More twisted grey cubic panels rained from the space behind us as the shadow beast decimated the grey castle, the skies around us consumed by the red lit eyes of the Havoc bots.
“Go. Go. Go!” I screamed.
We pounded toward the narrow bridge linking the park to the shuttle bay as I spotted the spider waiting for us on the other side. Its eyes refocused to the shadow beast releasing an ear shattering cry and broke into a charge.
“And what the hell is that?” Michael gasped, pointing to the eight-legged creature, as Henri, moving faster than I’d seen him move all day, scuttered past, trailing a wisp of smoke and a heavy scent of burning engine oil. “What is he doing?” my little brother asked.
“He’s going to try and stop us from leaving,” I declared, with distain. “But I’m getting you out of here if it’s the last thing I do.”
The Triathic stumbled, losing its footing, and we tumbled toward the floor. The beak of the creature dug into the snow, revealing the icy flagstones of the narrow bridge. I fell into the snow, the duffle bag digging in and slowing my skid across the frigid surface.
I rolled onto my side and tried to gather my bearings. “Michael?” I yelled. “Michael, where are you?”
“Help me!”
I scrambled to my feet as the triathic tried to stand, collapsing into the snow. “Where are you?” I called out.
“Down here,” my little brother replied.
I peered over the edge, spotting Michael lying on his back beneath the bridge, as the sound of the shadow beast beating its wings bore down on my position.
“Are you hurt?” I shouted.
“I don’t think so,” he replied.
“OK, I’m coming down--”
I was thrown from my feet as the shadow beast landed on the narrow bridge, shaking the foundations of the structure. Standing between us and the shuttle bay, the fierce creature roared into the air, distorting my earpiece. Stretching its wings out wide, the shadow beast raised onto its rear legs and roared again, lashing its tail from one side to the other, as the eight feet of the spider pounded along the icy bridge behind. Dropping the duffle bag, I climbed up onto the wall, standing with my arms open as wide as they would go.
The shadow beast landed on its front feet, shaking the bridge as I took a deep breath, hoping my insanity was going to be at least productive this time.
“What are you doing?” Michael gasped, as the shadow beast drew air in past its enormous teeth.
I leapt from the bridge, avoiding a swipe from the clawed paw of the monster. My feet slapped together as the spider’s web bound my feet and I looked up as the spider scampered along the wall, the frustrated black-winged beast releasing a roar peppered with frustration toward the approaching Havoc bots.
My stomach was launched into my throat as the line became taut, the spider working the end of the line, slowing my descent as it lowered me to my little brother’s side.
“What is wrong with you?” Michael asked, as I landed on my hands and knees.
“What?” I replied. “Me? After today, I’m not sure where to start answering that.”
I worked my legs free from the web as the calls of an owl reverberated against the chalets of the ski village.
“Look!” Michael exclaimed, pointing above me to Henri, the old hoverbot, scurrying away, taking the duffle bag with him.
“That traitorous flying piece of--”
The roar of the shadow beast distorted my earpiece.
“Can you run?” I asked, helping Michael to sit up.
“Yeah, why?”
“Good,” I replied as the first of the wave of Havoc bots tumbled over the wall of the narrow bridge, “run. Run faster than you’ve ever run before.”
“Where?”
“To the shuttle bay,” I replied, standing.
“But--”
Grabbing my little brother by the scruff of his jumper, I stepped into the snow, the cries of the owl echoing from the stonework above us, as knee deep, we proceeded with slow but determined progress. On the bridge, the shadow beast tussled with a web obstructing its eyes, tearing the silk free of its face, roaring the fiercest cry I had ever heard, shaking the bony plates running from its skull to its tail. The triathic, righted and at the end of the bridge, backed toward the remains of the grey castle, as the enormous owl passed overhead, scanning the snowy surface.
“What are those things?” Michael asked, looking back.
“I guess Autonoma’s crashing. It doesn’t matter. They’re not real, none of this is real. It can’t be.”
“What are you talking about?”
“Just keep going,” I replied, frustrated, “just keep going for the love of--”
Snow was whipped into my face as the owl swooped under the bridge, missing us but colliding with the Havoc bots. The white orbs tumbled into the snow as the bird slid to a halt against the steep slope, wrapped and twisted in its own wings.
As we reached the rocks forming the foundation of the bridge, a scattering of dust from the stonework above us cascaded with another pound of the shadow beast’s legs, more Havoc bots tumbling into the snow.
“Climb up,” I instructed, pushing my little brother forward, as he scrabbled up the first boulder, sliding back down.
“What are you doing?” I demanded.
“I can’t.”
“What do you mean?”
The entire Autonoma system around us failed as the snowy surface turned to a cubic grey floor, littered with protruding experience blocks, each blowing to slow our progress, each raised and lowered by a series of hydraulic pistons. The bridge flashed to a collection of cubic grey blocks and each of the beasts flickered to a series of mechanical contraptions flushed with rams, wires and hoses. The rocks turned to the sleek, smooth cubic panels of a wall.
Another curse slipped my lips as I scanned the area for a way up. The eyes of the spider waiting at the far end met my own as the system returned to the false reality of the amusement park.
“Move,” I instructed, pulling Michael away from the wall.
“What? Why?”
I turned toward the spider breaking into a sprint toward the shadow beast, the triathic close behind. Leaping into the air, the arachnid spread its eight legs wide, clamping onto the face of the black-winged beast.
The furious creature roared into the air, raising its front paws to swipe the spider from its eyes. The triathic darted through the opening, and the Shadow Beast released a pained cry as the triathic clamped its beak into the soft flesh.
Seizing the opportunity, the spider leapt from the beast’s head and pounded down the rugged spine. The black tail swiped the air above us as the spider leapt from the scaly skin.
“Get on,” I demanded, as the arachnid lowered onto its belly.
“What? No!” Michael protested, pulling away.
“We don’t have time for this,” I insisted, “it’s not real. Just get on for crying out loud.”
Above us, the shadow beast tore the triathic from underneath, pulling a chunk of its own flesh with it. Suspended by its orange legs, the blue-feathered creature looked to me as we settled down on the back of the spider, the shadow beast flinging the triathic through the air. It collided with a shattered panel of the grey castle and slid down to the floor, motionless. Above it, a sea of white plastic and red lit eyes poured from the hole.
Breaking into a sprint, the spider scampered up the wall as Michael and I were forced to steady ourselves. We breached the top and our eight-legged ride raced toward the entrance of the shuttle bay, Henri watching our approach, the duffle bag in the grasp of his broken arm.
“That piece of crap,” I remarked, furious, “when I get a hold of him, I’ll--”
The spider darted to the side as the Havoc bots rained down on our position, the old hoverbot turning tail and racing into the tunnel.
“Follow that flying idiot,” I instructed, as if the spider could understand me.
The spider skidded to a halt, throwing i
ts thorax up. My little brother and I were catapulted from the back of the creature. Michael rolled on his side, coming to a gentle rest against the side of the tunnel, I slammed into the floor like a brick.
I looked up to the spider. “What was that for?” I asked, rubbing yet another graze on my chin.
The arachnid looked toward me and turned away, the grown throng of Havoc bots behind it obstructing all view of the Autonoma amusement park.
“Go,” I shouted, gathering myself, picking Michael up from the floor and sprinting down the steep slope of the tunnel.
I glanced behind as the spider span a web across the entrance, my little brother slowing his pace to see too.
“No,” I demanded, “keep running as fast as you can.”
Michael took the lead, as the clatter of plastic drew my attention behind us. The spider, outnumbered, spun the lines as the sea of white and red lit eyes poured into the tunnel. A few became tangled with the silk, but the swarm bled through. The spider stepped back, swiping the Havoc bots from the air with each of its legs, but it was no match for the sheer number of orbs breaking past. Knocked off balance, the creature was forced onto its side.
“Look,” Michael shouted, snatching my attention, “it’s Henri,” he called, pointing to the old hoverbot hesitating by the small door at the end, the control panel beside him turning green. The door lifted into the wall and the flying tin can darted inside.
“Quick,” I shouted, as we turned the corner of the tunnel, my little brother skidding toward the door, turning his momentum and giving chase.
I willed myself to a halt, rotated, swung my arms to further my turn, and fell backward through the door as it lowered into place. Grabbing my knees, I pulled my legs clear as the door slammed into place.
“Ah ha!” I shouted, righting myself, “you can’t outrun us, Henri.”
“Henri?” I shouted into the darkness engulfing me. “Michael?”
The swirled galaxies hung in the air, frozen in their positions. I drew my finger through the nearest, but it remained unmoved as a video played in the top corner of my visor. Sulloman stood in a rain jacket with his hand raised to the camera as Men dressed in black uniforms clung to his other arm.
“Mr. Sulloman,” a voice asked, as a microphone was thrust toward the saggy and disgruntled face. “Mr. Sulloman,” they repeated, “do you have anything to say for yourself? Mr. Sulloman?”
He turned his nose up and away from the camera, the men leading him toward a waiting vehicle; the words ‘POLISI’, written along the side. Lines of static consumed the video as another scanned across the screen. The shot, out of focus, was readjusted and a figure took his seat.
“Are you ready to start?” a friendlier reporter asked.
“Yes,” the familiar voice replied.
“I know this must be difficult,” the reporter explained, “so if you need to stop at any time, you raise your hand, OK?”
“Understood,” the familiar voice replied, as the focus searched for focus.
“You lost your son,” the reporter asked, “is that right?”
“Yes,” the familiar figure replied, clearing his throat, “I lost everything that day.”
“Do you blame this Mr. Sulloman? He was your boss, is that correct?”
“Yes, he was my boss. No, I do not blame him.”
“You don’t?”
“No.”
The focus adjusted, though with each pass it was clearer.
“Do you know who’s to blame, Mr. Jolski?”
“Yes. Yes, I do,” he replied, with sadness in his tone.
“You know who’s responsible for the destruction of the power plant and the death of your son?” the interviewer replied, shock rippling through his tone.
“Yes.”
“Are you prepared to state, on air, who that person is, Mr. Jolski?”
The camera found its focus.
“Dad?” I gasped, coming to a stop. “Is that?” I paused, confused, “Is that Dad?”
“Yes,” he replied. “I believe, with a confession almost in place, I am in a position to name that individual.”
“Who is it, Mr. Jolski? Who is responsible for the destruction of the Autonoma plant and the death of your son?”
My father turned to face the camera, his eyes staring through the lens.
“It was you.”
Chapter 28
The Open Sea
“Alex!” Michael called out, as the video cut to static, fading from my visor. “Alex!”
“What?” I stuttered, trying to work out what happened, “what is it?”
“Come here,” he yelled back, “quick.”
“OK,” I muttered, confused and lost. “What is it?” I asked, stepping closer to my little brother waiting at the end of a wooden jetty.
“Look,” he responded, pointing to a small boat sitting in the shadow of the larger vessel. “We can get out in that.”
“This is just like the boat Granddad taught us to sail in, isn’t it?” I asked, running my hand along the top of the fiberglass lip, inspecting the hull for any sign of damage. “But out? How?”
“Through there,” he explained, pointing to the even larger metal door in the wall near the rear of the enormous ship, “that’s what Daddy said.”
“But how do we open it?” I asked.
“There,” he replied, pointing to Henri hovering some twenty feet up from the jetty near to a control panel by the door.
“Henri?” I replied, flabbergasted. “You’re going to rely on Henri to let us out?”
“Yeah.”
“He stole our stuff and you’re ready to trust--"
“It’s in the boat,” Michael replied, pointing to the duffle bag and Michael’s shoes resting in the bottom of the small fiberglass hull. “Henri will open the door and follow us out in the boat.”
A series of thuds resounded from the door back to the park and my little brother looked to me.
Did I trust that old tin can? Did I have a choice?
“OK. Let’s do it,” I replied.
Michael whooped with joy, jumping into the small boat. I settled onto the wooden plank forming the seat and released the rope from the moorings.
“OK,” Michael shouted to the old hoverbot, “open the door.”
After a short hesitation, Henri turned toward the control panel and the light turned green.
“He did it?” I responded, turning to face Michael. “He opened the door?”
“Yeah,” my little brother replied, “why wouldn’t he?”
The metal door shook and rattled on its runners, disturbing the green moss growing at its base. Small waves spread toward us, as the door split in the center opening into two halves.
“The sail,” I instructed, “pull up the mast.”
Together we pulled the sail up and into place, releasing the tie lines. The tatty grey fabric fell into place, waiting for a breeze.
“Come on Henri,” Michael yelled, as the old hoverbot hesitated and turned to face us, scuttering away from the control panel, the light turning red.
“Oh no!” I shrieked, the doors closing again, as I pulled at the sail in a futile attempt to draw speed from a nonexistent breeze. “Oh no!”
“What?” Michael yelped, turning to look at the closing gap.
“The doors. We’ll never make it through.”
“No! No, no, no,” Michael cried, as the old hoverbot turned tail and scuttered back toward the control panel.
Waves collided into one another as the doors, groaning and complaining, stopped, and resumed opening. I looked to the old hoverbot waiting by the control panel, his casing basking in the green glow of the light. The small boat bobbed in the waves as we sailed closer to the door, breaking the reflection of the moon on the water’s surface.
“Yes, we can do this,” I declared, adjusting the rigging.
“Come on Henri,” Michael called, as though he was talking to that dog again, “come with us.”
The old hoverbo
t remained unmoved as our boat floated past the doors.
“Come on Henri,” my little brother insisted. “Come on!”
The clatter of metal on wood resounded about the dock as the Havoc bots breached the door from the park.
“Henri!” Michael cried, the old hoverbot turning it’s painted-on eyes toward us, moving away from the control panel, the light turning red. “Wait!” my little brother called out. “No!”
The large metal doors groaned as the motors came to a stop, switching direction. The gap narrowed, avoiding the stern of our tiny vessel by a hair’s width or so.
“No,” Michael shouted. “Henri! The boat!”
The wave of white plastic and red lit eyes tumbled out across the jetty, skimming across the surface of the water. Pouring out of the small door, the bots swarmed the dock in seconds.
“Henri!” my little brother cried, his eyes red with tears.
I looked to the painted-on eyes of our hoverbot, as the gap in the large doors reduced to a few inches, white Havoc bots launching into the old companion, his casing striking the wall.
“No!” Michael screamed, as our hoverbot hit the jetty. “No!”
My focus rested on the name painted on the back of the enormous ship docked in the hanger, ‘THE TRUTH’, as the metal doors sealed shut.
“We have to go back,” my little brother insisted, reaching into the water.
“What? How? What are you doing?” I replied, Michael paddling his hand backward, willing the small boat to return to the closed doors. “No,” I declared, grasping his arm, as his tear-filled eyes snapped to me. “No,” I responded, softening my tone.
“But, Henri--”
“I know,” I replied, releasing his arm, sitting back down.
“But--”
“I know,” I replied, looking to the floor.
Michael slumped onto the side of the boat, his eyes fixed on the surface of the water, tears cascading into the reflection of the stars; the chaos and noise replaced by the sound of the gentle waves breaking on the hull. Drifting away from the building, I glanced up to the letters painted above the enormous door, ‘GATE 13’.
We did it, we’d got out. So, why didn’t I feel like we’d won?
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