“Which are likely to be heavily surveilled and possibly guarded. Not an optimal entry point into the fortress.”
“You could just walk in the front door.”
“Hilarious.”
Roddy grinned. “Hey, I’m just a pilot. You’re the highly trained specialist who knows how to solve the unsolvable.”
Wesley flipped a rude gesture at the pilot. But he looked pleased at the compliment. “Communications system check before trying to locate Roddy’s gel membrane thingy?” During the long ride, Micah had fitted them all with miniature robots, so small they couldn’t see them, and informed them those robots would infiltrate their brains—safely!—in a manner that would let them think back and forth. If it had been anyone but General Jamison telling him that tale, he would have been offended. As it was, he was rather nervous about putting a batch of tiny robots inside his body, having seen what such machines could do with rogue coding. He shivered, glancing at the arm he’d nearly lost before dunking it into ocean water and learning firsthand—or was that first arm?—about the twins’ special gift.
This is Micah. Can you hear me?
John checking in.
Be safe, Wesley! The twins are looking forward to seeing you again soon.
Bye. Don’t die, Cardinal.
He focused his mind, thinking that he wanted his thoughts to go to the group. Thanks, everyone. I can hear you.
Each of them nodded. Which meant they’d heard him, too.
Huh. The little robot thingies worked. That would be helpful.
He looked around. “Good luck to all of you. Hopefully we’re back on Eden soon, sharing a stiff drink and telling our various war stories, which we will probably not need to inflate to make them sound deadly and dangerous.”
The sphere displayed for Wesley a topographical map of the area. They were in a region where the water didn’t shallow out gradually into a beach; instead, the water reached its full depth all the way down. It would have been a perfect spot for a port. But he wasn’t planning a future cityplex; he was deciding how he could use that feature to his advantage. Could he crawl all the way down to the gel-lined tunnel entry? Probably faster to swim and sink, using the wall solely for guidance as needed.
He thanked the thoughtful, sentient computer for the information before the sphere floated noiselessly out over the water a few feet from the shore and dipped down until a bottom sliver dipped below the rippling surface. The side panel opened, but the stairs didn’t drop.
“Any sharks nearby, computer?”
No, Wesley.
He considered stripping down before realizing that he wanted the weight of his water-logged clothing to pull him down. Then he hopped into the water and glanced back at the worried faces. “Sure you don’t want some kind of breathing apparatus?” Roddy asked.
“No, I’m good, and I’ve got all the supplies I’ll need. And I doubt you have an underwater breathing apparatus on the ship right now, anyway.”
“Good point. And good luck.”
“Get lost, Light.”
“Good luck, Cardinal.”
The panel closed, rendering the flying sphere—and its occupants, his friends—invisible.
He was on his own now.
He took several minutes doing breathing exercises, stretching out his lungs and oxygenating his muscles. He dipped below the surface twice, testing his ability to hold his breath underwater, and also checked visibility. The water wasn’t salty and was quite clear, meaning he shouldn’t have any trouble seeing the gel membrane when he reached it. It was pretty low, though. He breached the surface again and rummaged through his supply bag, finding the waterproof flashlight. He tested the batteries, then dunked it below the surface. The light remained on and steady. He turned off the light and set it on the ground, then sealed the backpack and shrugged into it.
He kept his hands on the shore as he repeated the breathing exercises, stretching the capacity of his lungs, filling his cells with the oxygen they’d need shortly, when breathing ceased being an option. He took a final deep pull of air, grabbed the flashlight, and dipped below the surface.
He swam down, accelerating the sinking action forced by gravity and his heavy clothes, alternating moving left and right, his eyes always searching for the gel-like membrane. In theory, he could try to get back to the surface and get fresh air, but the clothing was heavy and the backpack couldn’t be replaced. He’d keep swimming down until he found the membrane. If he didn’t find it in time?
Well, hopefully they’d send somebody else.
As the air in his lungs wore out, he cursed himself. They probably could have used the sphere to get him down here; hell, the machine seemed to have all kinds of amazing features. Maybe it had access to the same type of gel membrane and could let him out without letting water in. The others could have waited on shore while the sphere deposited him down below, then flown up and drained out any water that got inside. Why hadn’t he thought of that before?
His lungs ached. He wanted to breathe. This wasn’t like the river, when he’d jumped off his little motorized scooter into the water and had to resurface. This was worse, far worse. His body was screaming for air now. His lungs demanded that he open his mouth to get air, but, being lungs, they didn’t understand they’d get nothing but water and one dead drowning victim.
Then he saw the gel. He almost shouted out, which would have been disastrous. He changed his angle and moved to the odd substance. He jabbed the flashlight at it. It was springy, though not sticky, and it was clear that he’d need to get some force behind his movements to get through. He gripped the rocky lake wall with his free hand and jabbed the flashlight hand through the mucous-like substance. The gel parted enough to let his hand through, and he could feel the air—warm, dry—on his hand. He dropped the flashlight to the ground inside the tunnel and gripped the rocky wall with the dry hand, then plunged his face into the substance, eyes closed. It felt slimy, he could feel it trying to pull back together but he kept pulling from the inside and pushing from the outside until his face broke free. He gasped, sucking in air, rapidly exhaling and inhaling.
Once he’d convinced his body he wasn’t in danger of dying, he began the tedious process of pulling the rest of his body through the membrane, growing more and more aware that he was at the top of the tunnel, suspending by a combination of the gelatinous goo and the buoyancy of the water where the bulk of his mass presently existed. He pulled his right arm through the gel and used the rocky handholds inside the tunnel to pull himself down toward the tunnel’s floor as his lower half gradually left the chilly water and emerged into the tunnel, nearing the dry ground in a gradual fashion before gravity did it for him the hard way.
He shouted as a sharp pain registered in his right leg, but continued ripping himself through the membrane, scrabbling for a better hold as he bounced into the rock wall with a grunt and tumbled to the ground. Ignoring the bruises, he whipped around to look at the source of the pain.
A small fish—which looked remarkably like a small shark—had grabbed hold of his leg with a series of small but sharp teeth. He reached forward and pulled at the jaws of the mini shark, exerting more and more pressure as he felt the gill-breathing fish gradually suffocate to death on dry land. Once he got the shark off, he threw it against the far wall and shrugged out of his backpack. He rummaged through the sack until he found the ointment and some bandages. He gritted his teeth as the ointment seeped into his damaged leg, happy it wasn’t a repeat of the Ravagers gnawing his arm nearly to the bone. He wrapped the leg, stowed his supplies, pulled the backpack back on, and eased himself to his feet. He tested the leg, found the pain bearable, and began marching up the tunnel toward the hangar.
Hey, Roddy?
Yeah, Wesley?
There are sharks in your lake. Ask me how I know.
You’re kidding.
The teeth marks in my leg say otherwise.
You inside the tunnel?
Yeah. Had some ointment in my pack, t
hankfully. Don’t have much left in the way of bandages.
There should be a first aid kit in the hangar; look for a sign reading first aid. Do you need us to come pick you up?
Not a chance. Just a baby with an inflated idea of what it could handle. Go wipe out your batch of bad guys.
He covered the distance to the hangar in about thirty minutes, pausing a few times to lean against the wall as his injured leg throbbed. The hangar, a large, open-air cavern with an empty platform where he assumed the flying sphere had once rested, was lined with storage cabinets, screens, and all manner of blinking lights.
He stood himself up and recited the words Roddy had given him: “I am here at the bequest of Roddy Light, commander of this facility and son of Jeffrey and Desdemona. Activate all standard controls.” He hoped it worked and that the security systems here didn’t decide to use him for target practice.
The lights clicked on and the dark screens glowed. Please speak your name, friend of Roddy.
“My name is Wesley Cardinal.”
Welcome, Wesley. How may I be of assistance?
“I need medical supplies to clean a deep bite and bind the wound. And possibly a new set of clothing.”
You will find a medical center near the stairwell with adequate supplies for most minor injuries. There is a locker on the opposite side of the stairs with fresh clothing.
Well, that was convenient.
He found the medical center and peeled the soaked bandage from his leg. He used the supplies to clean the dried blood off his leg, added more ointment, and applied a substance that sealed the holes from the teeth well. He wrapped the wounded area despite the lack of fresh blood suggesting the need for a fresh bandage, then crawled back to his feet and moved to the closet on the opposite side of the stairs. He stripped off the wet clothing and found a crisp, clean uniform in his size. He donned one, found another of the same size, and folded and compressed the spare before putting it into his waterproof backpack.
He sent a quick mental message to his airborne friends with an update on his health status and then considered his next steps. He looked at the stairs leading up from the hangar to the publicly known areas of the fortress, remembering where they terminated. Roddy said he’d entered the stairs through his parents’ living quarters. Allies. He put a boot on the first step and paused. Roddy had also been convinced that his parents were under some sort of duress. Were their quarters safe? He’d been assuming so, assuming that he could at least emerge from the hidden area through those quarters, perhaps even meet the duo for intel. But if the members of the Thirty were there, they might commandeer the quarters of the fortress’ leaders to make clear who was in charge, especially if they thought someone might try to infiltrate New Venice in that fashion.
He realized he had an easy way to confirm his suspicions. “Hey, computer?”
Yes, Wesley?
“Are there any people in the quarters at the top of the steps?”
Yes, Wesley.
“Are those people Roddy Light’s parents?”
No, Wesley, they are not.
Damn. “Who are they, computer? Why are they there, rather than in their own quarters?”
Those occupying the rooms above are enemies of the Light family. They have arrived here over the past two days, and have effectively removed the Lights from their positions as operational leaders of this fortress. To symbolize that takeover, they have moved the Lights to other quarters.
“Roddy feared that might be the case.”
His parents hoped to convey a message of danger in their most recent communication with him.
“It worked.” He paused. “Can you show me the people in the Lights’ old quarters?”
One of the screens cleared, and Wesley was presented with a live view inside the room above. There were five people there, clearly in charge, along with others who were acting as deputies or servants. Wesley focused on the five, mentally comparing their faces to the pictures he’d memorized en route to New Venice.
They were all on the list.
Wesley sent a quick mental message to the travelers, letting them know about the five identified members of the Thirty at New Venice. After confirming with the computer that there were no other new arrivals at the facility he looked down at his boot, still pressed against the first of the stairs. The staircase was formed of some sort of metal, and he saw nothing suggesting that footfalls would be silenced. He could scale the steps in silence—maybe—but even then, he’d emerge into quarters with five of the most dangerous humans in existence. Those five humans had with them several heavily armed guards. He’d never make it out alive, likely gunned down before he could drop any of the Thirty.
He pulled his boot back off the step.
There had to be a different way out, a different way of working into the main part of the fortress. He could then find a way back to those quarters and launch his assault with some element of surprise. With luck, he’d figure out a way to separate the five from the guards first and then eliminate his targets.
Assuming he could get out of here.
While he looked for another escape route, he rummaged through the various drawers, cabinets, and shelves inside the hangar, looking for anything he might commandeer as a weapon. He found items he could use, glanced at his pack, and realized he couldn’t carry the bag with him; he’d stand out if he had to move around the primary living areas. Instead, he found medical tape and strapped the items in place beneath his new clothing, wincing at the pain he’d feel ripping the items from his body.
It couldn’t be helped.
“Computer?”
Yes, Wesley?
“I need to get into the main part of the fortress, but I can’t go up these stairs.”
You do not wish to encounter the armed individuals waiting above, believing that they will do you harm.
“Exactly.” How smart was this computer, anyway. “Is there any other way for me to get out of here into the main part of the facility? I can probably go back out the tunnel and approach from the surface, but I’d prefer not to do that as it would leave me exposed.”
Processing…
Maybe it wasn’t as smart as he’d thought?
The large pipes running near the steps provide fresh water into the facility. They are wide enough to allow a human to enter, and are structured with hand and footholds inside to allow safe passage.
“That sounds… bizarre.” Wesley frowned. “Why would they want people climbing around inside the water pipes?”
It is part of a plan to detect and shut off any pathogens entering via the water supply. A human enters the pipes once per week with testing equipment to check for any external virus or bacteria capable of infecting residents with illness. If anything is detected, chemicals are used to destroy the foreign agents and the human inside the pipe is sent through a decontamination process.
“Doesn’t the human climbing into the pipe pose just as much a risk to water safety? Why not just drop the chemicals inside?”
Roddy Light, who designed the water transport and decontamination system, insisted that this approach was necessary in order to account for all possible risks to the resident population.
Ah. Roddy designed it. Which meant… the pipes were built in this fashion to allow for an invasion via this hangar. What better way to sneak around an enemy fortress than through the water system? Unless, of course, it involved avoiding water. But he’d not question his good fortune. “How do I get inside, and where will I get out?”
There is an entry point near the base of the steps. The next access point is inside the fortress food preparation area.
“Is there breathable air inside the pipes?”
Yes, Wesley. There is plenty of breathable air.
A thought came to mind. “Is there a second set of pipes for bringing water into the fortress?”
Yes, Wesley. The alternate source uses smaller pipes and does not require the decontamination process due to the reduced risk of contamination
from that source.
“Let me guess. Roddy did much of the cleaning inside the pipes prior to his departure, didn’t he?”
He did, Wesley.
Which meant this pipe system had nothing whatsoever to do with bringing fresh water to the fortress. The entire system, the story behind it, and Roddy’s traversing around inside to test and clean the water… it was to desensitize people to the fact that there was a clandestine way into the facility, and to become accustomed to Roddy or others emerging randomly after a “cleaning.”
Bizarre, but apparently effective. He considered communicating his intent to use the pipe/tunnel system to Roddy, but realized he had something else to do before he entered the tubing. “Computer? I have communication devices embedded inside my head that enable me to convert my thoughts into words and transmit them to others with similar devices. Are you able to communicate with me in that fashion?”
Please attempt to transmit using your frequency, Wesley.
He did. And after several minutes of thinking the words Computer, can you hear me?, the computer transmitted the single word Yes back to him.
Thank you, computer. I will ask that you alert me if your systems show me to be in danger. I may also transmit questions to you using this system.
Certainly, Wesley.
He rechecked his supplies, found the entry to the tube-based secret tunnel system, and figured out how to operate the hatches.
With no idea what he was doing or how he’d find his targets once he emerged on the other side, nor thoughts on how he’d deal with any encounters with the normal residents of the facility, Wesley clambered inside.
Chapter 15
Near the Old Timers’ Fortress
The sphere cruised along, invisible to any survivors on the ground who might think to look up in the sky for a flying orb that the Ravaged had long been told couldn’t exist. They didn’t leave the sphere invisible to maintain the illusion; they did so to prevent anyone from Phoenix getting suspicious at the sight of a vehicle achieving powered flight in a manner and form they’d never managed.
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