Blackout

by Edward W. Robertson

  The next landing was the same as the one before. So was the third. And the fourth. And the fifth. After the sixth, he closed the door, gazing back up the way he'd come. The ramp seemed to spiral up forever. He continued down. At the seventh landing, he opened the door and heard the multi-note, brain-piercing song of the Core.

  Gun in hand, Walt watched the hallways. They were dead quiet. He exited the ramp-well and headed to the right, where the source of the song seemed to be loudest. Blank doors stood on both sides of the hallway. He didn't recognize any yet. There were no signs on the walls. Presumably, anyone with business at the Core knew where it was.

  He walked quickly, ears perked. The corridor curved to the left. The doors had all been a light gray, but he passed one that was green, then a second. The next entrance was the broad, reinforced double doors of the Core.

  Smiling, he got out his clicker and clicked it.

  Nothing happened. He clicked again. Anger swelling from the base of his skull, he clicked time after time, pointing the small disk at all sections of the door, along with the access pad beside it. Teeth clenched, he backed off and tried the clicker on the plain gray door across from the Core. It slid open without hesitation. Walt listened, then poked his head inside. Bins were secured in shelves along the wall. The floor held a number of machines that looked a lot like but almost surely weren't washing machines.

  He closed the door and returned to the Core. After another glance down the hall, he turned his laser on the door. Blue light glared. White paint burned away, revealing pewtery metal. After three more shots, the metal showed no damage at all. He fired as fast as the laser allowed, burning away more and more of the paint. Holding his hand above the metal, it felt warm, but it wasn't so much as scratched.

  He eyed the control pad beside the doors. Destroying it was highly unlikely to make the doors open. If anything, it was likely to make them completely unusable. But did he have any other shot at getting in?

  Feet ticked down the hall. Walt ran pell-mell for the door he'd opened across from the Core. He fumbled out his clicker. The door slid open. He swept inside and clicked it closed. The door was thin enough for him to hear the steps approach the Core. He was about to run behind one of the washing machine-like devices, but he moved back to the door, pressing his ear to it. Waiting for the sound of the Core doors opening.

  The steps moved past him, fading down the corridor. But he now had a way inside—wait for somebody else to open the doors for him.

  His makeshift bandage was starting to soak through. After a few minutes of standing beside the door, he went to the shelves of bins, rifling through them. Most were filled with pieces of plastic or molded foam whose use made no sense to him, but in one bin, he found a roll of something like soft canvas or thick denim. Despite a long time rooting around, he couldn't find anything with a cutting edge, so he laid the fabric on the floor, hoped the ship didn't have smoke detectors, and cut it into strips with his laser, stamping out the smoldering edges.

  The activity made him light-headed. Could have been fumes, but he suspected it was more likely to be the severe pain and active blood loss. The burned edges of the fabric were as smooth as plastic.

  He had an idea. He didn't know if it was great or terrible. The state of his head wasn't helping. But that fact in and of itself made it seem necessary to try the idea. Within the bins, he found a metal-headed trowel-like tool with a rubbery grip. He unwound his bandages. The bleeding was as heavy as ever. He held the trowel away from him and shot its head with his laser. A second shot had it on the verge of glowing. He put a strip of the laser-cut canvas in his mouth, bit down, and pressed the trowel to his ribs.

  His whole body tensed in white-hot pain. He screamed, muffled by the canvas, smelling roasted skin. He removed the trowel and sat down before he could faint. To his great relief, a wide section of the cut had been blackened shut.

  Two more applications of the trowel, and it had stopped bleeding altogether.

  With sweat dripping down his body, he wound several layers of canvas around his ribs, reheated the trowel, and melted the top seam of the fabric to the layer beneath it. He moved back to the door and sat against it, back slippery with sweat. Pain oscillated in his ribs, but he felt a little better.

  He was still waiting for the footsteps to arrive and open the Core when he closed his eyes.

  The door slid open beneath his back. His eyes snapped open. He'd passed out. Head thundering, he tried to stand, but the pain in his ribs staggered him. He fell to his hands and knees, laser clattering away.

  A Swimmer stood over him. Somehow, it was able to leer. Bait. The alien held a laser in one claw and his tablet in a tentacle.

  "HI FRIEND," the tablet read. "I THOUGHT I WOULD FIND YOU HERE!"

  26

  The turret of the tank was warm against her legs. The vehicle rolled forward, rumbling and squeaking. Though its sides were rounded, its top was flat. A hatch lay behind the turret. Raina descended to it, yanking at the crank used to open it. It held fast.

  She was armed with nothing but her short sword. That would be enough to kill the aliens inside the tank, but it was useless against the tank itself. The cannon fired again. The report was so strong Raina nearly vomited. Ears ringing, she gazed half-stunned at the crater the shell had blasted in the runway. Two broken human rag dolls had been flung away from the impact.

  Her mind clicked from its stupor. She was carrying more than her sword. She sheathed her blade and kneeled beside the hatch, holding tight to its crank to brace herself against the tank's motions. She got a smoke grenade from her pocket, then pulled off her shirt, wrapping it around her other palm. The tank fired again, drawing screams from the warriors in the maze.

  Raina scrambled forward, grenade in hand. She pulled its pin and grabbed the tank's hot barrel with her cloth-wrapped hand. Holding tight, she hurled the grenade down the barrel.

  She retreated to the platform beside the hatch, pulled her shirt back on, and whipped her blade from its scabbard. Her ears were still ringing. The air stank of burned gas and hot metal. Dense smoke began to pour from the tank's cannon.

  The crank turned of its own accord. The hatch swung back, belching forth a cloud of white smoke. Raina bent her knees and cocked her sword. As the Swimmer struggled into the open, she swung through a horizontal plane, striking its head to the ground. She kicked its body aside before it could fall back through the hatch.

  A second creature scrambled from inside. As she swung, it lifted its tentacles in defense. She hacked through two of them and followed up with a backhand. A laser crackled, stymied by the smoke. Raina's next stroke cut through the alien's neck. The body tumbled back into the body of the tank, collapsing on top of a third alien fighting to free itself from the choking confines.

  Raina drew back, sword ready. Smoke billowed into the air. By the time it cleared, the third alien lay still, trapped beneath a headless corpse.

  A group of Swimmers rushed from a gap in the eastern length of the wall. Lasers blared, snapping into the side of the tank. Raina dropped down its hull, putting the vehicle between herself and her foes, but she was stranded in open ground. If she ran, she'd be shot down. If she stayed, they'd flank her in seconds. She should have jumped into the tank. Grabbed a laser. Too late now.

  Every battle with the aliens had taught her that staying still was death. The only way was through. She hunched to the side of the tank and stuck one eye around its curve. Six aliens trotted toward her. Two split left and two split right. The other two hung back, lasers held on the tank. Raina gripped the wrapped hilt of her sword. The night was cold, but sweat dripped down her brow.

  "I'm sorry this was as far as I could take you," she said, speaking to all of her people. She straightened and charged.

  Gunfire ripped from the wall. Tristan and Mia kneeled, firing rifles into the aliens. One dropped, then a second. The others ran back toward the wall, shooting blue beams toward the human attackers. Raina sprinted for the wall. She was tempte
d to veer toward the embattled Swimmers and strike them down, but now wasn't the time. Now, she needed to lean on those who were there to help her.

  Other warriors joined the two women. Rifles popped like firecrackers. The remaining four aliens fell to the pavement. Some writhed, but soon went motionless.

  Tristan strode forward, administering coups de grace to the wounded Swimmers. Raina went to collect her long sword. Warriors ran to secure the east side of the wall.

  Tristan nodded to the tank. "You do that yourself?"

  Raina wiped the dust from her long sword and the blood from her short. "You've never killed a tank?"

  "I'll have to add it to my bucket list."

  "We've almost cleared the maze," Mia said. "Mauser wants to know when we're getting out of here."

  Raina took a deep breath. The taste of change remained strong on the air. She found the severed finger. Despite the running battle, it hadn't been disturbed, its scuffed nail pointing directly at the terminals. Above the airport, the clouds parted. The moon shined through the gap. It was half full, slanted, glaring upon the grounds and all those who stood upon them.

  "There is evil within the terminal," Raina said, swords angling down from her hips. "We can't leave until we've cut it out at the root."

  * * *

  Across from the Vigil, Ness balled his hands into fists. Six unarmed prisoners against ten armed security guards. His side didn't have a chance in hell. But at least they'd go down fighting.

  The Vigil leader with the white band across his eyes continued to gesture. Sebastian clicked his claws so fast his entire body started to shake.

  "HE HAS ORDERS TO EXECUTE US," he signed. "YET HE SAYS THEY DO NOT OBEY THESE ORDERS"

  Ness choked on his own breath. He gestured, "Then what are they here for?"

  Commander Toru lurched forward, tentacles extended. He and the banded-eyed Vigil embraced limbs.

  "THEY SAY THE SHIP IS NO LONGER THE SHIP," Sebastian said. "THAT IT HAS BEEN WOUNDED BY THOSE WHO FORSAKE ALL WE BELIEVE. THE ONLY WAY TO HEAL IT IS TO GIVE IT BACK TO THOSE WHO BELIEVE RIGHTLY"

  "They're not down with the Farschool? Then why didn't they help us out on the bridge?"

  "BECAUSE IT HAS ALREADY GONE FURTHER THAN THAT. THE FARSCHOOL DOESN'T ONLY TAKE THE SHIP. THEY ARE NO LONGER HAPPY TO FIGHT THIS WAR. THEY SEEK TO END IT—USING THE WORLDPOISON"

  "The Worldpoison?" Ness wrinkled his brow. "I thought they already tried that with the virus."

  "THIS IS NOT A VIRUS NOR ONLY FOR HUMANS. IT DESTROYS ALL. ALL THAT IS LIFE. WHEN IT IS FINISHED, THE PLANET IS BARE"

  "Why didn't they use this to start with? Because of the Way?"

  Sebastian wagged his head up and down. "YES BECAUSE TO KILL ALL LIFE IS A CRIME BEYOND CRIME. NOT EVEN TO BE THOUGHT. AND ALSO THE FARSCHOOL DID NOT HAVE IT THEN. IT CAME WITH THE DEEPFINDERS"

  "Then why did they have it?"

  "WHY DID HUMANS HAVE NUCLEAR BOMBS THEY NEVER WISHED TO USE"

  "Just in case they had to," Ness signed. "So what now?"

  "WE GO TO WAR"

  "Right now?"

  "THERE IS NO TIME TO IDLE," Sebastian gestured. "WE TAKE THE BRIDGE OR WE LOSE THE PLANET"

  As he and Sebastian had conversed, the Vigil had continued to speak with the other Dovon. Satisfied with whatever they'd learned, the Vigil distributed lasers to each of the alien prisoners. The banded-eyed Vigil regarded Ness, then gestured to Sebastian.

  "THEY SAY THAT YOU MAY COME BUT THAT YOU CAN NOT HAVE A GUN"

  "How can I fight for you if I don't have anything to fight with?"

  "THEY SAY DDEN WAS KILLED BY A HUMAN HAND. IT IS WISHED TO KNOW HOW ANOTHER HUMAN CAN BE TRUSTED WITH A WEAPON"

  Ness had no words. He didn't need any. He kneeled before the Vigil, bowed his head, and reached for the guard's hammer-pod. The Vigil's eyes widened as Ness placed the heavy limb against his extended neck. The guardsman got out a laser and handed it to him butt-first. One of his fellows gave a second gun to Sprite.

  Ness rose, signing to Sebastian. "Ready when you are."

  They moved into the hall. With the ten members of the Vigil, they numbered sixteen total. It didn't seem like nearly enough to capture the bridge. As they jogged down the tunnels, Ness expected them to detour and rally more to their cause. Yet after a quick elevator trip and a lot of hallways, they came to the corridor to the bridge.

  Outside the doors, a dozen Dovon stood waiting. Six bore the badges and spears of the Vigil and were draped in thick blankets of the alien blue matter that always reminded Ness of gym mats. The other six wore the standard-issue pink bandoliers. They all carried lasers. As Toru approached, they bent their legs, bowing, and crossed two tentacles in salute.

  Toru gestured back and forth with the new batch of soldiers. Sebastian translated to Ness, who translated in turn to Sprite.

  "WE ENTER," Sebastian said. "THE VIGIL FIRST. THOSE WITH ARMOR LEAD, BUT ALL MUST FOLLOW QUICKLY. IF OUR FIRST ATTACK IS FAILURE, WE WILL NOT GET A SECOND"

  Sprite frowned. "Why don't we get any sweet blue armor?"

  "Be thankful we don't," Ness said. "The guys with the armor have to go in first."

  The Vigil who'd given Ness his laser—his name was Kkad, according to Sebastian—moved to the side of the doors. His soldiers arranged themselves on either side, backed up by Toru and the handful of Deepfinders they'd managed to rally. Ness and Sprite moved in behind Sebastian.

  "NO MERCY IS TO BE SHOWN," Sebastian signed. "NOT UNTIL ALL TRAITORS ARE DEAD OR STAND NAKED OF WEAPONS"

  Ness' heart tripped along at a million miles per hour. Kkad lifted a tentacle, gesturing to his troops. They replied with a sign Ness recognized as an affirmative. Kkad held a small white disk with three golden dots on one side. He gave the disk a click. The doors spread open.

  Silence emanated from within. Ness was too far to the side to see anything. One of the Vigil edged to the doorway.

  A stream of lasers answered. They flew past in two bunches, one on the right and one on the left, exiting the doors at such an acute angle their users couldn't be more than thirty feet from the entrance. Ness counted at least eight different beams flashing on and off.

  The Vigil at the corners of the door sniped back at the enemy. One of the guards withdrew, gesturing to Kkad. Kkad replied defiantly and thrust forth his spear. He rushed into the doorway. Lasers sizzled against the blue drape of his armor, filling the hallway with steam and the smell of burning kelp. Five armored guards galloped after him, shooting as they went, whirling their long-bladed spears over their heads.

  The second Vigil through the door staggered. His front leg fell away, amputated halfway down. A barrage of lasers smashed into his armor, which fell away in chunks. The unarmored Vigil members stormed past him. As soon as the guards were through the door, Toru led the remaining Dovon into the bridge.

  Sebastian was the last alien to enter. Sprite limped along after him. Ness stayed behind. It felt like his feet were rooted to the floor. Maybe it would be best if one of them hung back. To watch for rebel reinforcements. What point would there be in seizing the bridge if they got ambushed a minute later?

  Yet he'd felt this way dozens of times before. He knew it as well as the sci-fi paperbacks he used to read to pieces as a young teen, or the MMO dungeons he'd camped for loot a few years after that. First of all, at times like this, he was always afraid. Second, he was right to be so—anyone who wasn't was crazy.

  And third? No matter how trapped, frozen, and paralyzed he felt, he always ran into the fray anyway.

  His legs moved on their own. He was through the door. A laser snapped past his head. The Farschool rebels had piled up a wall of desks on both the right and left sides of the uppermost terrace. To the left, a Vigil and one of Toru's crew lay sprawled on the floor, but the other Vigil had reached the barricade, spears flashing as they lit into the rebel defenders.

  Sebastian and Sprite were running to the right. Ness sprinted after them. Halfway down the long descent of plateaus to the heart
of the bridge, defenders ran toward the assault, blue beams angling toward the attackers. The skeleton crew that had remained in the bridge scattered for cover.

  Ahead of Ness, five or six rebels hunched behind overturned desks, the plastic surfaces scorched and melted by Vigil lasers. One of the enemy slumped dead over the defenses. The others fired all they had at the Vigil, carving away at the blue armor. Kkad vaulted the barricade, lashing his spear through the upthrust tentacles of a rebel and then shooting it in the base of its neck.

  The attackers crashed into the desks. Sprite jogged to the side, holding his pistol in both hands, firing carefully into the scrum. Ness angled for a shot. Soldiers dropped on both sides. It ended before Ness had a chance to squeeze the trigger buttons.

  The skirmish on the left wing had already wrapped up, too. With the defenders' second wave still climbing the terraces, Toru and Kkad regrouped, dropping down two levels and establishing a line behind the desks and chairs. They'd lost six people taking the doors, dropping their numbers to the low twenties. At a glance, the rebels had mustered at least thirty.

  They were barely dug in before the Farschool was upon them. The enemy held back, firing from behind the ample cover of the bridge. During the initial attack, Toru's force had had the advantage in numbers. Their armor had prevented them from getting cut down on the spot, allowing a charge that would otherwise have been insane.

  Now, lacking armor or numbers, the battle devolved into a kind of trench warfare. The Farschool rebels slowly jockeyed their way up the terraces, seeking high ground. Toru and Kkad threatened a charge whenever the enemy line grew too thin in the middle. Ness kept his head down, shooting at anything that moved. Some of the enemy bore a badge of concentric black and white circles. Conscripted bridge crew. They fought like it, too, hesitant and skittish. Way down at the bottom of the bowl-shaped room, the Farschool leaders stacked furniture in preparation for a final defense.