The Black Sentry

by Bernhardt, William

  Mykah’s outstretched arm trembled. “We’ve been friends since childhood.”

  “The Sentinel is your greatest friend. The only friend who matters.”

  “But—”

  “This is your last chance, Mykah,” the Acolyte said. “Do this now or you will be cast out of the Sentry, out of the Sentinel’s world, forever.”

  Mykah drew in his breath. His eyes narrowed, and once again he pointed the box.

  “Mykah,” Brita whispered, “this isn’t you. This isn’t who you want to be.”

  “What would you know about it?” he shot back.

  “I know what you said. The last time we were together. Alone. If what you said was true...you won’t fire that weapon.”

  “If you don’t,” the Acolyte barked, “your career is over. Your life is over. If you fail me again, you will join the prisoners of Balaveria.”

  Mykah’s face was drenched in sweat. He hesitated, his hand wavering.

  “I’m sorry,” Mykah said. He clenched his teeth, moved his finger to the button, and fired.

  34

  Daman was prepared to die, but he was not prepared for what happened next.

  Xander sprang up behind Mykah and knocked him to the floor. The harsh blue beam from the laser shot downward, burning a hole in the floor. The weapon flew out of Mykah’s hands and skittered across the floor.

  Xander crawled atop Mykah and hit him again, this time square on the jaw. Mykah’s eyelids fluttered. He tried to resist, but Xander pinned him down. One more blow from Xander and Mykah’s head fell limp against the floor.

  The Acolyte started to run, but Daman grabbed the sleeve of his ceremonial robe and yanked him backwards.Before he recovered, Daman retrieved the red Key. The Acolyte snarled and raised his fist, but at that moment Xander started toward him. The Acolyte turned and raced out of the room.

  Xander started after him, but Daman held him back. “Our first priority is stopping the Pulse.”

  He didn’t like the idea of letting the Acolyte escape, but they had to shut off the Pulse or the assault team outside had no chance.

  He approached the metal box on the raised table. He still had a difficult time believing that this small box was the source of the Sentinel’s great strength.

  “I have to assume this button is here for a reason,” Brita said, pointing.

  “No doubt,” he answered. “But I’d feel better if we knew what the reason was before we pushed it.”

  “We don’t have time for a controlled experiment.” She pushed the button.

  The box responded with a click, loud enough to make them all jump. That was followed by a moment of silence, then a whirring from somewhere inside the table.

  The same sound the Silver Sentrymen made before they prepared to fire.

  “Are we sure this is the Pulse generator and not a weapon?” he said nervously.

  “I’m sure,” Brita answered. “Of course, it’s possible the generator is armed with its own weapons.”

  “Why?”

  “To prevent people from doing exactly what we’re doing now.”

  The box made a sudden popping noise. And then, as they watched, the metal shell rose into the air.

  Beneath the shell they saw a fascinating collection of gears and cogs and belts, all making a low melodic hum. Tiny lights flickered on and off. Thin cards inserted into slots lined up on the right side of the device. He heard a ticking noise, sharp and steady, coming from some kind of mechanism in the rear.

  “How does it work?” he asked.

  “I don’t know,” Brita replied.

  “I don’t care how it works,” Xander said. “The question is how do we make it stop working.”

  “There.” Brita pointed to a small indentation at the bottom left of the device. There was a small opening, the same size as the red stone.

  A keyhole.

  Hands trembling, he lifted the Key to the slot and pressed it inside. He heard a tiny click as it lodged in place. Then he gave it a twist.

  The humming stopped. The whirring stopped. The ticking stopped.

  Brita covered her mouth. “I don’t believe it.”

  “What?”

  “I think we did it. I think we actually shut off the Pulse.”

  He ran to the window behind the table. It gave him a clear view of the battle waged outside. The fighting still raged. Three Silver Sentrymen were in the field, but they did not move or fire their deadly blue beams.

  “Xander, can you knock out this window?”

  Barely an instant later, Xander tossed a heavy chair threw the opening, shattering the glass.

  He put his hands to his mouth and shouted with all the strength he could muster. “Rebels! Use your weapons! Use your weapons!”

  And they did.

  *****

  Daman could not believe how well the rest of the struggle went for the Rebels.

  Once the Pulse was disabled, the tide of the battle turned for good. Although the Rebels were outnumbered, the Sentry was unprepared for the stunners, and the Silver Sentrymen ceased firing. All the Rebels had to do was press the wired end of the tiny black boxes against an enemy. The boxes made a sharp sizzling noise and their opponents crumbled to the ground, spasming as they fell. They twitched for a moment, then closed their eyes. They were not dead, merely unconscious, but that was more than sufficient to get the Rebels inside the fortress.

  Even better, the prisoners of Balaveria, released from their subterranean dungeon, emerged and joined the fight. Although they were weak and unaccustomed to the intense brightness of daylight, their numbers were great. There were far more prisoners than Sentry at the fortress. At that point, the Sentry fought a battle on two fronts–a battle they couldn’t possibly win. After the forces on both sides closed in, the Black Sentry deserted in large numbers, scrambling over the walls and ducking out through the gate.

  The battle was won.

  He and his friends emerged from the tower still in possession of the Key. They found Drake outside. He carried a large pack on his shoulders and appeared to be searching for something.

  “Who can tell me where the machinery is?” Drake asked. “Where do they make the Silver Sentrymen?”

  “I know,” Xander answered. “I’ve been there.”

  Xander led Drake and Daman down the subterranean corridor to what was formerly the labor camp of Balaveria. Drake removed a rectangular package from his pack and placed it under the machine.

  “What’s that?” Xander asked.

  “Another experiment of mine,” Drake said. “I think it will work. But of course, like everything else, I haven’t been able to test it.

  “What do you call it?”

  Drake carefully slid open a panel on one side of the box. “I call it a bomb.” A red light came on, and a pulsing beeping sound emerged. “Run.”

  They raced back to the surface. Drake told them their time was short, only as long as it would take them to count to two hundred. Daman didn’t understand, but he did gather that this was not a good time to be asking questions.

  Xander climbed up on the parapet and shouted so that everyone could hear.

  “Listen to me! We must leave the fortress! Everyone! Gather at the edge of the forest. But leave now!”

  The word spread.

  The Rebels raced out of the fortress even faster than they’d arrived. It was a mad rush for safety, for the security of the outcropping just beyond the clearing.

  Seconds after they reached safety, a thunderous noise shattered the air. Daman turned toward the fortress and was astounded to see it crumbling before his eyes. The destruction started at the base of the fortress and worked its way up. The stone walls shattered like glass. The tower wavered at first, then tumbled to the ground with a mighty crash, smoke billowing up in its wake.

  A huge cloud of fire shot up from the base of the fortress, then slowly subsided. Dust and debris blew around them. He could feel the heat even from where he hid.

  Once the smoke cleare
d, he saw what remained–or more accurately, what didn’t remain. The fortress was gone, replaced by an immense rockpile. A useless expanse of rubble.

  “Congratulations,” he said to Drake. “I believe your bomb worked.”

  “Yes,” Drake answered, but there was no smile on his face, no pride in his accomplishment. “I’ve taken the first step toward bringing new hope to this world–by reviving the worst fear of the last one.”

  *****

  Daman had never felt such a rush of joy in his entire life. Somehow, with only the tiniest of chances, they had managed to prevail.

  After the dust settled, the Rebels took inventory. Happily, their casualties were light, although the few who were gone were sorely missed. Many Rebels were wounded, but the physic tended their wounds. Few injuries were permanent. The majority would heal in time.

  Most importantly, the Pulse had been disabled. The production of the Silver Sentrymen had been terminated. Apparently the protective device that allowed the Sentrymen to function when the Pulse was active caused them to malfunction once the Pulse was gone. The Rebels could now battle the Sentinel and his minions on their own terms, using the weapons devised by Drake and the others.

  For the first time in forever, they had a fighting chance.

  As twilight fell, the Rebels made their way back to their headquarters. Their ranks had swelled–because most of the prisoners freed from Balaveria had joined them. Few wanted to return to their former villages. They would not be safe there, not while the Sentinel was still in power. And even fewer wanted to risk life on their own in the great forest. They knew the Sentinel’s world was a lie and they were anxious to do whatever they could to bring his oppressive reign to an end.

  And all of this happened, Daman mused, all these world-shattering events took place, on my birthday. That made him smile. This time, perhaps, the Sentinel was the one who would be winnowed.

  As they walked, he noticed Xander ahead of them, walking alone.

  He quickened his step. “Xander.”

  As he approached, he noticed the slight stiffening, the discomfort that came over Xander.

  “Yes?”

  “Drake told me about everything you did. Leading the troops into battle. Sneaking into the fortress. Freeing the prisoners.”

  “I did what I could.”

  “And of course, you made one other achievement of some small importance–you saved my life.” He grasped Xander’s shoulders, forcing him to stop walking and to look him in the eyes. “And Brita’s. You made it possible for us to disable the Pulse. More than anyone else, today’s victory belongs to you.”

  Xander shrugged uncomfortably. “We all helped.”

  “I just wanted to tell you, Xander...” Daman coughed. “To–to tell you that I’m–um—”

  “Yes?”

  He drew in his breath. “I wanted to tell you that I’m proud to be your friend.”

  Xander’s lips parted.

  “I mean, if you’ll have me.”

  “You…want me to be your friend?”

  He clasped Xander’s hand. “You are my friend. You always have been. The best friend a boy could hope for.”

  *****

  After night fell, Daman and the others reached the cave. Just as he was about to enter, he heard the Old Man calling him. “Daman, could I speak with you for a moment?”

  “Of course.” They walked for a short while into the forest till they were alone. “What is it?”

  “There are things I must tell you. Things you don’t know, although I believe you may suspect.”

  His brow creased. “I don’t know what you mean.”

  “You’re a fine boy, Daman. We’ve been through quite a lot together now, so I feel I can be honest. I’m very proud of you. And I know your father would be proud of you as well.”

  He beamed. The Old Man’s words meant more than he could possibly express. The Old Man was the chief Rebel of the Resistance, the one who’d acquired the Key, the one who’d made it all possible. He still loved his own father, but he thought of the Old Man as a father as well.

  The Old Man paused, as if unsure how to continue. “This is a great day for the Resistance. The greatest we have ever seen. But the work has just begun. With the Pulse disabled in this region, we will be able to fight the Sentinel’s forces on equal terms–perhaps even better than equal. But what of the rest of this great land? What of the other regions to the east? Someone must disable their Pulse generators.”

  “That work should be easier. Since we’ve already done it once.”

  “That work will be harder,” the Old Man cautioned, “because now the Sentinel will be watching for us. For the first time, he knows he faces a real threat. He will stop at nothing to defeat us.”

  “But once the other generators are disabled—”

  “Then someone must fight the Sentinel himself. And that will be the greatest battle of all. So long as the Sentinel rules anywhere, no one will be free. Or safe.”

  A new voice entered the conversation. “Certainly you are not safe, Old Man.”

  A dark figure hovered behind them.

  Mykah.

  His uniform was torn and bloodstained. His face was burned and black. Somehow, Mykah had survived the explosion and followed them back to their headquarters.

  But he didn’t dwell on those questions immediately. His attention was diverted by something far more immediate. Far more deadly.

  Mykah held the weapon the Acolyte had lost in the struggle. The one he called a laser. And it was pointed right at him.

  35

  “Mykah,” Daman said, taking a tentative step forward, “the battle is over.”

  “Not while you still live.”

  “Mykah, please. It’s not too late for you. Join us.”

  “Join you? You’re traitors. Misfits. A member of the Black Sentry doesn’t join traitors. He kills them.”

  The look in Mykah’s eyes was frightening. Almost inhuman.

  “I thought we were friends.”

  “You betrayed our friendship, Daman. All you’ve done is lie and cheat. That’s all you’ve ever done. Steal what isn’t yours. Like Brita. Anything you wanted.”

  Mykah was barely coherent. He wondered if the explosion had damaged his former friend’s brain–or if he had just been pushed to the edge by so much disappointment.

  “You’re a sinner,” Mykah continued. “You violated the Sentinel’s Laws and Ways. I tried to bring you back. I gave you every possible chance to repent. You and Brita both. But you wouldn’t listen.”

  “Mykah—”

  “If you’d done nothing but destroy yourself, that would be one thing. But you’ve destroyed me as well. Taken everything that was rightly mine. Ruined my career, my life. I have nowhere left to go.”

  “You can join the Resistance.”

  “I’d sooner die. But you’ll die first.” His finger tightened over the button.

  “Stop!” the Old Man commanded. He leaped in front just as the blue beam shot forward. The beam hit the Old Man straight on, burning a hole deep in his chest.

  “No!” Daman shouted. The Old Man fell to the ground.

  Mykah lifted his weapon to fire again, but Daman sprang forward, knocking it out of Mykah’s hand.

  He was enraged. He pushed Mykah to the ground. They wrestled, struggling for control. Mykah rolled on top of him, crushing the wind from his lungs. The world spun around them. He had barely cleared his vision in time to see Mykah’s fist barreling down toward his face.

  Daman turned his head to the side, catching the blow just over his ear. He returned a blow twice as hard.

  His head rang. Breathing became difficult. He felt totally disoriented.

  Get yourself together, he told himself. The Old Man was wounded, and if Mykah got free, he’d be next. Then Mykah would make his way into the cave and shoot everyone in the Resistance.

  The truth came to him in an instant. Today was his birthday–and just as he had dreaded for so long, he was fa
cing the Winnowing. Against his former practice partner. The friend who, in a hundred sessions, had always defeated him.

  He saw another blow headed his way. He rolled away at the last moment, causing Mykah’s fist to hit the rocky ground. Mykah shouted and cradled his hand, giving Daman time to pull himself to his feet.

  He threw himself at Mykah, trying to knock his opponent down, without success. He barely even pushed him backward.

  Mykah landed a solid blow to his stomach. He doubled over, clutching his gut. That was his last chance to strike back—and he lost it. Mykah had the upper hand again.

  Dodging the next blow, Daman cast his eyes around for some weapon—a rock, a stick, anything that would give him an edge. But he found nothing.

  He tried to run, but Mykah blocked his escape, then hit him again, this time in the neck. While he was crouched over, Mykah kicked him in the face.

  He pushed himself back to his feet. He didn’t want to fight Mykah. He realized now that he had never wanted to fight Mykah. Perhaps that was his problem in all their previous encounters. But he had to get help for the Old Man. He raised his fists—

  Then they both heard the rattle.

  The hideous slithering sound emanated from just a few feet behind where Mykah stood.

  In the distance, he saw the rustling of leaves that told him a Creeper approached. He turned to run, but before he moved far, Mykah tackled him, knocking him to the ground. They rolled on top of each other, spinning down a leafy incline. Toward the Creeper.

  Mykah ended up on top. He raised his fists high, teeth gritted.

  “Mykah! It’s a Creeper. Get out of here.”

  “Not until I’ve taken care of you.” It was like Mykah hadn’t even heard. His whole mind was focused on revenge.

  Daman pushed with all his might, throwing his opponent to the side. “Come with me, Mykah. We need to—”

  That’s when he heard the most horrible sound of his entire life, before or after. The sound of a Creeper, so close he could reach out and touch it. A Creeper’s raspy rattle in his ear.

  It was barely a foot away. Its green gelatinous exterior and its grotesque running sores. The hideous lipless salivating maw, so close he could smell its revolting fetid breath.