Equinox

by Christian Cantrell

  He lifted his head and leaned back against the pipes, using subtle breaths to balance the liquified substance against the vast network of capillaries in his nasal passage. He felt it absorb, travel up into his head, and cross the barrier into his brain. The process, Luka realized, was not unlike the material that traveled from the refinery to the foundry where—through methods that might as well be magic as far as anyone here was concerned—it was transformed into endorphin-inducing objects of desire.

  Luka began to make sense of the relationship between the two buildings in a way that had never occurred to him before. They were codependents—the foundry assembling replacement parts for the refinery, which kept the foundry supplied with medium with which to assemble replacement parts. And then there was the sprawling root system of the undersea mining operation. The three of them were enormously complex symbiotic organisms that, combined, constituted a single superorganism; an artificial leviathan; a colossal and mechanical Portuguese man-of-war roaming the planet and dredging its soul with massive, venomous tentacles. The City Council and the crew and the citizens of the San Francisco all believed that they were in control of the rig, but perhaps it was the rig that was in control of them, rewarding and distracting the human drones that maintained it with meaningless and superfluous trinkets.

  By the time Charlie arrived, the envelope and the glass tube had been put away. Charlie stopped when she spotted the weapon on the floor and looked around. It did not seem to occur to her to look up until Luka swung his legs around and the motion drew her attention. She backed up and Luka let himself fall from the pipes, landing hard against the metal-grate floor. Charlie watched him with concern for a moment, then reached out and touched his arm.

  “Hey,” she said. “Are you OK?”

  “I’m good,” Luka told her. He reached down and picked up the rifle. “You ready to do this?”

  “We still have time,” Charlie said. “It’s still early.”

  Luka nodded and placed the rifle back on the floor.

  “Did you hear anything more from your contact?” Charlie asked him. “Do you have any better idea of what all this is about?”

  Luka shook his head. “Nothing new.”

  Charlie nodded, then gave Luka a forced smile. “Can I ask you something?” she said.

  “What?”

  “What do you want all this to be about?”

  Luka watched Charlie for a moment, then looked away. “Something important,” he said. He wiped his nose with the sleeve of his shirt and sniffed, and then he suddenly covered his face with both hands. He tried to take a deep breath and was surprised when, instead, he let out a tremendous sob. “I just want this to be about something important,” he said through his fingers.

  Charlie put her arms around him and held him while he cried.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  BLACK LIGHT

  THE INCARCERATION SUITS, AYLA discovered, were not a bluff. She, Omicron, and the boy called Cam were all wearing them. The girl, Cadie, was not. The suit she had on was shimmering silver and came all the way up to her chin. Ayla could see that there were electrodes and ribbons of filament woven throughout its material like some kind of shock garment. But then she noticed an additional detail that suggested the suit had a medical purpose: the girl was no longer pregnant.

  Cam was agitated, even before he saw Cadie. All the way down from their hexagonal prison cells to wherever it was they were now, he kept asking the guards questions about the other girl—the one named Zaire, who Ayla had worked out was either Cam’s girlfriend or his wife—and each time, he’d been told to calm down, that everything was fine, that he would see her again very soon. When the two individual parties converged—Cadie and her guard emerging from one end of the darkened hallway, and Ayla, Omicron, Cam, and their three guards emerging from the other—Cam’s eyes went immediately down to the girl’s midriff and stayed there for a long time. Everyone was still and silent until Cam turned and roared something that Ayla couldn’t understand and lunged for the nearest guard. There were four guards total, and the one Cam went after was the smallest, but possibly also the quickest. He seemed to anticipate Cam’s advance and raised his rifle to meet it, but rather than squeezing the trigger and knocking Cam back with a giant hole in his chest from a hollow-point round, he touched something on the side of his weapon, just above the trigger guard. Cam instantly seized, then began to strain against the realigned polymer fibers of his instantly rigid suit.

  Cam growled furiously as he continued to exert himself, and then he finally relaxed, breathing heavily and sweating from the wasted effort. Ayla couldn’t tell whether it was intense pain that contorted the boy’s face, or rage and frustration.

  “You need to stand down,” the guard instructed. He was the only one of them wearing a hat—an unmarked navy blue baseball cap with a dramatically curved bill that he kept pulled down low.

  Cam watched the guard through wild and narrowed eyes. “Fine,” he eventually said.

  “We don’t have time for heroics,” the guard told him. “I need to hear you say that you understand.”

  There was still anger in Cam’s voice, but there was also resignation. “I said I’m fine.”

  The guard who had accompanied Cadie took a step forward. There were pins fastened through his sweater’s shoulder patches, and Ayla could tell that he held rank above the others. He had the reddest natural hair Ayla had ever seen, and eyebrows and stubble to match.

  “Let him go, Lieutenant,” the commander said. His complexion was so thoroughly freckled that it appeared mottled. “He’ll behave himself.”

  The lieutenant touched the side of his rifle again and Cam staggered backward. He glared at the guard once more, then completed his retreat to Cadie’s side. He reached out in an attempt to comfort the girl, but she seemed much more focused than upset, and did not respond to his touch. For the first time, Ayla wondered if perhaps the baby had been his.

  Ayla and Omicron stood together, across from Cam and Cadie. Omicron was now holding the pistol that the guard had offered as a token of trust, though he hadn’t yet had occasion to raise it. When Ayla passed it to him outside his cell upstairs, nobody objected.

  “Now, if the four of you want to live,” the commander began, “we need to get you out of here as quickly and quietly as possible.”

  “No,” Cam said. “I’m not leaving without the baby, and I’m not leaving without Zaire.”

  “You need to relax,” the commander said. “They were both transferred to your ship this morning. They’re in cryostasis, but they’re fine. Our chief surgeon knows what she’s doing.”

  “You better hope—” Cam began to point, but stopped when Cadie gripped his arm. The lieutenant had lifted his rifle again.

  “Stop it,” Cadie said. “This isn’t helping. We need to go.”

  “You should listen to her,” the commander advised. He glanced down at his wrist. “You have less than four minutes to get to your ship and clear the rig before there isn’t going to be anything we can do for you.”

  “Which way?” Ayla said.

  The man gestured at the wall behind them. “Through that door,” he said. “I’ll escort you. Then you’re going up the rungs and through the hatch to deck two, and then through another hatch to the catwalk. You’re not going to have respirators, so be prepared to hold your breath once you get outside.”

  “This isn’t the way we came,” Omicron said.

  “There’s no way you’re getting out that way,” the commander said. “And even if you could, your ship isn’t there anymore. The story is that it’s been sold, and a new crew has already taken possession of it.”

  “Sold to who?” Ayla asked.

  The man looked down at Ayla and squinted. “Is that really important right now?”

  “It’s important if we’re going to trust you,” Ayla said. “If the story is that the ship’s been sold, that means someone actually put up the caps.”

  “Fine,” the commander said
. “I’ll give you the twenty-second synopsis. It was our chief surgeon, Dr. Abbasi. It turns out she grew rather fond of Cadie and arranged this whole thing. She paid for the ship, paid us to make sure you got there safely, and paid the watch to look the other way while you put some distance between us. She even paid off your man, Nsonowa, to make sure there were no bounties on your heads.” The commander looked back down at his wrist. “Now, you have about three minutes left to get up a deck and a half, get aboard your ship, and get out of here before the watch changes. Any more questions?”

  Ayla and Omicron looked at Cadie. Cadie nodded.

  “Good enough for me,” Ayla said. “Let’s go.”

  There were two metal doors in the wall behind them: a wide cargo door that appeared to be hinged on the inside, and a smaller, vertical, pill-shaped inner door equipped with a lever and a hand crank. There was a brightly lit control panel beside the larger door, but it was the door in the middle that the female guard approached. She spun the wheel, rotated the lever, and pushed the hatch in while the guard with the cap watched Cam.

  “The rungs are in the back,” the commander said. “Let’s go.”

  “After you,” Ayla said before anyone could move.

  The commander watched her for a moment, then smiled. “So distrustful,” he said, then stepped inside through the opening.

  Omicron went first, followed by Ayla, Cadie, and Cam. The other three guards stayed outside. Ayla saw the young guard with the cap lower his weapon as the female guard pulled the door closed. Silicone gaskets muted the impact, but a metallic clang rang throughout the chamber as a latch was thrown. Ayla listened, but she did not hear them spin the wheel to seal the hatch.

  The walls were metal and streaked with corrosion. The light in the room came from flush-mounted plasma rings near the ceiling. It was damp, and there was a wide-diameter pipe overhead that dripped into a rusted grate in the floor. There was another, much larger hatch on the outside wall—this one sealed with round, aperture-like blades. Beside it were rungs leading up to a smaller access hatch in the ceiling.

  “I just have one more question,” Ayla said.

  “Save it,” the commander said. “Right now I need you all single file up against that back wall.”

  “Why?” Ayla asked him. “So you can shoot us?”

  “Christ,” the commander said. “So I can get you up those rungs and through that hatch as efficiently as possible.”

  “You said the doctor paid off Jumanne Nsonowa, right?”

  “That’s what I was told,” he said. “Why?”

  “Because Nsonowa has a direct line to the Coronians. The last thing he needs is caps. So I’m curious: how do you buy off a man who has no need for money?”

  “Feel free to take that up with him yourself,” the commander said. “We’re now down to two minutes.”

  “I already know the answer,” Ayla said calmly. “The way you buy off a man who has no need for money is by doing him a favor.”

  The commander’s expression became grave as he watched Ayla. “You’re going to get you and all your friends killed,” he told her. “Now I’m going to ask you one last time: line up against the back wall.”

  “Omicron,” Ayla said. “Do you smell that?”

  “Smell what?” Omicron asked.

  “I’m not sure,” Ayla said. “But it’s making my nose itch.”

  There was a blur of motion as Omicron raised the pistol level with the commander’s face, and then a reverberating snap as he pulled the trigger. The commander took a step back, raised his rifle, and touched the side above the trigger guard.

  “You don’t think we’re stupid enough to give you live rounds, do you?” the commander asked.

  From this angle, Ayla could see a dull violet glow beneath the rifle’s barrel. Omicron dropped the pistol but his arm remained locked in place. Cam started to advance but froze when the commander swung the rifle in his direction. Ayla was calculating whether or not she could reach the man in time when the commander turned the black light on her and she felt her incarceration suit instantly harden into something like a full-body cast.

  “It would’ve been safer to do this up against the hull,” the commander said, “but I think I’m a good enough shot to make this work.” He removed his left hand from the rifle’s stock and lunged toward Cadie, grasping her by the wrist. “But not you,” he said as he pulled her to his side. “You still have some value.”

  Ayla could see that Omicron was quivering and that his face was glistening with perspiration. There were splintering sounds as the hardened material inside his suit began to fail.

  “Jesus Christ,” the commander said. He now had both hands back on the rifle and was peering through the scope at Omicron’s forehead. “We wondered if that thing would hold you.”

  The commander pivoted his stance and put his weight on his back leg. His finger moved from the side of the rifle down to the trigger and he began to squeeze.

  “Welcome back to extinction,” he said.

  Ayla could see that Cadie was bending her knees—lowering her shoulder almost imperceptibly—and then the girl sprang. The rifle leapt to the side and the muzzle flashed. Ayla heard the round pass just over her head and then slam against the metal hull behind them. While the commander was off balance, Cadie struck him with an open palm in the nose and sent him to the floor. He was back on his feet instantly and when he ran the back of his hand across his face, he found it ablaze with blood. The new hue in his complexion made his hair and eyebrows look more orange than red.

  “I guess I underestimated you,” the commander said with surprising poise.

  The rifle was in his left hand and he raised his right across his chest. He took a quick step toward Cadie and drove his elbow toward her face. Before there was contact, the commander’s motion was abruptly arrested by an immense hand catching his wrist. The man had a moment to register Omicron’s presence before Omicron twisted and popped the commander’s shoulder out of its socket. With his other hand, the Neo reached down and relieved the commander of his weapon.

  The metal enclosure was filled with the commander’s screams as he crumbled and rolled over onto this back. Omicron used the black light on the rifle to release Ayla’s and Cam’s restraints. Cam stepped over the commander to get to Cadie and embraced her, but Cadie raised her hands between them. When Omicron turned back to the man on the ground, the commander was trying to endure the intense pain of removing his sidearm. His hand quivered as his fingertips feebly brushed the pistol’s grip, though they stopped when Omicron sited the bridge of his nose through the rifle’s scope. Darkness spread from the man’s groin as he pissed himself.

  “Wait,” Ayla said. She bent down and removed the commander’s sidearm from the holster on his thigh, pointed it at his knee, and placed her finger over the trigger. “You better hope these rounds aren’t live,” she said.

  “No!” the commander screamed. “Please! Don’t!”

  “Thank you,” Ayla said. She moved her finger from the trigger to the pistol’s slide and dropped her arm. “That’s all I needed to know. Omicron, do your thing.”

  “Wait!” the commander pleaded. He raised his hand into the space between the rifle’s muzzle and his face. “I can help you.”

  “How?” Ayla said.

  “I can get you out of here. And I can tell you where Zaire and the baby are.”

  Cam stepped toward the commander and lifted his foot. He placed it gently on the commander’s contorted shoulder and began to apply pressure.

  “Where?” he asked the man on the ground.

  The commander reached up and grasped Cam’s ankle with his good hand but he did not have the leverage he needed to move it. Cam began to step down when a shrill metallic screech stopped him.

  “What was that?” Cam asked.

  “The door,” Omicron said. “They’re sealing it.”

  The screech arose once more as the wheel on the outside of the door was turned again, then again, and the
n it stopped.

  “No,” Ayla said. “No no no no.”

  “Why are they sealing it?” Cam asked.

  Omicron began looking around him. “Because they’re going to flood the room.”

  “They can’t flood the room with me in here,” the commander said. “They have to get me out first.”

  It was silent for a moment, and then the giant pipe in the ceiling erupted and the floor was instantly wet. Before the water even began to soak into her clothing, Ayla could feel how frigid it was. Everyone but the commander instinctively moved away from the center of the room and toward the perimeter.

  “Stop!” the commander screamed toward the front of the room. “Stop! I’m still alive! I’m still in here!”

  He was scooting himself back with his good arm and Ayla noted that the water was already up over his wrist.

  “Here,” Omicron said, handing the rifle to Cam.

  The big Neo approached the door they’d come through and grasped the lever. The metal groaned under his tremendous strength and weight, and then finally gave. The latch was loose, but when Omicron pulled against it, the hatch did not move.

  “The latch is stripped,” he shouted over the sound of the rushing water, “but there’s no way to unseal it from this side.”

  Ayla pointed up into the corner of the room. “Try the access hatch,” she shouted.

  The water was already up to their knees and the commander was struggling to get to his feet. Cam kicked the man in his chest and sent him back down into the water with a splash.

  Omicron trudged to the back of the chamber and scaled the rungs. The hatch was designed to pivot down in order to enforce the seal when the room was flooded, but the pressure lock was on the other side. Omicron tried the welded handle, but the hatch did not budge. He reached up and grasped it with both hands, allowed himself to dangle for a moment, then hooked his toes beneath one of the rungs. With a tremendous bellow, he constricted his entire body. There was the sound of metal flexing, punctuated by a snap, and then Omicron dropped into the water below. There were two dull gray spots on the hatch where the handle had been attached, and when Omicron stood, he was holding the U-shaped piece of steel.