by Luke Norris
Oliver went down on his hunches and breathed deeply. He was hyperventilating. It was completely hopeless he was only delaying the inevitable. The universe was not unfair, it was cruel.
“Oliver?” Shael rested a hand on his shoulder.
She’d approached without him noticing. Her touch was warm, caring. How many more times would he get to experience this before it was all torn away? Oliver would fight with every last breath, he’d resigned himself to that. His end was mapped out, he could see it clearly. But what of Shael? It wasn’t just about him. Would she be killed in some meaningless battle? Or worse, taken? He couldn’t protect her from this enemy. It was all happening so fast. Yet, even if he had all the time in the world, there’s nothing he could do. In a way, it was probably better that it would be over sooner rather than later.
“The end is so close now,” Oliver whispered and looked up at her with red eyes. “I can’t Shael… I can’t protect them. I can’t protect you. I wish I was ignorant of what will happen, that I didn’t have the knowledge of what will come. I can’t bear to witness this again.” His words were weak and selfish.
Shael pressed her forehead against Oliver’s. “It’s not a lost cause, Oliver! You’ve been gifted with amazing abilities. I saw you against those soldiers. You virtually came back from the dead. Twice.”
Oh god, she didn’t understand. She actually thought there was still some hope. How he wished he could somehow have some of her optimism. If there were just the smallest chance they could prevail, just a tiny glimmer of possibility, Oliver would latch onto that–there was not! He was a driver, programmed to know the odds of such outcomes better than anyone.
He could not change outside events, they would happen, outcome determined, written in the stars– the destruction of Arakan, his second home, would come to pass. The only domain truly under his control was his own mind. How he faced this, his attitude as he walked toward death’s door. This was the only battle he could win. This was the battle Lego had won. Oliver understood now. Lego won the most important victory a human could, he’d conquered his own mind and in doing so won his freedom, despite the physical shackles.
“They will send hundreds upon hundreds like me,” Oliver told her softly. “Each endowed with similar abilities… except they are programmed for one thing. All of them bent on the destruction of this place. I have learned the location of the their chemical drop from Terrom, the water treatment plant on the north end of the city. Once those chemicals hit the water supply, the people will become zombies. If I can at least keep the people free from falling under the influence of the chemicals, then at least they will have their own facilities until the end.
“Until the end?” Shael was taken back by the finality of Oliver’s comment. “You really think this threat is of that magnitude?” She lifted Oliver's chin up to face her directly. “Why do you feel you have to carry this burden, Oliver? Tell me, what gives you the right to take this? It’s almost as if you punish yourself for things done to you. Ponsy’s Hammer, you already saved Laitam once five hundred years ago. The responsibility isn’t yours! You’ve decided to carry that boulder, and it’s impossibly heavy. Why you? Because you have abilities? You’ve think that automatically puts the onus to protect us on you?”
“With great power comes great responsibility, Shael,” Oliver actually managed to laugh through his tears.
“Earth jokes?” she asked with a raised eyebrow but seemed relieved to see Oliver come out of the dark place.
Oliver stood, raising Shael up with him. He kissed her softly and tasted his salty tears on her lips. “The outcome may be inevitable,” he said, “but we can make it expensive for them every step of the way. We have to get to that treatment plant right now. It would be better to drink straight from the Tashka than from the tap once they’ve laced it with their chemicals. I need someone who knows something about water treatment.”
“Targon probably knows something,” Shael replied immediately.
He was the father figure for her, it was natural for her to think he had the answers, especially around archaeology. But it was possible the old man knew something.
*
The Doc and several other engineers watched distraught, as Oliver and Eorol made the final adjustments to the large metal tube they had attached to the wasp’s skids. “It needs to be millimeter exact!” Oliver told the two young engineers. It was Eorol’s wasp that Oliver had ordered completely repainted, from the standard canary yellow to a matte grey interspersed with irregular kaki patterns.
The idea of making an aircraft more difficult to see completely baffled everybody. Their reaction was understandable considering aerial combat was nonexistent.
“Oliver, this is months of work that you are taking here.” Doc lamented again, as he watched the three-meter prototype rocket being wheeled toward the aircraft on the flatbed wagon. “Why would you risk transporting it in a wasp? And so close to launch? Where on Laitam do you want to take it, when the launching pad is right here? You realize this is the prototype for our next major launch? We are expecting important learnings from this. Why?”
They didn’t understand. This whole venture meant nothing with the second-stagers on the planet. It was all for nothing.
He turned to the Doc. “The remote launching controller. I need it!”
“What could you possibly need the launching controller for?” Doc asked as fifteen men lifted the rocket carefully from the trolly, strained under the weight as they shuffled across and slid it into the tubular housing.
“Careful!” Oliver yelled to the men as though it were his child. “Sorry Doc, there is not the time to explain right now. Continue with the completion of the mission rocket. All I will say is that there is extra urgency now.
“Oliver, we need the prototype,” Doc said adamantly. “It is the exact replica of the mission rocket scaled down. The learning from watching the prototype fly will tell us crucial things about the mission rocket’s performance.”
“I’ll give you feedback.”
“Feedback?” Doc said shocked. “What do you mean feedback? You’re not going to launch it, are you?”
Oliver turned suddenly, all his attention bore down on the Doc. He appeared to shrink back at the change in demeanor. “I need that launch controller right now. And, I need to be able to activate it from the wasp.”
The Doc’s eyes widened in recognition, as he looked at the rocket attached to the aircraft’s middle skid. He looked, speechless from the wasp back to Oliver.
“Now Doc!” Oliver barked.
One of the younger engineers brought the small control unit to Oliver, opened the lid and explained the launch procedure, priming switches, and launch switch. Doc watched in stunned silence, seemingly still trying to assimilate the scene.
“Is this to do with the threat from Shem?” Doc asked.
“Doc, listen to me!” Oliver searched the confused eyes of the old engineer. “It’s nothing to do with Shem. Things are happening outside of our control and enemies that would not only shut down the space program but much worse.” Oliver looked toward the launch pad where the familiar sight of scaffolding reached ninety meters into the sky, surrounding the mission rocket. “All urgency Doc. I can’t stress it enough. Push forward with the mission rocket. You’ll have all the money and resources you need.”
Oliver strode to the wasp where Eorol waited. The man was leaning casually against the aircraft with his hands in his pockets, seemingly detached from the drama, and the fact they’d just loaded a rocket onto his wasp. He wore his overalls rolled down to his waist, and a white tank top, oil-smeared from maintenance work of the turbines. He was completely at ease.
Well, when you had the threat of death over your head, other issues become rather banal, Oliver thought.
The reality was, Eorol now knew Oliver was never going to follow through with that threat. It had been a long time since the betrayal incident, and Eorol enjoyed working for Oliver. He had proven to be an extremely adept p
ilot. Despite the murder attempt on his life, a minor detail, Oliver had come to respect him as one of the most skilled fliers he’d encountered. They had slowly become friends in a strange way, and Eorol had shown fierce loyalty. The topic of his sabotage had been tabled indefinitely.
Oliver lowered his voice so only Eorol could hear him “This flight will be dangerous, as I’m sure you’ve guessed.” They both instinctively looked at the volatile cargo they had armed the wasp with. “If we survive this mission,” he said turning to face Eorol, “you are absolved from the attempt on my life, and released from service to me.”
Eorol met his gaze. “Ha, if we survive this mission, you think I’m going to let these other amateurs fly you around after this?” he extended his hand to Oliver. “I’ve made mistakes in the past, but I’m your man, Oliver. I know there is something beyond my understanding here, but…” he trailed off searching Oliver’s face.
Oliver gripped the man’s wrist. Eorol knew they may not return from this flight, Oliver didn’t need to say it explicitly.
28
WATER TREATMENT PLANT
“They’re in there alright,” Oliver said, eyes hard as he stared out the open door of the wasp. It made a second a low pass above the large circular water treatment reservoirs. Eorol banked the aircraft to give the passengers a clear line of sight, as it made a circular sweep. They were far enough away, and at high enough altitude, as not to be too conspicuous to any second-stagers in the vicinity.
Shael opposite him sat strapped in and looking out over the plant. Oliver could see the question in her eyes, how could a place so serene and unthreatening pose such a threat? Oliver knew all too well that the beautiful and tranquil places of the world were just as susceptible to becoming collateral damage. His mind flashed back to the highland town that had become host to one of the most significant conflicts in Arakan’s history, ‘the Unity War’.
The water distribution for the entire city began here. River water passed through several filtration cycles before being drinkable. He leaned forward to Targon who sat in the cockpit next to Eorol. The old man seemed to be vitalized by the excitement. Instead of dangerous activities taking a toll on him, they appeared to do the opposite effect, somehow gifting him youth.
“If we simply blow that plant sky high,” Oliver asked, “the people can just get their water from the Tashka. Even that yellow water is better than chemically laced water. Right Targon?”
Targon shook his head. “Not entirely true, my boy. The Tashka is extremely alkaline with high levels of ammonia, hence the need for treatment. The people drink untreated water directly from the Tashka they’ll get very sick.”
Damnation! That was not ideal. The old man confirmed his suspicions. Oliver had visions of blowing up the plant with the second-stagers inside. The reality was they most certainly had technology to prevent that anyway. But maybe not. His experience with Yarn told him these second-stage pirates were a little reckless. Nevertheless, he would have to find another approach to stop them, which meant higher risk, engaging them directly. He instinctively looked at Shael. So trusting. He couldn’t put her in danger. He no longer had the element of surprise, as he did with the first encounter. They would all be on high alert after he kidnapped Terrom.
“Set her down over there, Eorol.” Oliver indicated to a patch of shoreline clear of brush. It was an inconspicuous distance from the plant. “I need to go in and investigate.”
“Still nothing,” Oliver said jogging back into their temporary camp. It had been two days, and there had been no sign of any interference from outsiders at the plant. Eorol had flown back on the first day to retrieve some food, camping equipment, and bedding, and return Targon to the estate. He hadn’t wanted to go, but Oliver knew the reality of a stakeout was less than romantic, often cold and uncomfortable. So he insisted that the old man return.
“Is it possible that Terrom gave you false information?” Shael asked.
“Not possible,” Oliver said, recalling the interrogation reluctantly. Thank god Shael was not there to see that, he thought. Even Galif, a hardened zewka crony, had been alarmed. “What Terrom told me he believed to be true.”
“But we’ve been here two days, Oliver. There are five technicians in the plant and no sign of anyone else.”
She was right, damn it. Where were they? What if they were planning to steer the deployment remotely? That was actually more likely with their means, drones, and whatever other tech they had at their disposal. This was information Oliver hadn’t asked Terrom. It was too late for that now, there wasn’t time to go back to the estate.
But Oliver’s experience with second-stagers in the past told him they like to be personally involved. Although, those were special circumstances, Yarn, Riff, and the others didn’t have a choice. They’d effectively been exiled and had only their own cunning at their disposal. That in itself was frightening because they were not dummies.
This was an entirely different ball game. In the end, they would win anyway, but Oliver’s driver instincts allowed him to think one battle at a time, one tactic at a time. He was thankful for this, least the inevitability of it all drive him to despair, indifference and inaction.
“That’s strange,” Eorol remarked, pointing above the makeshift fire pit in their small encampment. “The air is shimmering, but the fire is completely cold.”
Oliver stiffened. Above the cold ashes, but high in the sky the morning moon and clouds shimmered like a heat mirage. “That’s not from the fire,” Oliver yelled, running over and ripping the tent awning away from the wasp. “That’s a landing craft, cloaked to look like the background.”
Eorol squinted at the aberration shaking his head to clear his vision.
“No time Eorol!” Oliver ushered him hurriedly to the aircraft. “We need to…” Shael went to climb into the wasp also. “I need one person on the ground for this next part.” Oliver lied, holding her back gently. “I need you to watch where they go once they land. That is very important.”
Shael nodded solemnly. He had no intention of letting Shael enter the wasp, considering what he was about to attempt. The turbines roared to life as Oliver sprang in the open door.
Shael pulled him by the collar into a fierce kiss. “Don’t you dare die again, Oliver McKenzie!” She told him sternly. She released him as the wasp lifted off. He watched her grow smaller as the aircraft gained altitude.
“When that spaceship lands, the occupants cannot be allowed to carry out their task, Eorol,” Oliver said, climbing into the cockpit. “Under any circumstances. They are about to attempt a genocide,” he looked at Eorol on the last comment. Eorol’s jaw muscles clenched in the way of acknowledgment.
*
Medom watched Seth inspecting the driver pods. He kept checking on the one in capsule nine. Seth’s pale gaunt and drawn cheeks accentuated the sagging skin under eyes and made them look oversized. Blazing hydrons, he was an odd fellow! It was downright uncomfortable traveling with the man. He had about as much talent for conversation as those frozen drivers he loved so much.
He was mumbling now, either to himself or the inert bodies in their pods.
Probably having conversations with his babies, she thought to herself, looking at the capsules. Each one contained a powerful man, frozen in position, eyes closed… but ready. Their faces bore hideous scarres. And the one in pod nine… well that was something else altogether. We didn’t need this security. What we needed was to deploy chameleon drones remotely.
Seth’s inherent arrogance wasn’t without foundation, as she’d learned over the past days. She reluctantly acknowledged that he was scarily intelligent—genius, in his own strange way. She got a start when Seth looked up at her with his cold, intelligent eyes as if he’d read her mind at that moment.
“Li didn’t want any more delays or risks,” Seth said, turning back to the control panel on one of the pods. “The drivers will offer security, and ensure nothing like the incident with Terrom takes place.”
&nb
sp; Medom simply grunted. Whenever Seth spoke his mouth had a strange way of moving as if his thin lips were not properly attached to his mouth. He was an odd one. It was obvious he couldn’t give a sandfly shit that Terrom had been kidnapped, or whether he was okay. Seth was just happy to bring his pets out for a test run.
Medom felt the craft touchdown. This was usually her favorite part of the job, but now it was soured by Seth’s company, and his interference in her work. To make things worse, every suggestion from Seth had indeed been an improvement to her formula. Her unique value added to the crew and her creative flair for chemistry required for blanketing, were suddenly overshadowed by the freaky loner.
“Put on the helmet,” Seth instructed, handing it to her, “and say your name!”
“Medom,” she said, sliding the helmet in position.
“Good.” Seth nodded, tapping some buttons on the console. “The drivers will respond to our voices and nobody else’s,” he paused. “Well, all apart from driver number nine, he will not respond to you. I’ll be taking him with me. We will monitor the inflow reservoir, to ensure nobody closes the supply from the river.”
“Blazing hydrons, you’re leaving me with all the rest?” she asked.
In answer, twenty capsules turned misty white as Seth released the gas inside the pods to reanimate the drivers and wake them from their temporary stasis. The driver’s eyes nearest Medom snapped open, focused and intent above a strong set jaw. His gaze followed Medom, the whites of his eyes emphasized by dark mahogany skin.
The driver’s entire body was completely hairless. Her gaze dropped automatically to the man’s crotch. He seemed completely unaware of his own nudity and her scrutiny. All such biological desires were completely removed from a driver’s psyche.
She was startled out of her guilty reverie as twenty pod doors hissed opened, the capsule pressure equalizing with the room. Twenty large naked men stepped into the aisle and waiting silently. They smelt like chemicals. It was the most intimidating feeling Medom had experienced. She didn’t like to be around drivers or any kind of action in fact. Some of the crew thrived on being planetside when the shit hit the fan, but she was very content to coordinate things from a safe distance.
