by Jeff Taylor
Brill was rooted in place, unable to comprehend what had just happened. Smoke wafted from the barrels of Strinnger’s and Arla’s pistols, which remained pointed where Ahkman had been. Ahkman’s lifeless shell lay face down on the polished black stage. An inhuman cry at Brill’s side rattled his already fragile body and he started at the sudden exclamation. Josephina Leniston rushed to her fallen lover, her voice as shrill as a banshee’s as she wailed over his corpse, cradling his head in her lap.
This was not how the plan was supposed to play out. He was suddenly aware of Strinnger’s eyes locked onto him as if he were waiting for Brill to make a move. Any advance toward Nathaniel meant immediate death. The elder businessman decided it was time to make a hasty retreat. The far side of the stage was only a few steps to his right. Whirling around, he took a step in the exit’s direction.
But before he could take another, the entire stage lifted upward then broke and splintered into a brilliant cloud of fire and debris. Brill’s feet left the ground, leaving him momentarily weightless in the air. Soon the lunar gravity plucked him from the sky and hurled him down to the shattered ground below. On impact his vision blurred, and then he saw nothing but darkness.
The blast from the stage propelled Strinnger back over the crowd like a stone skipping over water. Debris and ash rained down on him as he was hurled back into the bowl. He came crashing down hard amid bodies, some alive, many not. Lifting himself off the body a tall Hispanic man, he quickly turned his gaze back toward the stage. The stage was gone, replaced by a thick fog of death and destruction. His mind went numb, unable to process what he saw. He was completely unaware of the shrapnel wounds opening in his chest and arms. Arla and Tom were gone, and Nathaniel . . . Nathaniel!
Impulsively, he rose to his feet and raced toward the cloud of dust. His instinct told him Nathaniel was gone, but he refused to fail again. He desperately needed to find his charge, if not only to perform his duty, but to prevent the unquestioned suffering Julia would endure should her father be taken from her so violently.
The stage debris was almost within reach when the ground rumbled beneath his feet. Halting his advance, he turned to the first of the web-like pillars around the perimeter of the amphitheater. Each pillar in succession was rocked by an explosion at its base, followed by the creaking and straining of failing metal. Strinnger looked up in time to see the central point where the pillars converged at the peak of the half dome. The steel web groaned under the stress then broke apart. Snapped rivets and shattered weld joints rained mercilessly upon the already wounded crowd. Those that had survived the first blast sought frantically to escape the crushing force of the collapsing dome.
Strinnger sprinted over to what was left of the obsidian stage, hoping that it would hold up and shield him from the falling dome. He crawled his way past the fragmented stone just as the crushing blow of the metal pillars landed thunderously behind him.
A solemn Eve clung to the detonator in her hand. After pressing the trigger button, she expected to see to see a single cloud of smoke rise from the Forum. What she had not expected to see was over a dozen explosions rocking downtown Selene City spreading like a plague as wave after wave of perfectly timed ripples erupted in succession, canvassing half of Old Town in darkness and ruin. Her body went numb and the detonator fell from her hand, clanging near her feet. Only Kratin was supposed die, not thousands of innocent people. She had not just committed murder, but genocide. She turned to look at Nelsonn, with the complexion of a ghost, her body shaking with shock.
“What did you do?” she whispered.
His words were cold as he spoke.
“Killing Kratin and the board would have only delayed the birth of yet another oppressive government. We needed to kill this weed by ripping it out at the root. When my inside man informed me of the movement toward nationalization, I knew I was the only one who could end it. Nu wants this place deserted so he can move in and take it over, creating his own little den of interplanetary thugs. But we have a higher purpose here. As that dome and the one above us come down, I will have saved this orb from the infestation of the human germ and its illusory idea of freedom.”
Without warning the roof beneath them began to quake, twisting and groaning uncontrollably. They both fell to the ground, prostrating themselves against the vibrating tiles. Eventually, the quaking stopped and Eve, her head buzzing from the intense rattling, slowly rose to her feet. As she did so, a chunk of rock the size of her torso, crashed onto the spot where she had lain only moments before. She looked up to see large cracks crawling over the city dome like cragged fingers searching for easy prey. Large blocks between each fissure were breaking free and falling onto the traumatized city. Another block tumbled toward her and she stepped out of its path in time to watch it punch through the roof and the three floors below. She reached out and grabbed Nelsonn’s hand.
“We’ve got to get off the roof!” she yelled.
The hail of stone cascaded around them as they raced for the door. She held Nelsonn’s hand tightly, ignoring the sound of crunching stone behind them. Mbenago appeared at the doorway, waiving them on. They were within ten feet of him when he disappeared beneath a boulder the size of a small elephant. Eve did not break her pace, sliding over the top of the boulder and into the collapsing building.
The couple bolted down the shaking staircase. When they reached the ground floor, Eve went to open the door to the lobby when Nelsonn stopped her.
“No, this way.”
He pulled her down another two flights of stairs and through a large steel door at the end of a long maintenance corridor. The hallway was filled with scorching steam as the residual quaking had damaged several tubes, leaving gas and heat streaming out of large cracks in the pipes. Water and other fluids flowed from their casings, covering the floor in a liquid carpet. The pair splashed their way through in a mad dash, pushing through set after set of heavy doors. They continued to run as the piping and cabling lashed out of their overhead casings, flailing like deranged snakes wrenched from their nests unexpectedly.
Nelsonn led her through a winding maze of narrow access tunnels. Eve calculated they were now under New Town. At last they reached one last set of doors. On the other side was an open area, circular in shape and about the size of the Kratin’s penthouse. Two rows of rough, concrete pillars supported the ten-foot ceiling encircled the room. At the center of the open area were three vehicles. Each craft resembled an engorged arrowhead with a long tail.
“Escape pods,” she concluded.
She looked around for more but only saw the three. This whole area was not on any of the maps she had reviewed in preparing for the mission. She assumed nobody but the highest administrators were supposed to know they were here.
A man in a light blue security jumpsuit and cap emerged from the pod on the far left and waived to them.
“Come on!” he shouted.
The ground quaked once more and they quickened their steps toward him. As they drew nearer, Eve started as she realized who it was urging them ahead. Gangi Klindon, former Noble employee, Apollo Prison guard, and thorn in Tyrus Nelsonn’s side, was right before her eyes, willingly helping Nelsonn escape. She was stunned.
“You’ve got to be kidding me.” Klindon was Nelsonn’s mysterious inside man? How had he survived the explosion of the Apollo and why, of all people, was he helping Nelsonn?
“Come on,” Klindon insisted once more.
Nelsonn, sensing her astonishment, gripped her hand and yanked her forward. She had a million questions, but he gave her no time for answers, pulling her toward the waiting shuttle. Dust and small rock fragments pelted their exposed heads as they ran. They were only meters away when Klindon’s impatient urgings stopped. Eve caught the look in his eyes as Klindon fell to his knees then collapsed out of the cockpit onto the concrete landing bay.
The couple ran toward him. Eve crouched down at his side and saw a small chrome throwing dagger protruding from his chest. Such a small blade
wouldn’t have killed him so quickly unless the tip had been poisoned. Whoever threw it had meant to kill him.
She immediately scanned the secret hangar for the blade’s origin then froze when she saw them. Her blood ran cold as the shadowy figures of Volkor Con and Pryna Zyn emerged from behind the pillars.
CHAPTER 30
PROMISE
Strinnger was buried beneath a mountain of stone and metal. The upright bowl at the back of the stage had fallen forward, as he’d predicted, shielding him from the brunt of the rocks falling from the city’s concave ceiling. Many of the hailing rocks shattered the stage dome, but had left two large slabs propped against one another forming an A shape directly over him. He lay there face down, listening to the sound of falling stones crushing against the sturdy stage fragments. This was not how he intended to die and began clawing his way through the stone.
He climbed over and under the endless pile of debris, taking any path that allowed him to move forward. His progress was slow and only stopped when he noticed a blackened arm buried in the rock shards to his right. On the index finger of the charred hand was a gold ring capped by a large, blood red stone engraved with a gold outline of a firebird.
Nathaniel!
“No!” he shouted. “Not like this.”
Strinnger attacked the loose stones and twisted metal, hurling them out the mouth of the makeshift cave that had formed as the rock fell, uncovering more and more of the CEO’s battered body in the process. At last the senior Kratin was exposed. He was in horrific condition. Were it not for his intermittent blinking and shallow breathing, Strinnger would have thought the man dead. Dark stains of crimson marred his robes from the vicious gashes from hurtling shrapnel pocking his face and torso. There was too much blood lost. He was conscious, but only slightly coherent. His dimming eyes which had conveyed such genuine trust and friendship to Strinnger only an hour ago, were now nearly devoid of life. His pained and paling face stared up at Strinnger, pleading to be freed from his rocky grave.
Desperately, Strinnger heaved the stones around like they were foam.
“You’re not going to make it if I don’t get you out of here.”
As Strinnger spoke a hint of a smile broke Nathaniel’s bloodied lips.
“Daeman,” he breathed. “Daeman, my friend, thank you.”
Strinnger gently reached underneath his employer’s badly wounded head and cradled it in his hand. The mixture of blood and debris left a viscous stain on the ground beneath him. Nathaniel’s eyes dilated immediately and he inhaled sharply at the movement, his body stiffening.
“Daeman?” His voice was panicked as if he were suddenly alone.
“I’m here,” whispered Strinnger. “It’s all right. Everything’s going to be okay.”
The dying man feebly extended his hand, searching for Strinnger’s face. Strinnger guided it to his cheek and Nathaniel immediately relaxed.
“Don’t let this die here. Promise me . . . that you’ll see the people of this city live in freedom.” He winced in pain as he tried to cough the dust from his failing lungs. “Promise me,” he wheezed.
“I will, sir.” Strinnger found himself saying.
He was not prepared to see Nathaniel die. In fact, he feared it. He had seen dead people before, but had never actually seen anyone, let alone a person special to him, expire in person.
“I’m going to get you out of here,” he said.
In the distance, a shrill sound carried through the dust cloud. Strinnger craned his neck to listen. Nathaniel’s eyes grew wide.
“Do you hear that, Daeman?”
“I do, sir.”
They both recognized the unmistakable sound of the alarm signaling a rupture in the air seal. Depending on how severe the tear was, the entire city would be devoid of oxygen and depressurized within an hour.
Nathaniel’s cold hand searched for Strinnger’s arm. When he finally found it, he gripped it as if it were the only thing tethering him to life.
“My family . . . you have to . . . you have to get them out, Daeman,” he said between gasps.
Strinnger fought back the hot tears that threatened to flow down his face. “I will,” he promised. “I’ll get them to the starport and we’ll . . .”
Unexpectedly, Nathaniel shook his head violently. “No,” he hissed, forcefully. “Escape pods, under the tram station . . . New Town. There’s a steel door under the LAB . . . access tunnel. Follow the . . . green . . . pi . . .” His voice trailed off, unable to finish the last word.
He’s delirious, Strinnger thought. No one had ever told him about any escape pods, which would have been helpful to know considering his position as the CEO’s bodyguard.
Nathaniel’s expression strained. His body convulsed from some unseen pain, stabbing his back upward. His eyes shook with fear. One last gasp broke from his lips and then he fell silent.
Strinnger felt Nathaniel’s pulse; he was gone. Hot anger seethed within him and Strinnger slammed the ground near Nathaniel’s head. His mechanically enhanced fist smashed the crumbling concrete to pebbles. He had failed to protect the only man in the city he cared for and now Nathaniel’s family would feel the loss because of his failure.
“I will get them out, but I won’t leave you here,” he pledged.
A fresh torrent of stones fell from the dome smashing into the small cave protecting Strinnger and Nathaniel’s body. The stone slabs above him groaned under the pummeling of new debris and began to shift, folding downward one atop the other until they pressed against his rigid back. If he did not move soon, he would be crushed by their collective weight, entombing him with his friend. Strinnger positioned himself over Nathaniel’s body, resting on the palms of his hands and his knees. Slowly, he arched his back and began to rise, lifting the polished rock away from Nathaniel’s lifeless body. Then, harnessing the strength of his bionic implants, fueled by the intensity of his swelling anger, Strinnger unleashed his rage and heartache in a ferocious yell, thrusting his arms and body upward. The heavy stones hurled away from him as if they were paper, shattering into rubble meters away. Strinnger reached down, collected Nathaniel’s body and hoisted the Kratin patriarch in his arms.
The falling rocks subsided and he sprinted through the amphitheater aisles until he reached the street level. A slew of rescue vehicles arrived just as he crested the amphitheater bowl. Strinnger paused amid the rubble and watched the emergency workers rush to him. Had they only appeared sooner, Nathaniel might have lived. The fates though had sealed his death and it was up to Strinnger to carry on Nathaniel’s legacy. He did not know it at the time, but that task would be made much easier when the photograph of him cradling Nathaniel’s mangled corpse in his arms while the Forum crumbled behind him ran on every news station for weeks to come.
CHAPTER 31
SHOWDOWN
The pair of dark robed figures loomed before Eve and Nelsonn like two wraiths come for their souls. Eve wasn’t surprised to see them make a move against her husband, but now was not the opportune time given the fact that the station was collapsing in on itself.
“We don’t have time for this,” Eve mumbled.
She gripped Nelsonn’s hand and pulled him in the direction of another pod. “Come on,” she said, but Nelsonn wouldn’t budge.
Zyn lowered the hood on her dark robe then released the clasp cinching it around her neck. Long strands of bright, blonde hair streamed over her shoulders as the black cloth cascaded down her slender form and crumpled around her feet. Following his wife’s lead, Volkor Con left the shadows, the dim lighting of the chamber illuminating the polished surface of his oblong chrome helmet. They stood opposite the Nelsonns, silently daring them to move.
Eve glowered back at Con. She was in no mood for a standoff. Con, however, seemed uninterested in what she felt like doing.
“I’ve waited five years for this day,” Con’s muffled voice reverberated off the high ceiling, giving it a ghostly quality.
Nelsonn released himself from E
ve’s grasp and smiled.
“You’ve waited five years to give me another chance to kill you?” he quipped.
The two men faced one another across the hangar. Nelsonn smirked then swiftly reached into his overcoat, but whatever he had tried to retrieve never made it out of his pocket. The acrid crackling of arcing electricity singed the air. Eve reached out to catch her husband before he crumpled to the ground. Her thin mouth silently parted to scream but it was her heart that cried out in crippling agony. Nelsonn shook violently as a trio of barbed discs glowing with heat delivered a continuous charge into his chest.
Eve knelt beside him, trembling. She grabbed a broken shard of stone from the floor and began to pry the glowing barbs from his body, trying not to touch them herself. She wedged the shard between his scorched flesh and the menacing barbs then pried them out, one by one. The discs were expertly grouped over his vital organs, specifically near his heart and lungs. Under different circumstances she would have admired their placement. With the last barb removed, she began CPR, beating on his chest like a bass drum. Again and again she tried, but his heart refused to beat.
A voice that seemed miles away tore her attention from her fading spouse.
“You should have taken us up on our offer, Ms. Banalsky,” Con declared.
His wife took another cautious step toward her, a fresh set of discs eagerly waiting in the fingers of the glove on her left hand.
“This could have been much easier if you had,” she said.
Eve stared at the weapons now claiming her husband’s life. Despite all her frustration, his coldness and betrayal, Nelsonn was still her husband and she still loved him. Their taunting words and the dimming light in his eyes triggered the Eve of the last five years, the Eve consumed in a fire that seared her heart and released all self-control.
