering it, using bags filled with dirt for ballast. They even practiced steering—a little. The balloon remained tethered to the ground by a rope. Any more extensive testing was not practical. Even in this remote part of the forest, if the balloon took to the air, there was a strong chance some Sentry somewhere would spot it. That would not only tip off the Sentinel’s forces that an attack was coming, but would probably cause the area surrounding Balaveria to be flooded with Sentrymen. They couldn’t take the risk.

  Under Brita’s tutelage, he learned the basics of operating the balloon. A fire would be built on a brazier in the center of the basket. The heat from the fire would inflate the balloon and eventually lift it into the air. Bags of dirt would be tied to the sides of the basket. They could be released at any time if they needed to rise quickly. Using a perforated metal board, they could cover the fire in whole or in part when they wished to raise or lower the balloon.

  At the end of the eighth day, after the balloon had been sent through a rigorous series of tests–and passed them all–a council convened in one of the small chambers of the cavern. All the Resistance leaders were present. Drake, representing the scientists, attended with a few of his chief assistants. So did Will, on behalf of the ground team, with Xander at his side. The Old Man was also present. Brita was of course present, being the driving force behind Operation Airlift. He had also been invited, although he had no idea why. For most of the past week, he’d felt utterly useless. Brita was smart and knowledgeable. Xander was strong and fearless. But what could he possibly contribute to the assault?

  Will laid a map of Balaveria in the center of the table and carefully walked everyone through the plan, step-by-step. When he was done, there was a moment of somber silence.

  “How certain can we be of this plan?” the Old Man asked.

  “As certain as possible,” Will answered, “given the countless uncertainties involved.”

  The Old Man leaned back in his chair, his hands steepled. “This could be a turning point in history. For the first time since the Sentinel rose to power, the oppressed will make a concerted effort to break free of the shackles he has used to chain us. If this effort fails–who can say what the future holds? There may not be another such opening for hundreds of years. Perhaps never.”

  “But we have to take the chance,” Drake urged.

  “We’re gambling with more than our own lives,” the Old Man continued. “We’re gambling with everyone’s lives. Everyone’s future. If we try and fail, there will be severe repercussions.”

  “If we don’t try, there will be repercussions,” Drake insisted. “The Silver Sentrymen will blanket the countryside. After that happens, there will be no possibility of freedom for anyone.”

  The Old Man nodded. “I know. I just wish we could act with more certainty. You say this balloon is capable of carrying a Rebel to the high tower?”

  “Yes,” Brita answered. “All our latest tests have been successful.”

  “But you have not actually taken the contraption into the air without a tether.”

  “No.”

  “You don’t really know how it will perform up in the sky. This creates yet another uncertainty. As will our reliance on the equally unproven stun guns.”

  “I’ve constructed those weapons with the utmost care,” Drake said. “I’ve followed the blueprints to precise detail.”

  “But you haven’t tested them.”

  “You know that’s not possible.”

  “Which creates more uncertainty.”

  The table remained silent for a long moment.

  Drake finally spoke. “I suppose, Rico, that in this instance...we must simply have faith.”

  The Old Man touched his collar. “We must have faith,” he agreed. “Since it’s all we have. Let’s hope it’s enough.”

  “I have a question,” Will said. “Who will pilot the balloon?”

  “I will,” Brita replied, not giving anyone a chance to answer differently. “I have the most experience with balloons.”

  “That makes sense,” Will agreed. “But the basket beneath the balloon has room for two people. For your own safety, I think you should take a co-pilot.”

  “Agreed,” Brita said. “I will take Daman Adkins.”

  Daman’s jaw dropped. She hadn’t said anything to him about this...but it helped explain why she’d spent so much time showing him how the balloon worked.

  Will seemed puzzled and, perhaps, concerned. “I bear no ill will against your friend, but–why him?”

  “Because I trust him.”

  “Surely you would be safer with a seasoned member of the Resistance. Someone with more experience who—”

  “Who has more experience than Daman at defying the Sentry? And escaping them?”

  Daman’s face colored. He was unused to hearing others talk about him in such a complimentary manner. He felt embarrassed–but pleased. Especially since the words came from Brita.

  “Daman and I have already been through so much together. We work together well. He’s sometimes rash and imprudent, but I’ll be along to keep that in check. He’s brave and he can keep his head together under pressure. I’ve taught him the fundamentals of controlling the balloon. I know he’ll do well. I choose him for my co-pilot.”

  Will didn’t say another word aloud, but motioned the Old Man to one side. They spoke quietly, but he was still able to hear most of what they said.

  “Rico,” Will whispered, “is this wise?”

  “It’s her choice to make,” the Old Man replied.

  “But she’s so important to our mission. I worry about her safety.”

  “Daman is a very responsible boy.”

  “But they’re both so young.”

  “It’s right that he should be with her. He has the Gift.”

  That ended the conversation. They returned to the table. “Are we all in agreement, then?” the Old Man asked. His eyes scanned the conference table. One by one, each representative gave him a nod.

  “And are we all ready to proceed?”

  Again everyone nodded in agreement.

  “I don’t need to remind you that we face incredible odds,” the Old Man said. “We’re attempting to do something that has never been done before. But I have faith in you–all of you. And I have faith in what we seek to achieve. Goodness and right are on our side. Even if we fail, we will not have acted in vain.”

  He laid his hands flat and pushed himself up from the table. “My friends–it is time.”

  Part Three

  The Assault

  29

  Daman had no trouble waking early the next day because he barely slept.

  The next morning, before daybreak, the Resistance team began its assault on the fortress at Balaveria. During the night, a small cadre lit bonfires and began the process of inflating the balloon. By morning it was ready to travel, and the wind blew in the right direction. Drake and his team of scientists checked the ballast and made last-minute adjustments. Will and his ground
assault team waited for instructions to march. They would leave first so they could be in position before the balloon arrived.

  Standing on a small rise in the center of the clearing, Daman saw the Old Man quietly overseeing everything. There was a light in his eyes and excitement in his voice–but also, he noted, a certain sadness in his expression.

  Before he left to join the troops, Xander approached he and Brita. “Best wishes,” he said. He took Brita’s hand and clasped it tightly.

  “And the same to you,” she replied. “Success.”

  Xander nodded, then sidestepped to face his former master. He cleared his throat awkwardly. “I–uh–hope all goes well for you.”

  “Of course. We will all do our best.”

  He noticed Brita’s eyes burning down on him. He knew what she wanted. Xander was reaching out to him, aching to be his friend. And once again, he pulled away. Perhaps if he...

  Too late. Xander rejoined the rest of his team. A moment later, Will and his troops disappeared into the forest.

  “You know,” Brita said, “you may never see him again.”

  “I know.”

  In the past few days, his world had been turned upside down. So much that he had been taught about the Sentinel, about the Rebels, about Balaveria, had turned out to be false. And yet, with each new revelation, he’d managed to adjust. In fact, each time he learned something new, from the Old Man, from Drake, from the Resistance, he seemed to instinctively understand that it was true.

  With one exception. He couldn’t stop thinking of Xander as a slave.

  “Do you think you’ll have a problem with great heights?” Brita asked.

  His brow wrinkled. “I would prefer not to fall from great heights, if that’s what you mean.”

  “Please try to be serious. This is important. Some people fear heights. I’ve read about it. It causes nausea, dizziness. Do you think you might be one of them?”

  “Why would you—”

  “I remember when we were in the tunnel. You didn’t take well to small, enclosed places.” He couldn’t deny that. But surely this would be different. At least, he hoped it would be.

  “Oh well,” Brita said. “We’ll know soon enough. By the way–happy birthday.”

  Her words took him by surprise. It seemed like an eternity since he left Merrindale. But in fact, as he traced their progress backward in his mind, he realized–

  She was right. Today was his sixteenth birthday.

  “Interesting way to celebrate, wouldn’t you agree?” Brita said, tilting her head toward the balloon. “Still, it’s got to be better than the Winnowing.”

  He had almost forgotten about the dreaded event that had been his principal obsession for months. He spent so much time practicing with Mykah–and losing. Now his friendship with Mykah had been severed. Mykah was the enemy, another cog in the black machine that opposed everything the Resistance hoped to accomplish.

  He had avoided losing the Winnowing–by running away from it.

  “It’s time,” Brita said, pointing toward the balloon. “Climb aboard.”

  *****

  With some effort, Daman hoisted himself into the small wicker basket. As soon as they were both on board, the tethering ropes were released, and the balloon glided up into the sky. Brita controlled the fire, carefully covering it and uncovering it to lift and guide the balloon. Despite her lack of experience flying without a tether, she steered with precision and accuracy. The wind was strong and in their favor, promising to bring them to Balaveria even sooner than they expected. He hoped the ground troops were ready.

  Brita kept the balloon as low as possible to prevent it being spotted from a distance. Every so often a tall tree or outcropping of rock would come into their path. She would do everything she could to maneuver the balloon around it. More than once, he thought they were not going to make it, only to have her lift the balloon at the last possible moment.

  He quickly understood what Brita meant when she talked about fear of heights. Everything seemed different up here. Different and disorienting. The trees below were like twigs. The people were tiny colored dots, ants scrambling around anthills. It was like a tiny model of a world. And it was so far down...

  He turned away and crouched down in the basket. His stomach churned.

  For some perverse reason, Brita smiled. “My books were right,” she said, apparently pleased. “You look a bit green.”

  “Green?” he croaked. His throat felt dry.

  “In the face. Don’t worry. It will pass. If you think you’re going to be sick, though, please hang your head over the edge of the basket.”

  He peeked over the side and almost instantly felt his stomach churning again. Would the whole journey be like this? He didn’t feel able to fight a mouse, much less the Black Sentry. He imagined himself falling, falling, and finally splattering on the ground...

  He looked away. Right now he would give a great deal to be on solid earth. Even if he had to be inside a tunnel.

  He noticed Brita struggling with the fire.

  “Is there a problem?” he asked.

  “No. I’m fine.”

  “You don’t look fine.”

  “It’s—just–harder than it looks. Easier when you’re tethered to the ground. That’s the problem with not being able to practice in the air.”

  He offered to help, but she said there was nothing he could do, and he supposed that was probably correct. His part would come later, when they reached the tower. He touched the glittering red key that hung around his neck.

  They enjoyed several moments of calm, pleasant sailing. Then he saw a black shimmering cloud hovering before them. “Up!” he cried.

  “What?” Brita said. “What is it?”

  “Up! Or down. Quickly!” Too late. An instant later, they were surrounded by birds. A huge dense flock of them. He didn’t know what kind they were, but they were large and solid black, and there appeared to be hundreds of them.

  They were everywhere, all around them, smashing him in the face, crashing into the balloon.

  Crouching for cover, he had a horrible thought. “Brita–what if they damage the balloon?”

  Brita didn’t answer. He presumed she thought he already knew the answer to that question. Which he did.

  The birds whipped around the basket in a bizarre frenzy. The balloon spun, swinging wildly back and forth.

  He clutched his gut. He’d felt queasy before, but this was something else entirely. He didn’t know how much of this he could stand.

  And then he felt the bottom drop.

  “What’s going on?”

  “I don’t know.” Brita said. “But we’re falling.”

  And falling fast. An upward current of air whipped his face. He’d left his stomach somewhere far behind, but he knew he had to ignore that and try to help Brita. Because at this rate, they would soon hit the ground, just as he’d imagined. Falling, falling, falling...and then splattering down hard.

  “Did they puncture the balloon?” he shouted. The whipping wind made it hard to talk.

  “No,” she shouted back. “But the fire is down. Some of the birds crashed into the brazier.”

  He scooped dead birds out of the brazier, then poured on more firewood.

  Brita glanced over the edge of the basket. This time, it was her face that looked green. “If we don’t get that fire up quickly, we’re dead.”

  “I’m working on it.”

  Together, they poured all the coals and wood they had into the brazier. The small flame licked against the fresh fuel. The fire increased, but slowly.

  “Use the flint!” Brita cried.

  Daman fumbled with the flint but it was hard work. Brita should’ve chosen Xander, he thought. Xander was much better at this than he was.

  He managed to toss out a few sparks. The fire grew. He felt the descent slow till the balloon fully inflated again. With a huge whooshing sound, they shot back into the air.

  And not a moment too soon. Glancing ove
r the edge of the basket, he saw that they were barely above the treetops. A few more moments and they would’ve been dead.

  “Thank goodness that’s over,” he said, wiping his brow. “How much longer do you think until we—”

  His question was answered before he asked it. Across the horizon, plainly in view, he saw huge, tall, serrated walls, black walls that extended as far as the eye could see. It was a fortress the size of a village, strong and impregnable, with a gleaming black tower dead in the center, a tower that rose so high it looked as if it touched the sky.

  It could only be one thing. Balaveria.

  They had arrived.

  30

  Xander spotted them first.

  “Look!” he said, pointing up at the sky. “They’ve made it.”

  Will and the rest of the ground assault team turned their heads upward. They crouched out of sight, hidden by a rock outcropping about two hundred yards from the front gate of the fortress. The last safe haven. If they moved any closer, they would be spotted by the patrolling Sentry stationed inside the high fortress walls.

  The journey had not been a long or difficult one. They had not encountered any Creepers or Sentry squadrons. But Xander knew he was not alone in his uneasiness about the impending battle. Their success was critical to so many. But their plan had too many gaps, too many uncertainties. Too many things that could go wrong. There would be danger at every point–and no one would be more vulnerable than the hapless ground team, trying to combat an enemy secured behind tall stone walls. If this did not proceed according to plan, they’d be destroyed.

  A slave was not normally called upon to take initiative, to make decisions for himself, to plunge into danger. But today that would change. He was determined not to shrink from the challenge.

  The balloon arrived, an unmistakable patchwork bulb sailing across the sky. They were early. The balloon was much too low, barely higher than the fortress walls. The Black Sentry stationed inside could not help but see it. And when the balloon was this low, it was vulnerable to attack.