Thiswheredevil plays.
Arilynn feels a surge of great confidence, knowing she has found the devil's hiding place. But she understands that if the devil is a good hider, then she must be a good seeker. And so, she begins her search of these large, mechanical animals.
Under them, over them, around them – through them if her vision would allow.
Gonefinddevil. Findbluedevilgetawaydaddy. Gone ...
She comes upon a servant of the castle, and he is a dark-skinned man with silvery hair and glassy eyes. And he is lying motionless upon the floor. She knows this servant – she has seen him before, and he was close to the devil. She kicks the servant in the side of his belly, but he does not respond.
She believes she must cry for this servant, but she isn't sure why. And she does not have time to contemplate her confusion – she looks directly beyond this servant, only a few meters away, and there is an oblong monster that coils around and into the other mechanical animals. It is humming, and Arilynn is smiling.
She sprints to the monster and crawls beneath it, knows exactly where to look.
“Gotyoudevil! Gotyoudevil! Gonetakeawaymy daddynot.”
The devil is clamped to the monster, and the counting numbers upon its face are in constant motion. She places a tender hand against the devil, and its metallic surface is frigid. But Arilynn doesn't pull back. Instead, she embraces the devil.
“Gonetakedevilhell anddevil. Devilgone. Devilgonehell withme.”
There are so many numbers, but all the first ones are round. And Arilynn realizes they are zeroes.
72
A
dam Smith and Rand McNichols huddled as they stood at the top of the spiral staircase overlooking the command pod. Adam was pale, and his unkempt silver hair hung straggled over half his face. He could not look into the eyes of his old friend.
“Raymonds said we were always going to lose,” Adam whispered. “I wonder how much truth there may be in his words.”
“At this stage, I’d question anything passing his lips,” Rand replied.
“Dunno about that. I've lived almost a third of my life inside this mountain, and I have one foolish mistake to show for it. And now 12 of us are gone. Perhaps I was too paranoid, too conservative, too ...”
“Adam,” Rand hissed. “You can't do this to yourself. Our people are watching, and they are counting on you like never before. If we lose, it's because they believe you have given up. There is still Andorran. We can turn this around, but you have to show the kind of strength ...”
Adam sighed. “The kind of strength that sent those 12 young men and women into a battle they had slim chance to win, and with no direct contact to a support mechanism that could have save them.”
“No one will argue with our decision,” Rand tried to console his oldest friend. “Janise and her soldiers went in fully aware of the odds, and she agreed to maintain silent running. And when you gave that speech right before launch, we were as unified of purpose as Second Sunrise has ever been. We could not have known that the PAC would go to such lengths to set a trap.”
Adam looked down upon the weary techs who gave up trying to break through the electronic black hole and who were now milling around worthless stations. So corrupted was their technology that the thought of sending a warning to Andorran was preposterous.
“But I did know,” Adam nodded, then pressed a hand over his heart. “The PAC succeeded in carrying out the Arvas project, and it's had 20 years to fine-tune its game. I knew. Or should have. And now ... well, even if we should manage to rescue those poor folks on Andorran? If we don't have a home, what of them?”
“Your assumption is fatalistic, Adam. Personally, I don't believe we're in any immediate danger. I don't think Sam gave us up to the PAC. If he had, you and I would likely be having this conversation in the hereafter. If the PAC knew our location, all it would have to do is send in a quick-strike force with enough straddle-bomb punch to destroy this mountain and bury us alive. Nasty but easy – exactly the way the Front Guard does business. Sam did not give us up.”
Adam flinched a brow, and this time he managed to face his friend. “I fear he did, Rand, because no other explanation makes sense. He was so desperate to get out of here that he took the fastest possible route. He had to know the Guard would be coming.”
“Unless ...”
“Mmph?”
Rand reached a moment of epiphany, and the whites of his eyes sparkled against the heavy lighting of the pod.
“Unless he needed leverage. By giving us up, he would be doing the same to himself. Travert and the Council would never allow a deal that served to benefit anyone other than themselves, unless it would hand them a bigger prize. Second Sunrise.”
“You’re suggesting Raymonds turned over the information regarding the attack plans for Barbados as a down payment toward revealing our location? It would prove to the PAC he really is on the inside. It would keep him alive. But why hijack the shuttle if the Guard was not en route? He could have waited until his next recruiting trip, and we never would have suspected.”
“Yes. Yes.” Rand nodded. “This is where it all comes together. He told George and Stephen that the three of them were going to fly to the AFD. He was buying additional insurance for himself. Can you imagine the scene if a colonial shuttle with two members of the underground were to land in the middle of the AFD? Raymonds could turn it into a public spectacle, make a hero of himself before the Guard could do anything about it. He'd reveal our location and guarantee himself a very happy, healthy existence.”
Adam grabbed hold of the metal banister and leaned against it like a man whose stomach was turning against him. “Oh. We had such great expectations. But the cycle never seems to change. Duplicity, conspiracy. Even in the most perfect world, those two things would remain constant. I was arrogant to think our little community was exempt. One never has to look far to find a second, third or even fourth agenda. But I'll tell you this much, my friend.” Adam looked out over the pod. “Regardless of what happens with Andorran, everything changes after tonight. We're going to rewrite the rules.”
Rand forced a smile. “That's exactly what our people need to hear. My suggestion is you take a rest, clean yourself up. New Terra won't return for a few hours. It's going to be a long night. I'll go back in with Raymonds and try to confirm what we suspect.”
Adam knew he was blessed to have met a man as focused and practical as Rand McNichols. He never kidded himself to the reality that Second Sunrise would not have survived past the early years without Rand's presence.
En route to the habitation ring, Adam passed his comrades in silence. He saw the cold, anxious stares – the countenance of defeated men and women.
“Sir?” A voice came at him from behind, and he whirled about.
“Yes?”
“Did your daughter make it back all right?”
Adam grimaced. “Excuse me, Perry?”
The de facto chef of Second Sunrise replied: “Arilynn. I saw her at the east lift. She seemed agitated, desperate to get on. I told her she needed to go back to her quarters. She seemed to understand.”
“When was this?”
“Ten minutes ago at most.”
Adam told himself not to panic. He glanced at the portable comm-set strapped around his left arm, and he called up the time. Too late for dinner, he realized.
“Did she eat on schedule?”
“On time like always.”
“Thank you, Perry,” he shouted as he started with a sprint.
Arilynn had not left her bedroom to visit anywhere but the mess hall or latrine in two years. The fits of panic that accompanied the early stages of the delirium diminished once she settled into a redundant routine. So confident did Adam become with her ability, that he long since halted the practice of double-checking to make sure she was cleaning herself and eating properly. It's just a setback, he told himself. A mild panic attack.
Arily
nn couldn't get into any real danger – there was no place she could go without being seen, and someone would detain her.
He raced into his daughter's bedroom, certain he'd spy her sitting in lotus upon the bed, that ever-present drawing pad in her lap.
“Ari ...”
He stopped, looked. A room full of thousands of disparate images, scattered at random along the walls, the carpet, the bed. But there was no pile of paper so deep, no piece of furniture so large, that his daughter might be in hiding.
“Ari?”
He lifted his comm-set, ready to alert the command pod and instruct them on an electronic search of the base.
Then he froze as he looked at the single image that presented itself as a completed jigsaw puzzle, lying in nine pieces at his feet.
Adam didn't have to read the words that accompanied this huge drawing. He recognized the object instantly. The Guard was known to use this weapon in its early assaults on terrorist groups, and Second Sunrise smuggled in the components for two such devices years ago when far more aggressive tactics were being considered.
He stood back in horror as he realized what it all meant.
“Ari,” he whimpered, then opened the link. “Rand. Rand.”
“Yes, Adam. What's ...”
“We were wrong. Raymonds hijacked the shuttle because he needed to leave the mountain quickly. He planted a straddle bomb.”
“What!? How do you know this?”
“Because I'm looking at a schematic right now. My daughter drew it. She saw it, and she tried to warn me. I didn't understand. Rand, listen to me. Arilynn has to be found, and everyone else must be evacuated. Open the shafts and give the order!”
“Dear god. I'm on it.”
Arilynn showed small signs of precognition since the delirium set in, and Rand advocated more than once that she undergo a series of tests to determine just how strong this “talent” might be. Arilynn would want to help us in any way possible, Rand reasoned. But Adam refused, insisting his daughter would not be used as a weapon because of a few minor occasions of foresight.
And now, Adam his daughter’s agitated words before the Sprints departed:
“Devil'sinbluebox comingsoon watchout …”
As Adam raced from his quarters, and as the klaxons echoed throughout the facility and an evacuation order was issued, he vowed not to lose two daughters in one night.
73
9:19 p.m. ECS time
Center for Domestic Security
T
he lights of the AFD were beautiful by night, a stunning skyline of reds and yellows in honor of the official colors of the corporate government. It was a site that drew tourists from all corners of the continent. And on many nights, Bryan Drenette would have marveled at them. But he lost his zeal for their aesthetic wonder, his mind focused only on the anxiety of the moment, wondering whether this was how everything was supposed to end.
Failure was not something that ever crept into the vocabulary of his parents – his father, who knew only dogged determination and integrity until his dying breath, or his mother, who climbed every corporate staircase with ruthless aplomb and now looked down upon the Midwest zone of the PAC with the arrogant posture of an empress. Now, as he cradled a blast gun between his hands and studied the security monitors outside his extravagant office, Bryan was almost certain the F-word made its way onto the family tree.
In the span of less than six hours, he lost the only woman he ever loved, probably destroyed the only underground movement with a fighting chance against the PAC, and allowed himself to fall into the kind of trap the continent's top-ranking security officer should have been able to avoid.
What have I been doing all these years?
He thought of the hundreds of men and women who were put to death as a result of warrants with his signature upon them. He thought of the endless nights spent carousing through the sexual adventure clubs just so he could forget what he did while the sun was shining. He thought about the valuable information he never passed along to Second Sunrise because of fears for his own personal safety.
Do I even deserve another shot at this? Have I lost the only game I'll get to play?
He thought of Matilda, his LifeSquire, and he wondered whether she would be able to perform the one last thing he asked her to do.
There was movement on the monitors, a rush of Guardsmen through the outer office, their weapons drawn.
He could put the gun to his temple and press the trigger button. It would be instant, but bloody. He could put the huge cyanide capsule between his teeth and bite down. It would be almost instant, a flicker of pain, and there would be no blood at all.
Was this to be clean or dirty?
That all depended upon Matilda.
He had a few minutes to debate the issue. The office door was under an encryption lock and could only be opened by voice. He managed to secure that before his access was stripped to minimal levels.
All Bryan wanted was to have these few minutes alone, in the darkness of his office, to consider all that passed and all that might have been. The sudden flood of light that bathed the room was both unnerving and maddening.
He was not surprised when he looked up and saw the face of Council President Jonathan Travert staring at him on both the southern and eastern cycloramas.
The most powerful human being in the Western world sipped from a wineglass, and then he sighed.
“In many ways, this is the most disappointing night of my life,” Travert said with stoicism. “I have always considered myself a most remarkable judge of my fellow citizens. And you, Bryan … well, you were one of my treasured employees. I had such amazing expectations. And I was certain you would exceed them.”
Bryan could see that Travert was sitting at a dining table, a bowl of vanilla ice cream parked before him. There were sprinkles of nuts and swirls of melted fudge on top.
“I took considerable criticism after I appointed you,” Travert said. “You were far too young and undisciplined to maintain consistent enforcement of domestic law, I was told. You needed more seasoning within the corporate structure, I was told. Hmmph! But I stood behind my decision not just because I respected your mother but because I saw a reflection of myself in you. In a few years' time, well, you would have climbed all the way into the inner sanctum, and you would have been just like my own son.”
Travert laughed, poured himself another glass and drank it heartily. “Psychobabble, psychobabble, psychobabble! Enough of that cock-and-bull, I say. Fortunately, I've had an otherwise wonderful evening, a purely delightful meal and more than enough alcohol to help me get over it!”
Bryan knew there was no point in trying to play innocent, to confuse the man who was always a step ahead of everyone else in this part of the world.
“How did you do it, Travert? How did you know?”
“How did I discover that my most trusted policeman was trying to screw a cob up my ass? It might hearten you to know that it was purely accidental. I'm afraid I can't take full credit, like I usually do or should. No, no. I was totally oblivious of your role in this treachery until a couple of years ago.
“I was at a summer retreat in the Big Sky zone. Your mother and I were talking about your amazing success. Oh, in case you had any suspicions – yes, your mother and I have been enjoying each other's company for quite a few years. She told me about the difficult time you had following your father's horrible accident. She said you initially blamed PAC operatives, given that he was a strong colonial advocate. And my, my, Bryan, was I so distressed to discover you attempted suicide.”
“You're filth,” Bryan said, dangling the blast gun at his side.
“Oh, yes, well, I'm sure I will be long after I'm dead and my corpse begins to decompose in my coffin. But that's another issue, Bryan.” He sipped more wine. “Your mother told me how you changed your tune after the suicide attempt, and you promised never to speak against the PAC again. Naturally, that rais
ed my suspicions. I was incredulous that one who so hated the PAC at an early age would climb through the ranks of the corporate government so quickly and ruthlessly.
“My sources told me there were likely some operatives for the underground organizations at work in the AFD. Naturally, I hoped I was wrong about you. And my own people weren't able to confirm anything until February. Then, by incredible good fortune, we received a startling amount of intelligence from an impeccable source regarding Second Sunrise. I imagine you could fill in the rest of the story, Bryan, inasmuch as you are obviously a very bright young man.”
Bryan had to laugh, a mocking gesture to his own stupidity. He remembered how, early in the afternoon, Travert walked into this building and made mention of Adam Smith's organization, the name of which he claimed not to know.
“The data cylinder you gave me,” Bryan said. “That was your ultimate test, wasn't it? You knew what I'd do with it, and you knew how Second Sunrise would use the information.”
“Well yes, of course!”
“Why play those games, Travert? You already knew about me, about Janise, about Second Sunrise. Why not just arrest us or have us killed? Why the elaborate trap?”
The president coughed. “A little wine down the windpipe. So, why the trap? Simple. Arrests make for boring presentation on the Grid, and our people expect drama from their leaders. At this level of government, the game keeps life fascinating. We're players, you and I. What is it you've been doing here for the past six years? Certainly much more than your job. And you know something else, Bryan? It's really all quite sad it came to this, because your destiny with the PAC should have been identical to my own.”
Bryan heard voices outside the office door, and then a blast gun was fired. He placed a hand upon his weapon, but he knew it was going to take much more than that for the Guardsmen to enter.
“We never had the same goals, Travert. Our visions of the PAC are completely diametric.”
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