by M. G. Harris
“But nothing’s happening.”
“I told you! The Key must be fresh!”
The Professor snaps, “Listen, sonny, it’s not the freshness that’s the problem here …”
Martineau asks, “Then what?”
She sighs, sounding tired. “It could be a number of things. Bottom line—we need to do more research.”
Their experiment didn’t work …
“Or we could just try the crystal form of the Key, as it says in the codex,” Martineau says, in a dry voice.
Irritably, the Professor replies, “Well, sure, that’s a no-brainer. But it’ll take months to make the crystal. All our attempts have failed so far—I think it needs to be made in zero gravity. Do y’all have any idea how hard it is to get time on the space station?”
Madison says nothing, but pushes past them both. He starts walking away from the bottleneck of suited observers near the room.
And straight toward us.
25
I’m paralyzed with shock; Ixchel’s just the same. We blow the fraction of a second that we have—our only chance to make an escape.
Amazingly, Madison walks right past us both. We’re pressed back against the wall, hidden in the shadows of the tunnel. But even so, I’m surprised. Then it hits me—with the protective suit and gas mask, his side vision is limited. His head is bowed when he approaches; he nurses one arm in a sling. The others walk past too—incredibly, within a foot of us.
Totally oblivious.
I’ve just begun to think we’ve gotten away with it when the last suited person passes us and then stops, turns around slowly. She must have caught something out of the corner of her eye, but she doesn’t seem sure. She reaches for a flashlight on her tool belt. As the light goes on, I grab Ixchel and run toward the room they’ve just deserted.
The suited woman yells, “Hey!” and there’s a panicked rush in the tunnel beyond, as the others turn around to see us. The second we’re inside the room, I press a large button in a panel against the door. We watch, our breath catching in our throats as the rock door slides closed. We’re entombed for the second time today.
I can hear them behind the door—angry voices, mostly Madison’s.
“He’s mine,” he orders. “No one touches him.”
A wave of claustrophobia hits me. For the first few seconds, it blots out everything else going on outside the stone door. I scarcely take in anything about the strange room. Ixchel’s the same. We don’t even talk. We run in opposite directions around the octagonal space, looking for any sign of a way out.
I manage to register that there’s a tall lamp near the middle. It casts an acidic yellow light into the low corners of the room, but the ceiling is shadowed. Around the room, there’s the eerie spectacle of stone sarcophagi—three against each wall except the closed entrance, twenty-one in total.
No way out.
Dominating the middle of the room is a small stone platform or altar, about waist high. The surface is covered with glyphs and wedge-shaped writing. Inserted into a groove on the platform is an object a little larger than a cell phone, with one end slightly fatter than the other. It is a sort of grayish salmon-pink. The surface looks as smooth as polished alabaster, except for some tightly packed, intricately patterned markings near the wider edge. The materials don’t look much like what I’ve seen of Muwan technology, but the way everything is covered in inscriptions seems familiar.
I immediately guess what it is from Montoyo’s description: the Adapter.
Next to it there’s a tiny plastic test tube. Ixchel is about to touch the platform when I shout out, “Don’t!”
She pulls her hand back, as if it’d been burned.
“We don’t know if it’s safe,” I say. “For you, I mean. They’re wearing suits.”
Instead of making some sassy reply, she just nods and steps further back.
“Throw me the flashlight. I’m going to check the ceiling,” I say. “Stand back. And hold your breath.”
I climb onto the platform, clutching Ixchel’s flashlight and avoiding the Adapter. I leap across from the central platform to the sarcophagi, grasp the upper edge of one, and crawl onto the top. I walk all the way around the room on the surfaces of the sarcophagi in their rows. I peer closely at the ceiling.
It’s impossible to ignore the sounds of Madison and the others working on opening the door. For some reason they can’t get their passkey to work. Madison is shouting in frustration, threatening all types of violence. I can just make out Martineau’s voice, sounding angry, as well as the professor’s. She still sounds smug, repeating, “What did I tell you about the security in this place?”
Above the rows of sarcophagi, the cave ceiling is rough. I find a single narrow opening, like a chimney flue. I stick my head into it and point the flashlight upward. The opening continues for as far as I can see—more or less at the same width. I try to get my shoulders in. I can just about do it. The limestone surface of the tunnel doesn’t have many footholds, but it’s narrow enough to squirm up by balancing your weight against the sides.
We hear the sound of the limestone door being slowly pried open. I call to Ixchel, “Come on, jump up, the way I did!”
“But … the curse …”
“Just jump! Stay clear of the Adapter.”
Ixchel does as I say. When she arrives next to me on top of the sarcophagus, I hand her the flashlight. I cup my hands to give her a leg up.
“It’s narrow,” she says. “You okay with that?”
“‘Course. You?”
“I have to be, don’t I?”
“All right, go!”
Ixchel disappears into the chimney flue. I glance down to see that the stone door has moved apart enough for me to see the face of one of Martineau’s team.
An idea strikes me—a beautiful idea.
I jump down, land near the door, reach through the opening. Before he realizes what’s happened, I’ve yanked off the guy’s gas mask. He bellows with anger and thrusts an arm through the widening gap, trying to grab me. I jump down onto the central platform, grab the Adapter, make a final dive across, and climb onto the sarcophagus directly under the chimney.
Standing beneath it, I call out to Ixchel and toss the gas mask upward. I give her three seconds to put it on. Then I stuff the Adapter into my back pocket. I hear Madison groan as he slides into the room, easing his arm sling through the narrow gap in the door.
He’s two seconds away from catching me.
I scramble into the chimney, feeling around desperately for a decent handhold. Without someone to give me a hand getting in, I begin to wonder whether I’m going to make it. I only just manage to lever my whole body into the chimney.
Madison is almost directly beneath me. I hear him jump onto the central platform. In another swift leap, he’s on top of the sarcophagus. Ixchel’s ahead of me, climbing steadily with the flashlight in her mouth. The space is incredibly tight. I can’t imagine how Madison will fit. Ixchel’s smaller, more slightly built than I am; I have to squirm through every inch. Madison’s hand grabs my foot. I kick viciously until he shouts in pain and lets go.
Underneath us, the commotion continues. With only one thing to concentrate on—moving upward—I can actually hear what they’re saying.
People shout at Madison to move aside, to let someone else in—a specialist they call “Priya.” I sense Priya filling the gap underneath me. The chimney darkens. She’s blocking the faint light of the lamp. Now we’re all three climbing in a determined manner. It’s horrible. I don’t suffer from claustrophobia normally, but this is almost too much. I manage only by thinking just one thought.
Keep moving up.
I want to ask Ixchel how much further. Or anything about what lies ahead. Is it going to be a dead end? But even that thought is too distracting. The second I take my mind off the grim task of wriggling up the nightmarish tube, I stop climbing.
And I can’t stop.
Being squashed by surrounding roc
k starts to feel more like pain. Or maybe it’s just my muscles complaining about the work of inching up the chimney flue. Above me, Ixchel yells out in frustration. “How much further can it possibly be?!”
“I don’t know,” I shout back. Ixchel is only a foot or so above me now. I can’t see past her into the tunnel beyond. I keep hoping that she can see the exit. But no. She’s as desperate as I am.
Priya says nothing, no complaining. I hear the steady breathing in her gas mask. She keeps moving upward. I don’t dare stop for a second, or she’ll gain on me.
“Just keep going, Ixchel,” I shout. “You’re doing great, you’re amazing. Just don’t stop. I’ve got one of them on my tail. Can’t shake her off.”
Priya laughs, but says nothing.
There’s a cry from Ixchel. She stumbles. The next thing I know, her right foot has landed on my shoulder. She’s fallen. “Get off me!” I shout. Panic kicks in. Trapped between a nonmoving Ixchel and a moving Priya, I’m almost crazy with claustrophobia. I yell louder. “Move! Keep moving!”
And then Ixchel makes the sound I’ve been waiting to hear: she yells in triumph. “I’m at the top! There’s a way out!”
The light ahead disappears for a second. There’s a short scream. Then silence. It sounds like shock and fear rather than pain.
Ixchel’s scream stops me in my tracks. I can’t help it; neither can Priya. There’s something terrifying about hearing a scream from a dark hole ahead of you—a dark hole into which you know you’ve got to crawl.
“Ixchel … you okay? Ixchel, answer me!”
There’s no answer. I hear Priya pick up the pace again. She’s less than a yard away from me now. I keep moving up, steeling myself for something nasty. A few seconds later I reach an opening in the wall. It’s not exactly a way out—more an alternative route. I’d rather keep going up—at least we’re bound to run out of ground to be under.
But with Ixchel gone, disappeared into the gap in the side of the chimney, I can’t see any choice. I can’t just abandon her. So I step into the darkness.
Then I scream too.
It’s the unexpectedness of it. Just when you expect your foot to touch ground, there’s nothing. The fall isn’t entirely vertical—more of a wickedly steep slope. This time the limestone is smooth, bowl-shaped, as though worn away by a huge bubble. I land and start feeling for openings in the wall. I can’t see my hands on the ground—it’s that dark. A hand grabs my shoulder. I hear Ixchel’s voice as she pulls me to my feet. “Don’t speak!”
She pulls me next to her. We stand rigid, trying to hold our breath—tough, given how scared we are.
We hear Priya land just inches away. She gets to her feet instantly, grabs her flashlight from where it’s fallen. She stands with her back to us and flashes it into a tunnel that leads away from the “bubble” chamber.
I push myself off the wall and crouch, preparing a high kick. Then I hear it—the last sound I wanted to hear. The sound of another person sliding down the side of the bubble chamber.
Priya wasn’t the only one slim enough to fit into that chimney.
This guard lands almost gracefully, right next to me. Priya swings around. She shines the flashlight on my face. With her light in my eyes, I can’t see their faces.
Yet I recognize the voice. Hearing it stuns me like an electric shock.
“Hello, Josh. I do hope you’re not thinking of trying any of your martial art thingies. Priya here is a sixth dan in tae kwon do.”
Ollie.
26
Behind me, Ixchel tenses. I don’t know how far she’s looked down the tunnel. I bet that for a split second, she thinks of running. I wouldn’t be far behind her. But with Priya and Ollie right on top of us, I doubt the chase would last long.
There’s something else too. What do Ollie and Priya think they can do with us? They don’t seem to be armed. Are they going to physically force us to go back down that chimney?
Or maybe they know another way out of here.
Priya lobs her flashlight to Ollie and takes up a martial arts stance. She’s slim, slightly shorter than I am. I glance at her feet—she’s wearing some kind of suede sneakers. I can just see large, dark eyes behind her gas mask.
I’ve never had tae kwon do used against me. Unlike capoeira, it’s actually designed to be a combat sport. I have no idea how I’ll match up against a sixth dan.
But Priya has a disadvantage—the mask. If I can take that, the bio-defense on the Adapter will do the rest. Priya will die horribly, just like the NRO agents who touched the Ix Codex.
It would be brutal. Even thinking about it makes me queasy. Until Priya launches her first attacking kick. I hardly even see it coming.
She’s so fast.
She lands a hefty blow to my shoulder, then rains kicks and punches down on me. I parry and dodge as well as I can but she gets most of them in. I’ve never done capoeira at such speed. The first few seconds of our fight belong entirely to her.
How can a girl hit so hard … ?
And then I start to get the hang of it. Instead of thinking about which move to use, I just let things flow. I react instinctively. Without the music, it’s tough, so I let myself hear the music in my head. A fast song, with a pounding rhythm.
I’m amazed at my own memory for defensive moves, and at how well they work against Priya’s tae kwon do. I’m flipping, rolling, spinning, blocking, bouncing into handsprings. Once in a while I even get an attack in. I only make good contact once, when I land a tesoura de frente—a scissors takedown.
Every so often one of her blows lands on a fresh bruise. Each time, I lurch in pain.
Priya steps back for a second, guarding herself.
Then, for the first time, she speaks. She sounds young, like Ollie.
“You’ve got no chance, okay? Obviously you’re talented. But no match for me. I’m not allowed to kill you, boy, but I can hurt you pretty bad. Save yourself the pain—give up now.”
Ollie joins in. “Priya’s right, Josh. Give up. It’s fascinating to see you being put through your paces. But I’m sure your little girlfriend won’t enjoy watching you being truly beaten.”
I can’t help losing my cool. “You lying cow.”
“Don’t take it so personally. I had a job to do.”
“‘Don’t take it personally’?”
I hurl the statement at Ollie. I’m flushed with a violent anger. In a flash I realize it’s Ollie I want to hurt, not Priya. I don’t even think about it. Out of the blue I launch an attack on Ollie.
Before my kick reaches Ollie, Priya takes me down with a forceful slam to my back.
I lie on the floor, gasping. The wind’s knocked out of me. I decide not to move, wonder if they’ll believe I’ve passed out.
Ollie stoops to check me out. Priya warns, “Take care!” That’s when I grab Ollie’s head, go for the mask. She drops the flashlight. Priya swoops to defend Ollie, but it’s too late. I have a solid grip on Ollie’s mask. Struggling against the two of them in the dark, I manage to pull it away from her face. Ollie shouts in protest. When the mask comes off, her jaw is clamped tightly shut.
I fling the mask across the cave, into the gloom. Priya’s torn between retrieving the mask and guarding Ollie.
Priya and I race for the mask. I grab it. We struggle, but when we hear Ollie’s voice, we stop.
Smugly, she says, “Too bad, Josh. Looks like your magic weapon just wore off.”
I’m amazed to see that nothing’s happened to Ollie. While I’m distracted, Priya grabs me in an agonizing arm-lock. Behind my back, I try to stretch my fingers to touch the Adapter. Each time I budge, Priya gives a sadistic twist to my arm, bringing tears to my eyes.
I just stare back at Ollie, my cheeks blazing.
“You’re weak,” Priya mutters against my ear. “No killer instinct. You’ll never get anywhere as a fighter.”
Her patronizing comment makes me angrier. I kick backward, feeling my ankle connect with her shin. I’m aston
ished—Priya hardly even reacts. Out of the corner of my eye, I notice Ixchel in the shadows, watching. Ollie and Priya seem to completely ignore her. To them, she’s irrelevant.
To me, Ollie says, “You’re wondering why I’m not bleeding to death? The poisonous gas eventually runs out.” She turns to Priya. “Simon told me. If the surface coating of the Adapter is in permanent contact with something—like your pocket, Josh—it keeps releasing the gas. Until eventually, the gas fizzles out. And after a while it isn’t dangerous.”
“So I can remove my mask?” Priya asks.
“The effect isn’t permanent. It’s like a car battery—it can recharge. We’ll be safe now for a few minutes, maybe twenty. But to be on the safe side, we’ll get him to put the Adapter in a nice, safe, airtight bag.”
Ollie takes a Ziploc bag from her pocket. She fetches her mask from the other side of the room and picks up the flashlight. In the tunnel, I notice a blur of movement.
Ollie opens the bag. “Come on, then, Bakab boy. Use your special powers, pop the Adapter in here for me, there’s a good kid.”
“No.”
Ollie’s voice hardens to steel. “Do it. Now.”
“Make me.”
“Or the little girl gets it.”
Softly, I ask, “Which ‘little girl’?”
Ollie shines the flashlight into the mouth of the tunnel, where Ixchel was standing.
Ixchel has vanished.
“Oh, how sad, she left you. Didn’t even try to help. What kind of friend is she?”
I don’t answer.
“Is she one of them, Josh? From Ek Naab? I bet she is. Is she your betrothed? Have they matched you up like a pair of racehorses?”
Ollie’s taunts are almost more than I can bear.
I find my voice. “You can’t make me get the Adapter out of my pocket. And you can’t touch it yourself, can you? Maybe there isn’t enough to kill you, Ollie, but even a whiff of that gas will make you pretty sick. I know; I’ve seen what it can do.”
Neither Priya nor Ollie says anything. There’s tension in the air, like a class waiting for the school bell.
I continue. “If you think I’m getting back into that chimney, you’re out of your mind. You’re not getting the Adapter back. You’ll have to kill me first.”
