by Jack Heath
‘What’s the damage?’
‘We’re dead.’ Kyntak’s voice was frighteningly even.
‘The tank’s haemorrhaging fuel. Can’t land, can’t run.
There’s three more bogies on the scanner, but we’ve only got two more missiles.’
Six’s heart felt like it was jammed inside his neck. ‘How high are we?’
‘Not high enough,’ Kyntak said.
Six heard another gasp of missile exhaust – but this one was getting louder. Fired at them, not by them. Kyntak swore and Six felt the jet swing sideways, and then he actually saw the missile rocket past the window, huge and grey and intimidating. The flames behind it lit up the whole pod for a second, and then it was gone, leaving a trail of black smoke. Six heard it explode in the distance, and the pod rattled around him.
‘You have to eject,’ he said.
‘No,’ Kyntak replied.
Hiss. The jet went into a barrel roll, and Six squeezed his eyes shut so he didn’t have to watch the clouds whirl past. The missile exploded somewhere in the dark sky.
‘Do it, Kyntak!’
‘We’re not high enough yet,’ Kyntak insisted.
They were 30 kliks up – almost in outer space. The pull of gravity was rapidly getting fainter. Most people assumed that zero gravity would feel like floating in a swimming pool, but Six knew that wasn’t true. It was more like falling. Like one of those nightmares where you plummet forever and never seem to hit the ground. Your organs all felt higher in your torso than they should be, and with nothing to hold them down, they bumped nauseatingly against one another.
Hiss. Lurch. Boom.
‘Damn it, Kyntak, eject!’ Six yelled. ‘We’re not going to make it! They won’t keep missing forever!’
Kyntak grunted, ‘Almost there.’
Six’s clothes billowed around his limbs, gravity no longer constraining them. He stared out the window as they broke through the last of the clouds, revealing the stars – pinpricks of light coming from suns that burned hundreds of billions of kilometres away, light that took decades just to reach him.
‘We’re there!’ Kyntak bellowed triumphantly. ‘Bombs away!’
And Six felt the pod separate from the jet and begin to fall back down towards the earth, slowly at first, but gaining speed with every second. It tipped over until he was upside down, because his head was at the heavier end.
HISS!
The explosion shook the pod. What happened? Six thought. Who fired? Who was hit? What’s going on? ‘Kyntak?’ he demanded. ‘Kyntak!’
Then he saw burning pieces of Kyntak’s jet falling alongside him, raining up past his window, the metal blackened and smoking.
‘No,’ he whispered. Then, louder, ‘No!’
The chunks of jet disappeared as he re-entered the fog, and suddenly the pod was falling very fast. Six’s teeth rattled as he plummeted headfirst towards the ground. All the blood flooded into his skull until his eyeballs ached.
Fog and smog and smoke blew past the window, faster and faster until it was just a flickering blur. Six felt the thrusters at his feet kick in, guiding the pod to a target he couldn’t see. The sound was deafening, like static on a TV turned up way too loud, and it mixed with the roar of the wind buffeting the pod to become white noise that pummelled Six’s brain.
He reached up and tugged the earpiece out and jammed it in his pocket. Then he replaced it with a pair of rubber earplugs. There was supposed to be a warning beep two seconds before impact, but he didn’t really need to hear it.
The iron roof of the Tower could stand 1000 kilograms per square inch. Six’s pod weighed only 800 kilograms, and the tip was 20 centimetres wide. But it was travelling at 300 kliks per hour and accelerating.
If it was going fast enough when he hit, the pod should tear through the roof like a sledgehammer through plywood. But if it wasn’t, it would crumple like a chip packet, and he’d be crushed to a pulp inside.
Either way, Six thought, this was going to be loud. He shut his eyes.
Light flickering behind eyelids.
Thrusters st ut te ri ng to a stop.
Wind rushing.
Shaking metal.
Heart thumping.
Beep.
Silence.
SMASH!
TRANSMISSION
Six was blind.
No, he wasn’t.
It was just dark. And quiet.
Crumpled metal under his fingers. Grit that might once have been his window.
His body felt like one massive bruise. The impact had been hard enough to burst blood vessels.
He reached up to his chest, felt around for the buckle on the safety harness, clicked it. The straps fell away to the sides. He leaned forwards and groaned.
The world still sounded dark and muffied. He pulled out the earplugs and fumbled around for the earpiece.
‘Kyntak? Kyntak, are you there?’
Nothing but static.
Six tried to remember if he’d seen any pieces of the cockpit among the falling debris. Maybe the missile had only destroyed the wing of the plane. Maybe Kyntak had been able to make an emergency landing somewhere. Maybe he was okay.
Maybe not. There had been a lot of burning pieces.
Six pushed his hand against the button that was supposed to crack open the pod. Nothing happened. He pressed it again. Still nothing.
Well, it had been a pretty rough landing. Six raised his legs and rested the soles of his feet against the wall and pushed as hard as he could.
The metal splintered around the hinges and the pod split into two giant halves. Six fell to the floor and landed on his shoulder.
He looked around. Yep, he’d made it. He was inside the Tower.
There was a ragged hole in the ceiling where the pod had crashed through. Above that, there was another hole, and above that, another, and another, and another. He was at least five levels down. The pod had penetrated not only the iron roof, but five concrete floors as well. And it was a wreck – turning around, Six saw that the metal hull looked like it had been mangled by a giant woodchipper.
The room was huge, and the walls were covered with shelves, stacked high with weaponry. Mostly non-lethal stuff – Tasers, shock batons, tear-gas grenades, and even an Electrified Aerosol Cannon. That was much like a flame-thrower, but instead of petrol it spewed forth a harmless gas – and then ran an electric current through it, delivering a painful shock to anyone standing within range.
The armoury, Six thought. What are the odds of landing here?
Quite high, he realised, staring at the floor. They’ve reinforced the ceiling and the floor to stop anyone breaking in and stealing their weapons. So the ceiling took half the pod’s momentum, the floor took the rest.
But why non-lethal weapons? I’ve only seen Allich’s troops use live rounds . . .
Six grabbed a couple of batons and hooked them into his belt. He stuffed three grenades into his pockets and slung the EAC over his shoulder. He had his Owl 5525 pistol, of course, but he’d already broken his vow once today. He wasn’t planning on doing it again, ever. Non-lethal was always better.
Time to go. He opened the armoury door, and found himself in a prison.
What the hell?
There were about thirty cells, made of thick bars and grey bricks. A single halogen light burned in the centre aisle, throwing zebra-stripe shadows across the floor of each cell. No guards were visible, though presumably they were coming. They would have heard the landing – or at least noticed the hole in their ceiling.
Why would Allich keep a cell block in the Tower? Six wondered. Who is she imprisoning? And why?
He peered through the bars of the cell closest to him – and recognised the girl who had been used in the demonstration at the launch. The one Allich had called ‘TM4’. The one Six had promised to save.
How? She wasn’t even supposed to exist!
She sat up in her bed. Her gaze didn’t tilt off to the side like it had before – she st
ared directly at him. ‘Who are you?’
‘A friend,’ Six whispered. ‘I’m going to get you out. How do I open the door?’
‘There’s a master button,’ she said. ‘Up the stairs at the end.’
Six nodded and moved away up the aisle between the two rows of cells. Most of the prisoners were lying on their bunks, staring vacantly at the ceiling. But some were –
Six froze.
There was a time-soldier in one of the cells.
He was in the same prison garb as the others, and looked unarmed – but it was the same man, with the huge body and the broken nose.
‘Hey,’ he hissed at Six. ‘Get us out of here!’
Why would Allich lock up one of her own men?
And then the pieces clicked together in Six’s mind.
This man wasn’t a time traveller. Neither was the girl.
They were the originals.
He remembered Kyntak asking where the soldiers had come from in the first place. What force caused the machine to create soldiers rather than violinists, or ducks, or turnips? Now Six thought he’d figured it out. Allich had found this man, gigantic and strong and combat-trained, and used him as a template to make the others. She had scanned him and fed his data into the machine, but instead of transmitting him, she’d locked him up and programmed Tiresias to sift through all the signals from the future until it found one that matched. And there would be one, because after she was done with the time-soldier, she’d send it back.
That’s how you make a loop, Six thought. Allich’s voice ran through his head. She was scanned two weeks ago. Or, rather, her original form was. She has no memory of that, of course.
‘I’m headed for the master button,’ Six told the man. ‘How many guards?’
‘Three on the day shift,’ the soldier template said. ‘Two at night. But they probably have backup they can call in.’
You have no idea, Six thought, thinking of the time-soldiers.
‘Agent Six!’ Behind him. The voice was slurred and warped.
Six turned, and boggled at the sight before him. Locked up in another cell was the clone – the earless one with the missing eye and arm. The one he’d found at Vanish’s facility, and who’d escaped shortly thereafter. Or so Six had thought.
There was a badly stitched scar that ran the whole length of the clone’s brow. What had happened to him?
‘You can talk!’ Six said.
‘It’s me,’ the clone gurgled. ‘I’m the Queen of Spades!’
Six’s first thought was that the clone had gone mad. That so many horrible things had been done to him that he’d become delusional, creating a world of fantasy in which he was someone of in?uence and importance.
‘They took my body,’ the clone whispered. ‘Stole it, put someone else in it. Forced me to tell them all my secrets, so he – she – it, could pretend to be me. Then they sold me to somebody else. Someone who wanted to know about the Deck’s security systems.’
Heart racing, Six asked, ‘What’s your name? Your real name?’
‘Sirah Tallim,’ the QS said. Her shoulders were slack and lifeless. ‘You don’t need to speak out loud; I can’t hear you.’ She pointed her only hand at her missing ears. ‘I’m lip-reading.’
She’s still alive, Six thought. Ace’s stepmother is still alive! He felt a rush of pity for her, imprisoned in such a wretched form – and then a bigger flood of sorrow for the clone himself. There would have been no reason for Vanish to keep him alive. After a short lifetime of organ transplants and misery, his brain would have been thrown away.
‘I told them everything,’ the QS was saying. Her gaze fell to the floor, but the glass eye stayed looking at Six. ‘I couldn’t help it. They did horrible things to me.’ She looked up again. ‘You have to warn everyone at the Deck, they’re in massive danger –’
The Deck’s gone, Six mouthed. They’ve already destroyed it.
The QS’s jaw trembled under the respirator mask. ‘Then –’
Ace is safe, Six continued. She wanted to thank you for taking her on all those trips as a kid. And she wanted you to know that you were always welcome in the family, even though she never said it.
The QS’s breath came in shuddering gasps. ‘Six,’ she said. ‘I’m so sorry.’
Before she could say any more, Six mouthed, Forget it. I’m getting you out of here. Then he ran towards the stairs at the end of the aisle, already scanning the landing at the top for the master button.
There! Bright orange, stencilled with the words release doors. Six dashed up the last few steps and slammed his hand against it.
A loud beeep boomed out from the ceiling, and then the locks on all the cages clicked open. The soldier template was the first to open his. When they saw him do it, the other prisoners started emerging. The air was thick with excited whispers.
Six ran back down the stairs. ‘Listen to me,’ he said. ‘The guards will arrive any second now. Go through that door to the armoury, and take any weapons you know how to use, and then climb out through the hole in the ceiling. Does anyone know the building well enough to lead everyone else out?’
The girl stepped forwards. ‘I know the way,’ she said. ‘But there’s dozens of guards. Even with weapons, we might not make it.’
‘Don’t worry,’ Six said. ‘I’m going to create a hell of a distraction.’ He patted the Semtex attached to his belt – the explosives that he would use to blow up the machine.
‘Will there be a signal?’ the soldier template asked.
‘Yes,’ Six replied. ‘A very loud bang. When you hear that, wait thirty seconds, then run as fast as you can. Every guard, sentry or soldier in this building is going to be coming for me.’ He turned to the QS. ‘Call King. The Deck’s transmission tower is gone, so you’ll have to use the Spade communication protocols. He’ll work out somewhere to shelter everyone. And Ace is with him.’
‘What’s going to happen to you?’ she demanded.
‘Forget about me,’ Six said. ‘Get to the armoury. Now!’
The prisoners ran, boots slapping against the concrete. Six jogged back up the steps, and reached the prison door.
He listened. Nothing from the other side, but it was thick steel. An entire army could be out there and he might not hear them.
There were two buttons on either side of the door. Both had to be pressed simultaneously to open it. Six stood in the centre and leaned to the right, stretching his right arm out so his hand was against one button, then with his left leg he reached up and kicked the other.
The door buzzed open. There was no army outside. Just a cold, clinical hallway.
Six looked left and right. He had no idea where he was going – he’d never been this many floors up in the Tower before. Left, he decided, and then started running as quietly as he could down the corridor.
It wasn’t long before he heard someone coming in the opposite direction at full pelt. There was a large air-conditioning unit against the wall, and Six ducked behind it, pressing his back against the wall and one knee against the floor. He stayed motionless as he heard the footsteps grow nearer.
The receptors in the human eye are made up of cones and rods. The cones are mostly in the centre, and are for seeing colour. Rods are around the edges, and detect movement. This means that peripheral vision is much better at distinguishing movement than colour. When he was a Club, Six had been taught that unless the enemy was looking directly at you, 90 per cent of invisibility was stillness.
The soldier ran past. He didn’t see Six.
Six watched the soldier receding into the distance. He didn’t look like a time-soldier, not unless Allich had multiple templates. That was good – if Six succeeded in his mission, there would be no more time-soldiers, ever. Once the device was destroyed, Allich wouldn’t be able to create them anymore. But she also wouldn’t be able to send any back through time. Therefore, all the ones she’d created should have already been sent back. Otherwise it was impossible to destroy the machine.
Six wished he had a pen and paper. This was too much to hold in his head – he needed diagrams. He emerged from behind the AC unit and started running again.
He paused at the corner. Listened. Nothing. He peered around the edge. Nothing. He rounded the corner. Kept moving.
He still didn’t know where he was going. But it wasn’t like he could stop and ask for directions.
I’ll just keep running until I see something I recognise, Six thought. And hope that happens before the escaping prisoners are discovered. That’s all I can do.
Footsteps, up ahead. There was no conveniently placed AC unit this time, so he turned back the way he came – and saw shadows moving on the wall.
There were people coming from both sides.
Six whirled around. There was a door a little further down the corridor. He sprinted towards it, twisted the handle and pushed. The door opened on well-oiled hinges, and Six clicked it closed behind him.
‘I should have guessed it would be you,’ Chemal Allich said.
Six had the Owl pointed at her skull before he’d even realised who she was. ‘Shut up,’ he hissed, listening.
‘It’s all right,’ Allich said. She was sitting behind her desk, stroking a glass paperweight. ‘My office is soundproof. They can’t hear you.’
‘Put your palms flat on the desk,’ Six said. ‘If I hear an alarm, you’re dead.’
Allich did as she was told. ‘You won’t,’ she said. ‘I’m not going to turn you in.’
Six frowned. ‘Why?’
‘I don’t know,’ she said with a sad smile. ‘Agent Six of Hearts, isn’t it?’
Six said nothing.
‘I have a clone of you locked up just down the hall,’ she said. ‘Well, the body of a clone of you. It has the brain of one of your colleagues. You should let her go, if you haven’t already.’
What’s she playing at? Six wondered. Out loud, he said, ‘Tell me how –’
‘To get to Tiresias?’ Allich finished. Apparently seeing Six’s surprise, she said, ‘Yes, I know why you’re here. You want to destroy it. And you’re going to succeed.’
‘How could you possibly know that?’ Six demanded.