Fata Morgana

by Steven R. Boyett

  Farley studied Vanden and tried to stay calm as Wennda spoke. The commander stared back.

  Wennda crumpled her cellophone and took a deep breath. “My father sent out a team to destroy your aircraft four days ago,” she said, staring pure hate at the commander. “Two of them just got back. One’s badly injured. The other’s reporting in.”

  “Four days ago,” Farley repeated numbly.

  “Right after your first meeting with him.”

  The commander regarded him across the crowd. A rock in the rapids.

  Farley nodded slowly. “Do I still have an aircraft?”

  “Sten says they didn’t even make it into the Redoubt.”

  Farley looked at his crew divided among the teams on the new-cut field. “We left our weapons back at the barracks,” he said.

  Wennda touched his arm. “I’m with you, Joe. What do you want to do?”

  “Anything but sit here a second longer.” He stood up and stepped out from the row of cheering people. Immediately a dozen people got up from different places in the crowd and began to converge on him. It looked like a magic trick.

  The commander spoke into a com panel and the converging people produced nerve guns.

  Farley broke into a run. “Back to barracks!” he yelled to the diamond. “Morgana crew, back to barracks, now!”

  The players stood watching uncertainly. Farley waved them forward. “Get to your weapons!” he yelled. Knowing it was already too late.

  Wennda ran behind him, talking urgently on her com panel. Behind her half a dozen troops ran full-out.

  Something crackled past Farley and he smelled sharp metallic ozone. Heard the whine of the fired gun. Turned his head and saw Wennda on the ground. Felt an odd cold tingle spread across his back. Tried to move his legs and couldn’t. Watched the ground rush up to meet him. Heard his head hit hard. Saw the sun and all the other light go out. Smelled fresh-cut grass. Felt all feeling drain away.

  twenty-three

  The pain woke Farley up. A nail driven into the back of his head. Jaw muscles sore from clenching and scalp too tight for his skull. His teeth ached and invisible bugs crawled on his skin.

  He opened his eyes and light stabbed in. He turned his head away and heard his neck creak. Shorty lay face-up a few feet away, eyes closed and teeth clenched and lips drawn back from gums. His hands were raised, fingers curled into claws.

  “He only looks dead,” came Broben’s voice. “When he wakes up he’ll wish he really was.”

  Farley turned his head the other way. Broben sat against the wall, grinning at him like a guilty dog.

  “Am I right?” Broben asked.

  “You don’t have to yell,” Farley rasped.

  The grin widened. “I’m whispering.”

  “Well, stop it.” He tried to sit up and couldn’t quite manage it. Broben came forward and offered a hand. Farley reached to take it and saw his own hand clawed like Shorty’s.

  “It wears off in ten or fifteen minutes,” Broben said.

  “How long have you been awake?”

  “Ten or fifteen minutes.” He grabbed Farley’s forearm and helped him sit up.

  Farley glanced around. They were back in their barracks, all the pullouts tucked away and the room bare except for the contorted bodies of the crewmen on the floor. “Jesus,” Farley whispered. “I don’t suppose they left our guns around anywhere.”

  Broben shook his head. “Not even a slingshot.”

  Farley stared at his clutching hand and willed it to relax. Stood up and leaned against the wall. “Slingshot or not,” he said, “we’re getting out of here. Help me wake them up.”

  *

  The crew hunched forward on unfolded couches or slumped at the edges of opened sleeping compartments. To a man they winced when they moved or when Farley’s voice got too loud. They looked like the dregs of some bachelor party that had overstayed its welcome, listening sullen and quiet like schoolboys on detention as their captain explained that the last four days here had been a sham, a distraction to occupy them while a six-member demolition team set out to destroy their only chance of getting home.

  There was silence after Farley finished. Then Garrett said, “I say we bust down that shitty door and make a break for it, captain.”

  “That’s one option,” Farley allowed.

  “It beats sitting here waiting for a firing squad,” said Everett. “Or whatever it is they do.”

  “They chuck you in the reverter,” said Shorty. “Boil you down to your parts and shovel you over the crops.”

  Everett shrugged. “They can’t shoot all of us.”

  “They shot all of us an hour ago,” Broben pointed out.

  “I’ll still take my chances.”

  Broben raised his eyebrows. “I bet those fry cookers won’t be on low next time.”

  “I bet I don’t give a pointy turd.”

  The door opened and they all looked as Grobe stepped in. He and his nerve gun surveyed the room.

  “Dibs,” said Everett, and stood up from his couch.

  Grobe smirked and leveled his weapon and stepped aside to let Berne in. The software technician had a mesh bag in one hand and a lidded bucket in the other. He was breathing quickly and sweating. His gaze darted around the room. “Food bars,” he said, jerking the mesh bag. He lifted the bucket. “Toilet.”

  “Why don’t you just throw the food bars in the toilet and cut us out of the picture,” said Plavitz.

  Berne frowned at him. “I just want to help,” he said.

  “You wanna help?” said Garrett. He jabbed a thumb at Grobe. “Shoot this asshole.”

  Berne scowled. “You’ll note I have no weapon,” he said. He looked at Shorty. “There’s an issue with the sun panel,” he said. He set down the bucket and pulled out his cellophone and shook it taut.

  Grobe frowned. “I wasn’t told about this.”

  “Engineering sent it to me on my way here.” Berne lit the panel and showed the screen to Grobe. “It’s here, in the shutdown sequence.” He turned to Shorty and held it up. “I was hoping you could—”

  “Put the com panel away,” Grobe said.

  Berne wiped sweat from his upper lip. “But this man was instrumental in—”

  Grobe trained his weapon on the nervous man. “Now,” he ordered.

  “I was only trying to save some work,” said Berne. He looked up at Shorty. “Perhaps I should just press enter and hope for the best?” he said.

  Shorty nodded back solemnly. “Say goodnight, Gracie,” he said.

  Berne twitched another smile and tapped the filmy screen, and the room went dark.

  Shorty dropped from the upper bunk and landed on Garrett, who was already up from the couch and barreling into Grobe. The three men toppled over grappling. Grobe hit the floor hard with Garrett bear-hugging him. Shorty twisted the nerve rifle out of the stunned man’s grip.

  From outside the door came the sound of more nerve rifles charging up after being fired. The door flew open and bright flashlights swept the room. Shorty brought his commandeered weapon to bear.

  “Don’t shoot,” said a familiar voice behind one of the lights.

  “Yone?” said Shorty.

  “Yes, it’s me.” The light reversed, and now the crew could see Yone pointing a nerve rifle with a slim flashlight attached to the side of the stubby, squared barrel. Beside him a stocky woman stood holding another nerve rifle.

  “Sammy!” said Broben.

  “Hello, lieutenant,” said Samay.

  Grobe lunged for the gun in Shorty’s hands. Garrett yanked him backward so hard his teeth clacked. Shorty grinned down at the man in the faint light and trained the weapon on him. “I’ll bet,” he said, “you’ll be happy to tell me how to turn this thing down now.”

  Grobe glared and folded his arms.

  “There is a slider on the left side above the trigger,” said Yone. “All the way back is the lowest setting.”

  Grobe gave him a look of pure loathing. “I
was right about you,” he said.

  “Oh, shut up,” said Shorty, and pressed the firing stud. Grobe went stiff and keeled over. No one moved to soften the impact when his head smacked the floor. The rifle whined its annoying recharge sound.

  “You sure you pulled that thing all the way back?” Farley asked.

  Shorty shrugged. “I mighta pushed it back up a couple notches,” he admitted.

  Plavitz and Francis dragged the unconscious guards in from the doorway. “Jeez, the whole Dome’s out!” Francis announced. His eyepatch an eerie monster eye in the faint light.

  “Yes,” said Berne. “The hard part was turning the power off and leaving essential services running.”

  “Looks like you aced it,” Shorty told him.

  “Thank you. This has been the single best day of my life.”

  Plavitz and Francis removed the guards’ weapons and handed them off to Garrett and Everett. Garrett hefted the plastic rifle. “This thing’s a toy,” he said.

  “Maybe from that end,” said Everett.

  Plavitz and Francis couldn’t figure out how to get the smartsuit body armor off the stiff guards, so Yone and Samay took over and began removing sections.

  “More troops will be here soon,” Yone said as he pulled off a section. “We must hurry.”

  “Hurry where?” asked Farley.

  “Out of the Dome, of course. You can’t stay here.” He pulled off a last section of armor and looked at it. “Neither can I, now,” he said, and handed the piece to Farley.

  Farley rubbed the dark fabric with his fingers. It was so light you’d think a breeze would blow it off, yet it felt strangely liquid. He looked at Yone and nodded slowly. “I’d say you earned yourself a ride,” he said.

  “Thank you,” the little man said simply.

  “Thank me when we’re in the air,” said Farley. He hesitated.

  Yone shook his head. “I don’t know where she is, I’m sorry. The commander’s men took her away.”

  Farley imagined finding out where they’d locked Wennda away, shooting his way in, leading her safely out. Out of the Dome, across the dead expanse, into the Redoubt, into the sky and home. That’s a nice thought, Captain Midnight. Now put it away. You can take it out and cry over it later, if you live through this.

  He turned to the crew. “All right, everybody move out,” he said. “We’ve got a plane to catch.”

  *

  They made their way in the foreign dark like blind monks, single file and one hand on the shoulder of the man ahead. Around him Farley heard only footfalls and tight whispers. The occasional beam of a flashlight swept by like a little lighthouse beacon. The dead flat quiet made him realize how much background noise there usually was throughout the Dome—air circulators, power hum, turbine whines, distant machinery. Berne’s basics-only blackout meant no air filtration, temperature regulation, communication, defenses.

  Farley would have thought the place would become a stepped-on anthill with the power out, but then he realized everybody here must have drilled for this contingency. He saw small groups and individuals heading toward stations in orderly fashion, most of them carrying tiny but powerful flashlights. He ordered the men to stay tight, turn on their own flashlights, and walk fast but not to run.

  They hurried along a narrow walkway adjacent to the main thoroughfare, following Samay’s lead toward the agricultural plots. The stocky woman had no problem keeping a fast pace, but Berne was lagging. Farley was on the verge of suggesting the technician might be better off holing up somewhere safe, when the smells around them changed and he realized they were already in the crop grid.

  Suddenly their shadows stretched ahead on the narrow footpath, and Farley glanced back to see pale orange lights glowing from the corners of buildings in the administrative and housing clusters. Emergency lights on battery reserves. Bad news: No more darkness to hide in. Good news: The Dome wall wasn’t a minute away.

  *

  “Tell me there’s another way out of this bowl,” Broben said to Samay. Crouched beside her and Farley behind a low plastic bin, he frowned at the closed hatchway set flush into the Dome wall a hundred feet away. The rectangular access panel beside it was the only clear indication the door was even there.

  Samay shook her head. “There’s access to the gap between the inner and outer shells, but the only exit to the surface is through the one lock.”

  “That’s nuts. What if you had to evacuate?”

  “The Dome was built as someplace to evacuate to, not evacuate from.”

  “There’s two places I’d’ve sent troops the second the lights went out: Our barracks, and the other side of that door.”

  “Troops or not,” said Farley, “that’s our way out of here.” He glanced around and was satisfied that he could not make out the rest of the crew lying low in the fields.

  “The access panel won’t work with the power out,” said Samay.

  Farley nodded. “Then we’ll do it the Army way.”

  She looked puzzled. “The Army way?”

  Broben smirked and punched his fist into his palm. “Subtle,” he said, pronouncing the b.

  *

  Four crewmen emerged from the small geometry of crops in a low crouch and trotted through the dim orange twilight to the Dome wall. They followed its gentle curve until they stood before the door. The black glass panel beside it was dark.

  Garrett and Everett took flank with their nerve guns while Boney went to work on the panel.

  “There’s gotta be a manual backup,” Shorty whispered beside him. “You don’t build something that traps everybody when the power goes on the fritz.”

  “Good thing you didn’t pull sub duty,” Boney replied. He felt around the edges of the panel, then put both hands on the right side and slid a recessed lever out from the edge. He glanced at Garrett and Everett, then pulled the lever.

  The access panel swung open. Behind it was a circular metal plate with a hole in the middle, and a Z-shaped crank bar held by plastic clamps. Boney pulled the bar free and fitted one end into the metal plate. He tried to crank the Z-bar but nothing moved. Shorty set his hands on the crank beside Boney’s and the two men worked the bar counter-clockwise. Grudgingly it began to turn. Metal squealed, and beside them the door began to inch open.

  “Jesus,” Shorty breathed. “Send up a flare, while we’re at it.”

  Beyond the half-open door all was pitch black. Boney moved aside and Shorty held a fist up. Garrett and Everett moved to flank him at the door. The stubby nerve guns really did look like toys in their big hands, Shorty thought as he counted one two three with his fingers. Then he gripped the nerve gun he had borrowed from Yone and ran into the half-open doorway. He dropped low and turned on the flashlight clipped to the side of the gun as Everett and Garrett came in behind him.

  Sudden bright light blinded the three crewmen. “Lower your weapons,” said a calm voice not ten feet away.

  *

  Farley and Broben traded a glance when Boney beckoned them from the opened hatchway. “Maybe we got here first?” Broben ventured.

  “That’ll be the day,” Farley muttered. “Come on.”

  They got up from behind the plastic storage bin and ran to where Boney covered the hatchway. Farley stopped halfway in.

  Five stiff figures lay on the floor, spotlit by small but powerful flashlights held by Shorty, Garrett, and Everett. The five Dome troops had already been stripped of their smartsuits and weapons.

  “How the hell did you manage this?” Farley asked.

  Shorty grinned. “Wasn’t us, cap,” he said. And raised his flashlight beam to show three more black-clad figures armed and standing farther down the narrow rampway.

  Farley reached for a gun that wasn’t there in a holster he wasn’t wearing as one of the figures stepped into the light.

  “I’ll save you, Captain Fearless,” said Wennda.

  twenty-four

  “You have to let me go sometime,” Wennda told him, acutely awa
re of the others watching the two of them.

  Farley stepped back but kept his hands on her shoulders. “Says who?” he said.

  She smiled, and right then Farley knew that he was in for the whole ride.

  “How did you get here?” he asked.

  She jerked her head at Arshall and Sten, who were shaking hands with a grinning Garrett and Everett. “They were already hiding in my room when my father confined me to quarters,” she said. “We came straight here. Well, we made one stop.”

  She turned from Farley’s hands on her shoulders and bent to drag forward a duffel bag Farley recognized as the one Shorty had brought from the bomber. It clanked when she moved it.

  Farley looked at her questioningly and she gestured for him to open it. He unzipped it and whistled. “You are just the whole shebang, aren’t you?”

  “If you say I am.”

  “I do.” Farley’s handclaps reverberated flatly in the narrow rampway. “Merry Christmas, boys,” he called, and began pulling out service .45s, holsters, cigarette packs, several yards of .30-caliber belt ammo rounds, and the Browning M1919.

  Garrett picked up the machine gun. “Hiya, dreamboat!” he crooned. “Did you miss daddy?”

  Broben grabbed a pistol and glanced meaningfully at the doorway, which they had closed after everyone entered the rampway. Farley nodded at him. “All right,” he called. “Let’s line it up and move it out. Plavitz on point. Martin—”

  “Captain?”

  Farley turned. Samay and Berne stood before him. Berne looked at the ground and fidgeted. Samay looked eager, a racehorse at the gate.

  “You’re not coming,” Farley said.

  Samay shook her head. Her eyes were very bright. “We have to stay and finish this,” she said.

  “We didn’t mean to start a revolt,” Farley told her. “We only want to go home.”

  “You were just the catalyst,” said Samay. “Many people have been unhappy with our present situation for years. The commander’s become—” she glanced at Wennda “—let’s say too unilateral.” She shrugged.

  “You don’t have to be diplomatic on my account,” said Wennda. “He’s the reason I’m leaving.” She looked at Farley. “One of the reasons,” she amended.