Infinity Drake 3

by John McNally

  The bulletproof glass screens that sealed the chamber opened.

  Finn felt his heart leap and punch the side of his chest.

  There was the lung.

  There was …

  Kaparis.

  FOURTEEN

  FEBRUARY 21 11:41 (GMT+3). Monastery of Mount St Demetrius of Thessaloniki

  Carla peeked out of the laundry cart.

  The infirmary. Cold and silent. She had been pushed there by Olga and another Carrier.

  There were a dozen or so Tyros on gurneys, being drip-fed criminal expertise, information and attitude, NRP probes sticking out of their swollen, jellied eyes.

  The medic on duty was detaching one would-be Tyro from the machine, irritated with him, pulling off the monitoring equipment with little care. He drew the blunt edge of a pair of scissors down the side of the Tyro’s body. There was no response.

  He tutted, then looked up and barked at Olga and the other girl who had pushed in the laundry cart.

  “Carriers! To the incinerator!” said the medic, then he turned away towards his office and left them to it.

  The Carriers hurried over and stripped the dead body.

  A moment later, Carla was out of her basket and had changed into the dead Tyro’s uniform. It was still warm … Carla felt the touch of evil, and for the first time understood, profoundly, what Kaparis was.

  “Rub eyes, make red!” Olga said.

  Carla rubbed at her eyes, Olga adding some dirt, so they looked as sore as the other Tyros’ eyes.

  When she was done, Olga looked at her, and nodded.

  “Go. Don’t smile. Whatever, don’t smile!”

  An hour later, feet marched in robot time out of the Tyro dorms and down through the Forum, down steel and stone and stair.

  Stamp Stamp Stamp.

  Fifty or so Tyros. The living Will of Kaparis. All but …

  One.

  Don’t smile, Carla told herself, suppressing a grimace of fear and trying to forget how much danger she was in. Everywhere there were Siguri, searching.

  A lone Tyro was rare to see, so Carla had emerged from the infirmary and headed for the one place they might go alone – the latrines, the great communal wash-houses attached to the dorms. She hid in a stall and waited till some Tyros came, in between classes, then followed a slender male out and along through the corridors to a lecture hall.

  There she found her crowd. No one noticed her. They were too busy fighting each other for space on the benches or manically focusing on the tutor as he discussed explosives.

  They were not like any group of teenagers Carla had ever met (apart from the Milwaukee Schools Brass Ensemble). Hungry. Nasty. No eye contact. No flirting. No sympathy. No emotion.

  No smiles. She had seen the infirmary. They were neither monsters nor mankind, but base human technology.

  Another tutor had arrived and called for the “Senior Cohort”. The group she was sitting with had risen and marched out after him.

  Carla simply took her place and tried to keep time.

  Stamp Stamp Stamp.

  Huge doors swung open. What had once been a dungeon was now a gymnasium designed to test Tyros to the limit. There was a climbing wall of broken glass; vaults as high as trucks; a ducking tank to test the lungs; bikes, tracks, weights beyond measure. And in the centre a great drum on rollers, within which many might run side by side.

  The tutor ordered the Tyros to halt. He regarded them through slit, suspicious eyes, then revealed: “Infinity Drake is in the Master’s hands!”

  A huge roar went up.

  Finn … thought Carla in the tumult. He hadn’t made it. He hadn’t made it, and he was going to die. Finn who she had carried halfway across the world, who had saved her. Finn the voice in her head, her best, her biggest friend. About to die. Somewhere deep beneath their feet.

  “You, who have failed thus far, now have a last chance to serve Him,” the tutor continued. “Barabbas has fallen.” There was a collective gasp. “One of you must take his place on what will be the Master’s greatest mission on his greatest day. To participate in the resurrection.”

  Again the Tyros roared, getting more agitated and excited as a group of Carriers filed into the gymnasium, bearing stretchers. What were they about to do? Carla thought, and looked back at the great hamster wheel of the drum. A small figure was at the front of the Carriers. Olga. She caught Carla’s eye and shook her head, as if to say no …

  The tutor barked: “Start the wheel!”

  The sound and sight of the giant revolving drum turned the class into an impatient mob.

  It must be some kind of test, Carla thought as it gathered momentum. She got her head in gear. Speed. Endurance. She knew at least she was fast.

  Carla ignored Olga. She had to save Finn. She had to win at all costs.

  You can do this, she told herself. You can win. Save Finn.

  “Commence!” cried the tutor.

  The Tyros broke ranks and rushed to the drum, Carla with them, into the lion’s den.

  They leapt in to hit the drum running, to avoid the floor whipping out from under them. Carla’s stride met it perfectly, mind and body in electric union, swift feet pounding and climbing the curve as the mob surged in behind her.

  Stay ahead, stay at the head of the pack, Carla thought. Straight away she had to hurdle a fallen body as it came down from the top. Other bodies tumbled, splitting heads, breaking bones, being shoved and kicked out of the drum and sent hurtling from the race.

  As the mob settled, they were able to jog as one, as a crowd.

  Then came a whistle and a roar went up.

  And the fight began.

  Carla could hardly believe it. At once she felt a hand grab at her as the Tyros began to shove and kick each other.

  It was madness; frantic bloody madness.

  Carla ducked and hurdled kicks and punches and fought to stay ahead. Her heart pounded like her feet as again and again she had to leap and hurdle the bodies that fell and flailed. It was like spinning in a bloody washing-machine with the door wide open. In a few brutal revolutions the drum was half full.

  Carla could not fight, but she could match anyone for desperation. And while she was faster, she could stay just out of reach – but for how long?

  SLAM – suddenly gears crunched and the drum stopped dead.

  The entire mob was dumped against the drum. Carla felt half a mountain hit her, crushing her into the curve. Stunned, she was late reacting as the drum started to reverse its spin. She only just managed to claw her way up in time to regain her feet and begin running again, this time in the opposite direction, dancing to avoid the fallen as they tumbled past and out.

  The drum spun faster with the lighter load, and any weakness, any faltering step, any hesitation was instantly punished. And still the conflict continued. Unnatural alliances formed and dissolved in the blink of an eye as the weak were picked off. Hands clutched at hair, elbows met eyes, shoulders barged, and again and again Tyros fell from the game.

  For those that remained, the faster the drum spun, the worse the injuries got. One Tyro tripped and was propelled forward at just the wrong speed and angle and – CRACK – his head split as he rolled bloodily out, an unconscious rag.

  SLAM – again the sharp change of direction, and – WHAM – again Carla hit the drum, those nearest to her driven into her back. But fewer of them now. This time she was straight back up. The drum kept spinning faster and faster, Carla’s legs whipping away as more bodies started to fall like mad rain from above. WHAM – she was hit by one and fell, felt the world turn, but – SLAM – there was another reverse, and this time the forces favoured her and she was bounced back into the centre of the drum and up onto her feet.

  On she ran. Faster than anyone. Dodging and skipping the scything legs and the clawing hands. Others were screaming, falling around her. But on the next sudden turn – SLAM – no bodies slammed into her.

  There were just three of them left: the lithe young man s
he had followed from the latrines; a goth-like girl, twice her size, with streaming black hair and two handfuls of sharp red nails; and Carla.

  She had made it to the endgame.

  She had to sprint just to keep upright. It was no longer a fight, it was a race for the line.

  Immediately, the lithe young man lost his footing on a slick of blood and with a simple shove from the goth was sent careening from the spinning drum – “Aiiiieeeee!”

  In her peripheral vision Carla saw five razor-sharp nails flash past as her final opponent took a swipe. The goth missed, but for a millisecond Carla lost her rhythm, her footing, so had to leap into mid-air to recover … then land at full pelt again, just managing to keep pace on the inner skin of spinning steel, to keep running. And running. Her lungs and limbs could barely take it. A minute or two more and there would be nothing left in her.

  Run! she heard Finn yell through her subconscious.

  Run! she heard Delta urge, driving her on.

  Run! she told herself, when all she had left drained into one last breath as she felt herself … fall … and WHAM – the world whipped wholly round, the centrifugal force of the rapidly spinning drum pinning her to the sides, squeezing the last fight out of her as it spun. She was a sliding, beaten lump, slipping out, approaching the edge of the drum and who knew what manner of oblivion. Next to her – WHAM – the goth fell too, pinned to the opposite end of the drum, so they could see each other, could look into each other’s eyes as they were pressed into the blood-slick steel, clinging to the edge, the grip of a single fingertip making the difference, the grip of ten even more …

  Not with those nails, sweetie, thought Carla, as the red-tipped fingers of the goth began to snap and slip … Then with a final WHOOM and a scream she was gone.

  FIFTEEN

  FEBRUARY 21 13:38 (GMT+3). Great Cavern, Monastery of Mount St Demetrius of Thessaloniki

  Again Finn was plunged into hell.

  Surrounded by fire, burning, suffering and gasping for expanding air, Finn desperately tried once more to scrabble up the glass and out of the flame, away from the tip of the blue cone that he knew from so many school science lessons was where the Bunsen burner was at its absolute hottest.

  “ARRRRGGGGHHH!” Finn screamed.

  “AHAHAHAHAHAHAAAA!” Kaparis laughed.

  Kaparis was in heaven. Time and again Heywood dipped Finn, encased in a test-tube, into the flame so that his boss could listen to his screams and see how long he could stand it.

  Just when Finn thought the skin would burn off his back, he felt the heat suddenly relent. Giant white sheets appeared round the wall of the test-tube, the fingers of a giant white glove, and Finn scrambled up the burning incline to the cooler, top end of the stoppered tube.

  The smug cliff of Heywood’s face briefly inspected him, then he was swung towards the cluster of optics above Kaparis’s head and the revolving, revolting eye.

  “Oh, you do like a science lesson, don’t you, you dreadful little swot! HAAA!”

  Finn had never seen such perverse delight.

  Above him the screen array showed the Great Cavern. It was now a scene of frantic activity. The extraordinary submarine Finn had seen the day before had been positioned at the heart of the henge of particle accelerators and all the equipment and crates of cables were being loaded onto it. Even stranger, just outside the Kaparis chamber, Finn could see, through tents of thick cellophane, that a state-of-the-art operating theatre had been assembled, with huge lights and an array of medical equipment.

  Clearly something big – or extremely small was about to happen.

  “BEG ME, DRAKE!” yelled Kaparis.

  Heywood shook the tube and Finn slid down the glass, wrapping his hands in his sleeves to stop them sizzling against the glass.

  “ARRRGH!” screamed Finn again.

  This couldn’t last. He couldn’t last. He had to throw Kaparis a bone.

  “STOP!” Finn cried at the eye in the optics.

  “BEG ME, DRAKE!”

  “I’M BEGGING!” Finn yelled, without a scrap of shame.

  The eye narrowed.

  “MEAN IT!”

  Mean it? thought Finn.

  “Say, I BEG YOU, YOUR MAJESTY!”

  “I BEG YOU … YOUR MAJESTY,” said Finn.

  “AHAHAHAHAHAHAAAA!” roared Kaparis.

  This is ridiculous, thought Finn, but every second he was out of the Bunsen flame was worth it. The cackling was interrupted by the Siguri chief, who popped up on the screen array.

  “Master, all foot patrols are now in. No sign of the girl.”

  Carla! She’s alive! thought Finn, his heart briefly thumping with joy. What a girl!

  The eye narrowed, the pupil blackened.

  “Find her!” barked Kaparis.

  “Forget it! She left a day ago,” yelled Finn. “We’re talking about Carla Salazar here. She will be long gone.”

  “A schoolgirl? Oh, don’t worry, we’ll find her – probably in bits. We are days from civilisation here, and I am a patient man. You have defied me and defiled my remarkable work, but I was always going to defeat you. Do you know why?”

  Finn said nothing. The tube was cooling fast. He had to resist provoking him further.

  “Time, you ghastly little sprite. I have it. You have none. Time to catch you, to make you beg. Just as, in time, I will make you ALL beg – your incompetent uncle, your ridiculous grandmother …”

  Finn’s heart leapt. This was the first word he’d had of his grandma in five months—

  “She got away?” he couldn’t help blurting …

  “I’m GLAD she got away!” roared Kaparis. “She was driving me crazy, the sentimental, meddling harpy!”

  Finn’s heart could have burst. She was safe! This news was worth all the pain.

  “She will be dead once I get anywhere near her! As dead as your mother!”

  This was meant to wound, and Finn could see Kaparis look for his flinch. But Finn knew a thing or two about bullies from school – they always struck at their weakest point.

  “You seem to have a problem with women,” Finn observed. “What happened to your mother? Didn’t she love you?”

  Anger flashed through Kaparis. Anger and an image of a meringue of a woman, always irritated by him, always leaving. He could taste her contempt and smell her cologne.

  “SHE WAS ALWAYS TIRED,” shouted Kaparis, “her perennial excuse. So I put her to rest …” He could see the old woman now, still griping at him as he fed the lethal injection into her arm.

  “I always win in the end,” said Kaparis, smiling to himself at the happy memory.

  “You didn’t win my mum,” yelled Finn. “My dad did.”

  “You want to know the truth, boy? She was seduced! Lied to! Then she was betrayed!” His eyes spun and found the Ethan Drake report.

  Finn looked up.

  Intel. report 498090bb – Drake, E., he read as Kaparis splashed the contents across the screen array. Too many pages to take in. Testimony and timings. Scribbled notes and mad diagrams. And photographs. His dad, his mum. Pictures he’d never seen. His parents as happy, normal, young people in love …

  “You want the truth about your pathetic father? He abandoned you! He threw himself into that vortex! A suicide!”

  “NO!” Finn yelled back. In a family built on love and wonder, it was impossible to believe that his father had abandoned him. According to the only eyewitness, Ethan Drake as he threw himself in had said he had to save his newborn child, save Finn. What that meant though, and what had happened to him, remained a total mystery.

  Kaparis pulled up the page of scribbled notes that contained the L = Place? equation.

  “He was a coward! He saw the answer staring him in the face – time equals place! The breakthrough that made everything possible! Unlimited power! The chance to change the world! But he was too weak to take it! He would rather die than wield that power; he’d rather die than face life with you! You killed him!”

&n
bsp; But Finn was blocking him out, reading as much of the notes as he could. The report confirmed most of what Kelly had told him in Shanghai, but not all. Not what Kelly had been told by Al – Al who was still traumatised at having seen Ethan throw himself into the vortex, Al who could never make it all add up.

  “No … I get it …”

  “You get nothing!”

  He saw me in the vortex, Finn thought to himself. If time is place, and place time … What could it possibly mean? He couldn’t understand the equation or a fraction of what was in the notes, but somehow, in the most unscientific way, it felt like it made sense. His father had glimpsed something, something in the future, his son in danger …

  Inside, Finn felt one wound closing over, but just as quickly another opened up as he wished with all his broken heart that he could see Al, speak to Al, to Grandma, and – more than anything and most of all – to his mother. He wished he could be back by her bedside in her final days and he wished he could say, “I know now. I think I can see it. It makes sense. In the end it can make some kind of sense.”

  He looked up at the picture of her with his dad on Kaparis’s screen.

  “He went to save me,” Finn told her, because he just had to tell someone. “I can find him.”

  The great eye of Kaparis twitched. “No you can’t. HE’S DEAD!”

  “If time is place … he could be anywhere …” said Finn, without really understanding, but feeling all the same that this was the beginning of something.

  “He’s dead!” repeated Kaparis, less convinced, eyes scrawling over the pages of Ethan’s notes, the adolescent hieroglyphics. Was there something more? Something he’d missed? Panic seized his entire crippled body. Time equals place. The possibilities were too absurd, too endless. He must explore them. But he would need time, an infinite amount of time. He had wanted to keep the boy alive, to dangle him before Allenby, to torture them and him. But if the boy had seen something in the notes already …?