D'Arc

by Robert Repino

  “Wait, you’re not gonna—”

  She jumped from the gondola before Lasky could finish. Her claws latched on to the bark, allowing her to slide a few feet before jumping again. The Vesuvius blotted out the sky. The flexible surface of the balloons dimpled and curved to accommodate the shape of the treetops. Everything reflected off of the silvery hull, flipping the entire forest so that it stacked on top of itself.

  Above, Lasky stuck his head out of the opening. “Get back here! This is wolf country!”

  D’Arc followed the scent, dropping to her knees and rubbing her nose into the dirt. She drew her sword and broke into a run until she felt the ammonia all around her, making her eyes wet. She passed underneath the engines of the ship, tangled with branches from the pine trees. Beyond the Vesuvius, the sun reflected on the surface of the river. The current carried the scent away, mocking her. In only a few minutes, the ammonia dispersed. D’Arc bent her knee, planted the sword in the dirt, and rested her head on the hilt. When the roar of the water became unbearable, she sheathed the blade and hurried back to the Vesuvius.

  In the armory, D’Arc exchanged her machine gun for a Barrett M99, the strongest sniper rifle on board. She palmed a nerve gas canister and hooked it to her belt. In the hallway, the guards marched the prisoners to the cellblock. Someone from the bridge spoke over the PA system, though the voice was garbled. “We are still under attack. Be on alert, we are still under attack. There may be intruders on the ship.”

  Lasky appeared in the doorway, nervously checking to make sure no one saw him. He handed her a small electronic device that would allow the Vesuvius to locate her. About the size of a cell phone, the device clipped right next to the canister. “I got the map, too,” Lasky said. He unrolled it for her and pointed at the hastily drawn red X that indicated the bunker.

  D’Arc tucked it into her vest pocket. “What’s the word on the ship?”

  “Engines are out. Balloons need to be repaired and fully inflated. And we have to untangle ourselves from the trees. We’re stuck here until at least tomorrow.”

  She continued chambering rounds into the rifle. Lasky hovered nearby, watching her.

  “What is it?” she asked.

  “I still can’t believe it,” he said. “You really are her.”

  “Yes.” The boy may have been in shock. D’Arc could not help him. They were alive—that would have to suffice.

  “I didn’t think you were real,” he said. “Some people said you were a myth.”

  D’Arc holstered her handgun. “They were right.”

  She checked the rations and water bottles that she took from the galley. On foot, she could make it to the bunker by morning, assuming she did not run into any locals.

  “Those things that attacked the ship,” he said. “Why do they want the Warrior?”

  “Same reason you did, I suppose.”

  “Well, I heard—” Lasky spotted someone approaching. He hopped into the corridor, squared his feet, and stood at attention. “Sir!”

  Falkirk brushed the boy aside and stepped into the compartment. His sleeveless jacket was torn from the lapel to the breast. When he saw what she was doing, his pointy ears dropped. But with Lasky nearby, he could not let his guard down, even with D’Arc standing before him spattered with blood, wearing the chief’s sacred medallion.

  “Did you see them?” he said.

  “No. I could only smell them. They headed for the river.”

  She mounted the rifle onto her back, pretending that it wasn’t too heavy. She hung the sword over it while Falkirk watched her, waiting for his chance to suggest that he tag along. Maybe he thought he could order her to stay, as if the captain of a downed airship at the end of the world could control anything.

  “We could send someone with you,” he said.

  “Can the bat fly me there?”

  “He’s too exhausted. I wouldn’t risk it.”

  “I could go, sir,” Lasky said.

  “That would slow me down,” D’Arc said. “I’ve tracked Alphas before. Remember? I can hunt these things. They smell even worse.”

  Falkirk reached out and tapped the nerve gas canister with his fingernail. “Where’s your gas mask?”

  “Too heavy. I already have enough equipment.”

  “This stuff is dangerous—”

  “I know that. But if things go bad, it won’t matter, will it?”

  Falkirk followed her to the cellblock. Lasky wished her good luck, a strange thing to say in this mess. On the way, Falkirk reminded her to stay on high ground as much as she could. If she needed sleep, she should find a tree and rest there for the night. The wolves would be less likely to catch her scent, and they were afraid to climb trees anyway—so the story went. The Upheaval crashed north of their position, and she would need to maneuver around it. With the smoke trail giving away the location, any wolf pack entering the area would start there. Falkirk did not mention the rumors about how the wolves dealt with “traitors”—the canines who worked with the humans. He probably didn’t want to hear the words coming out of his mouth.

  Amid the steady stream of instructions—the most she had heard him speak in days—she heard Falkirk’s voice cracking and straining as he realized that this might be goodbye. She couldn’t feel anything yet, so soon after the crash, the battle, the blood. Some primitive defense mechanism kept her focused on survival. Later—perhaps in the terrifying seconds before her own death—she would remember this and wonder what could have been with this husky. All that would have to wait for her to return. She would let him hold her then. They would weep together. But for now, she needed to find the Old Man. It would pay him back for all he had done. And it would set her free.

  When they arrived at Mort(e)’s cell, Falkirk told her to wait, and to listen. “The ship should be operational in another twenty-four hours, maybe sooner.”

  “I heard.”

  “Once we can get airborne, I won’t be able to keep us here.”

  “I’m not asking you to.”

  “And we’ll have to destroy the bunker. No matter who’s inside. Those were the orders.”

  “I know.”

  Defeated, Falkirk looked at the floor. D’Arc put her hand on his shoulder.

  “You have a crew to protect,” she said. “The chief trusted you.”

  “Yeah. It’s just that . . . I never got the chance to say I’m sorry. For what happened.”

  “Nothing to be sorry about. We took care of each other. Dogs do that.”

  He did not seem convinced.

  “Hey, look at me,” she said, jostling him. “You did good, Falkirk. We’re still alive. And I’m coming back.”

  A few dead leaves blew into the hole and landed at their feet.

  “Now I know how Mort(e) felt,” Falkirk said. “When you set out on your own. He couldn’t stop you.”

  D’Arc hugged him quickly, so that he would not have time to return it. She then stepped her foot through the hole, resting it on a bent tree trunk. With her claws digging into the bark, she inched her way to the forest floor. Above her, Falkirk stood stoically, with the hull expanding all around him. As D’Arc moved away from the gondola, she saw her reflection, a mere dot rolling along the surface.

  “Wait,” Falkirk said. “They say that the fish-heads can get inside people’s minds. Like the Queen. What if they trick Mort(e) into helping them?”

  “Then I’ll kill him.” She wasn’t sure if she meant it. And yet the words escaped her lips so easily.

  “Good luck, Captain,” she said. “Tell them to hold the al-Rihla for me.”

  Falkirk gazed at the forest. “You need to find that panda who speaks Mandarin,” he said.

  “Or a Canada goose. That speaks Canadian.”

  “Canadian’s not a language.”

  At the exact moment he smiled, she ran away. T
hat was how she wanted to remember him.

  CHAPTER 26

  The Labyrinth

  Taalik carried the demon on his shell as he swam upriver. With two tentacles, he fastened the prisoner to his body, while his other limbs propelled him against the current. More than once, the monster struggled and squirmed, forcing Taalik to constrict him until he became still again. About a mile from the wrecked air vessel, the cat slipped his arm free and slammed his knuckles into Taalik’s bony skull. Taalik dove, submerging them both. He waited for air bubbles to escape from the prisoner’s mouth before rising to the surface. The cat sputtered and gasped, coughing water from his lungs. He behaved himself after that.

  Taalik did not hate the cat. They were brothers in a way—children of the Queen. Earlier that day, Taalik could sense the cat’s presence as the ship lifted away from the human city. He tracked the aircraft from the river until it sailed so far away that it became a silvery dot in the sky. Then the Queen gave him a sign, a vision of two great ships colliding, descending to the ground, bloated angels burning and smoking. When he approached the wreckage, the sound of the cat’s thoughts penetrated the hull of the ship, a steady thumping. With his claws, Taalik tore open the wall to find the prisoner cowering inside. Ignoring the noise coming from the cat’s mind, Taalik plucked him from the cell and dragged him to the water. This animal had served the Colony once by destroying the Queen’s body, freeing her from the confines of space and time. In a few hours, he would fulfill her plan for this world. The oceans would rise and the planet would become a perfectly blue sphere, marbled with white clouds. The humans who declared him to be a messiah would wonder, in their final moments, how they had gotten it all so wrong.

  The mountains cast long shadows across the river. Every few miles, campfire smoke trailed into the darkening sky, lit by the mammals who controlled this territory. Though sworn enemies of the humans, these wolves would have to die as well. They indulged in their baser instincts, and showed nothing but ingratitude for their uplifted status. Many wished to return to their prewar state, living in squalor and dying of starvation or war. They knew nothing but conflict and suffering, and rebelled when the Queen offered them a new path.

  It was well past dark when Taalik picked up the scent of his people. He dipped his head under the waves to see if he could spot any of them waiting on the riverbed. Nothing moved, save for some billowing weeds and a fish fleeing in terror.

  He saw an egg lying by itself. Then another, this one ripped open. When he left this place a day earlier, stacks of eggs formed rows along the floor of the river. On this night, the pods were scattered and smashed, oozing their thick yolk downstream.

  Taalik heard three quick chirps. It was Orak, summoning the Juggernauts to battle. She hovered above the wrecked nursery, holding her wounded tentacle close to her body. Taalik saw new injuries on her body. A cut on her mouth. A bite mark on her torso. A broken pincer from someone’s claw was lodged in her bony chest plate, with ligaments trailing from it.

  It had finally happened, he realized. Something the Queen could not show him. The harem had turned against his Prime. They turned against him.

  Taalik dragged the cat to the shoreline. The prisoner shook off the excess water, shivering. Orak emerged from the waves, bloodied and limping. Taalik wrapped a tentacle around the cat’s ankle to keep him from bolting into the woods. Above, the stars twinkled in the blackness, and a sliver of moon hooked around a mountaintop to the west.

  It was Asha, Orak said. She told everyone that the Queen gave her a vision. She saw the Sarcops following the river into the sea.

  What about our people in the north?

  Asha said she saw them as well. They were all dead. Their blood filled the shallows. The sharks left nothing.

  A dream, Taalik said.

  Yes. But Asha said that your visions might also be dreams. How can we be sure?

  Taalik imagined how he would have reacted if challenged in this way. He would have killed Asha in front of everyone. And what would that accomplish? Another false prophet would rise, leading another rebellious faction. It would never end.

  They cut open the eggs, Orak said. They let the strong hatchlings join them. Ate the rest. I tried to stop them.

  He coiled his tentacle around hers. When we finish this, they will understand.

  What if Asha was telling the truth about our people?

  It cannot be true. The Queen did not lead us this far to abandon us.

  He did not have the energy to discuss it further. They were so close now. Despite all that had come before, everything pointed in one direction. He would follow the current to his destiny.

  They left the riverside and hacked their way into the forest. Orak took the lead, swinging her claws to knock down branches. Taalik trailed behind in the path she created. He kept one tentacle fastened around the cat’s neck. To give the prisoner some strength for the journey, Taalik fed him a raw fish. The cat lifted the food to his mouth and tore it apart until only the spine and the rear fin remained. When he finished, he licked his paws and rubbed them on his face, the way he must have done before the Queen liberated him.

  “Can you understand me?” the cat asked. “Can you speak my language?”

  Taalik responded by tightening his grip until the cat stopped talking.

  The trail connected to a highway, colored blue-gray under the moon and stars. Thick cracks split the street open, allowing the grass to sprout forth. Farther down the road, the highway split off, curving into an abandoned town. Wooden poles strung together by cables rested on their sides, split at the base. Taalik recognized some of the buildings, including a row of stores facing a large patch of asphalt. A gas station stood on the other side of the street, with one of the pumps connected to a military vehicle, its door hanging open. Beyond that, a sign directed traffic into a sprawling office complex, protected by an iron gate. Orak turned to Taalik so he could translate.

  Rama Corporation, he said.

  They passed through the empty security checkpoint. The building was shaped like a bent arm, made almost entirely of glass and steel beams. In Taalik’s dreams, humans moved about inside, like blood cells pumping through an artery. A dormant fountain sat in the courtyard. On the other side of the building, a wooded area occupied the rest of the property, a poor attempt to mask the doomsday experiments that took place there.

  Taalik dragged the cat to a concrete walkway, which terminated at a domelike bunker made of concrete. A sliding metal door sealed the building shut. Next to it, the humans had installed a smooth, flat surface. A touchscreen. Taalik tapped it with his claw, and the screen came alive. The surprising brightness forced him to squint. The screen displayed the ten digits of the human numerical system. Taalik needed to tap the numbers in sequence for the door to open. With Orak’s help, perhaps he could overpower the door, tear it from its hinges. But this would surely trip the humans’ defense mechanisms, assuming they still worked. Breaching the wall could disable the entire bunker. He needed to probe this cat’s mind for the access code. He would go step by step, no matter how painful it became, no matter how long it took.

  Taalik released his grip on the demon’s neck. The prisoner massaged the fur, his face lit by the screen. Then Taalik lifted his claws to the sides of the cat’s head.

  “I’ll fight you,” the demon said.

  “Yes,” Taalik replied.

  He pressed his claws to the cat’s temples. Above them, the stars twinkled, then glowed like thousands of suns until the entire landscape was ablaze. The ground dropped away, and the light engulfed everything in a white flash.

  Taalik could not see, even when he opened his eyes. He stood in some darkened room, inside a human dwelling. His blindness made the noises louder. Rain pounded the walls, collecting in puddles outside. A flicker of lightning flashed through a window, imprinting a white square on the floor. A moment passed, and then the thunder rolled
in, sounding like a glacier crumbling.

  A human entered—a man holding a candle with a tiny flame dancing on top, bright enough to throw eerie shadows on the wall. A terrified boy clutched the man’s pant leg. The man said soothing things, but the child would not stop crying.

  A woman arrived, holding a sleeping infant. Another bolt of lightning painted everything white for an instant. The thunder woke the baby, who squirmed and whimpered. The woman tried to rock her to sleep again. To show he was not afraid, the man walked over to the window and beckoned the boy to come to him. The child shook his head, his face wet with tears.

  Taalik could not decipher the words exchanged. From what he gathered, this was a family—they all shared the same stink—and the house was in some kind of danger. Darkness descended, while a storm shook the home. The man seemed disappointed in his son for being afraid. When the woman told him to stop, the man giggled at her and kept at it. Another explosion outside made the entire family jump.

  Standing in the doorway, a cat with orange fur and a white belly inched its way into the room. Taalik understood now. He was trapped in the cat’s memories. The little demon must have retreated to this place. If he wanted to retrieve the information he needed, Taalik would have to become a part of this broken world, locked inside a feeble mind.

  Taalik realized that he was not simply a pair of eyes floating about, like in so many of his visions. He was here, standing among these humans. And yet they could not see him. The couple argued, making the children cry louder. Taalik walked between them. They kept shouting, oblivious to this creature passing by.

  The cat hissed as Taalik approached, a warning to his human masters. The little creature wished to protect them, and actually believed that he could. Taalik could feel it—anger boiling inside the cat’s guts, fear tickling his spine. When Taalik got closer, the cat fled, like a fish knifing through the water. Taalik chased him to a staircase leading to the lower level of the house. In the blackness, the cat’s pupils reflected the scant light, and his fear became like a chilly current.