He cringed.
I know. But now isn’t the time to tell you about what happened to Ronny...about what’s going to happen to me, too.
“Okay,” he said out loud, his brain working. “I need you to take anyone and everyone who will go with you, over to the gates. You need to guard that panel. It will be Tristan’s only way to let that...thing...inside.” He had a thought. “I wonder...what if I cut the power? They wouldn’t be able to open the gate without it...?”
“I dunno,” she replied. “We still don’t know much about these systems. What if there’s a fail-safe that automatically opens the gate on the event of a power loss? And besides, the...what do you call it? The lightning shield?”
“Canopy shield.”
“Right...it looks like it needs plenty of juice. Messing with the generators might screw with it. It makes me nervous.”
“No, of course...you’re right.” She was still thinking...still using her brain to work the problem. It was encouraging. “I’ll leave it alone. Okay...take the others and get over there. I’m going to check in with Gorman and tell him what we know. Then I’ll meet you. You keep Tristan away from that panel. At all costs.”
“Will do. I got this.”
“I know. See you soon.”
The radio went silent.
He stood up and left the server room, not really sure if anything he’d done there could be considered an accomplishment. He’d assured the safety of the facility, temporary as it might seem, but Ronny was gone, and he hadn’t done anything so stop the advance of the thing outside the gates. He’d bought them time, maybe, but that was about it. Just as it ever seemed to go, anything that he did...it was just a couple feet short of what was needed.
Since Ronny’s disappearance...since being exposed to what he’d been exposed to, his symptoms had steadily gotten worse. His annoying nose bleed had stopped, but now he found it had been replaced with a pounding headache. He was also starting to feel a grinding stiffness and heat in his joints, like they had gone too many maintenance cycles without a good dousing of oil.
He thought of Ronny’s disturbing exit from the world. It was coming for him, now, also. He could try to deny what he was thinking, try to convince himself that he didn’t believe what he’d come to suspect, but that just wasn’t the kind of man he was. He was used to coming to conclusions and sticking to them, and so there it was; in the end, one of his greatest strengths would prove to be his undoing.
As he rode up in the elevator, he leaned against the wall and put his head against it, feeling the cool metal against his skin but drawing little comfort. The floors dropped below him, while his mind tried to quantify what remained of his life.
* * *
Chapter 38 – ???
He tied on the explosives, checking the straps to make sure they were secure. He tried to get them as flat against his body as he could, so he could conceal them easily with his work coveralls. His Prophet would not be pleased with him if he was found out, now after so much progress. It had been pure genius to hide the remaining charges and detonators in the machine shop, the last place any of them would think to look. They had lain, so innocently concealed in a nondescript burlap bag, under one of the welding machines in the corner...waiting for the moment their potential would be unleashed.
This was it. This was the culmination of all Tristan had asked of him, all his accomplishments up until now. He’d never been suspected by any of the others, and played his part perfectly until the end. He’d said all the right things, gone through all the machinations of being the perfect little helper, and now the way to his ultimate objective was wide open. The next world beckoned to him seductively. One last act, and he could be there, enjoying an infinite array of pleasures with all the others that had been lucky enough to be taken.
Curiously, he found that he did harbor some regret. Oh, he wouldn’t let it alter his course, but he’d worked with the team for years, and they’d become sort of like a family to him, or at least as much of a family as his underdeveloped empathy could enable him to appreciate.
He didn’t feel things as others did, that much had been obvious to him, even as a child. It wasn’t something that he felt like he’d missed out on, for the act of missing anything required a sentimental connection that he was rarely capable of. Still, there was something like fondness between him and the team, even if it was through professional respect and nothing else.
Of course, during his false life with them, he’d always known that one day they would have to be traded in, placed upon a sacrificial altar, so that others could have their promised eternity. His Prophet had told him so.
He might not have possessed the ability to feel the level of passion that his brethren in the Church did, but the Message was undeniable. The proof was all around them, on the face of the Wastes and the gray of the skies. The world was dead. He actually thought that his stunted emotions enabled him to think more clearly than the others, and so when he believed anything, as he believed in the Message, he did so fully and without doubt. Feeling was messy and clouded; knowing something through facts and figures produced a much deeper faith in him than any emotional reaction ever could.
And so, years ago, when his Prophet had asked him to infiltrate the inner sanctum of Samuel Creado’s revered technical wizardry, it had never even occurred to him to refuse.
Samuel had brought it upon himself. He’d never hid his condemnation of the Prophet, and had led the rest of them astray. They’d been drawn in and blinded by his shortsightedness. They were too attached to worldly things, too obsessed with the meaningless task of fixing things—extending their time on this hell of a world—when they could have just embraced the truth and let it all go. The Reclamation was coming. To think that it could be avoided or denied...it was the very definition of folly.
He pitied them, in his apathetic, distant way. They were beyond help or redemption, purification or recourse. They had embraced the wrong things, the false comforts of presumed survival. How surprised they would be when they finally understood. How remorseful they would be.
Would they beg? Would they plead with the Prophet to show them the way to the What Comes After, after all the time they spent ignorantly dismissing its existence?
Perhaps. Of course, it was too late for them. There could be no ascension for those who’d heard the message for so long, yet had so willfully blocked it out. They’d had their chance. They were afforded so many chances, so many opportunities to reverse their foolishness, but they couldn’t release their grip on this world. Now, their famine of time had caught up with them, and there was nothing to be done but face what had always been inevitable.
He put his arms back through the sleeves of the garment, his work coveralls and second skin, and gingerly began to zip it up. It was time to get on with his final task.
“What are you doing?”
He froze.
No. Not yet.
He didn’t need to turn around to know who’d interrupted him.
He swore, under his breath. He’d been fifteen seconds away from finishing up what he was doing, fifteen seconds away from having the unused detonators back inside the bag, and the bag stashed back under the welding table.
Why is this happening now?
“Oh, hey,” he said easily, adopting his other persona by reflex, as he’d been doing for years. He shuffled the exposed detonators on the floor closer to the bag, hoping they would be lost in the folds and the shadows. “Didn’t see you come in, man. I was just finishing up.” He brought the zipper all the way up to his collar, carefully adjusting the harness he’d put together for the bomb with his shoulders so that it settled, hopefully becoming a convincing part of his profile. Then, he turned.
Sure enough, there was Aiden Reed, his friend and associate, just a few steps inside the door.
Blocking the door.
“Don’t you know what’s happening outside?” Aiden demanded. His usually expressionless face was full of suspicion. “Don’t you h
ave your radio on? They’re getting everyone inside the Dome. Samuel got the generators online. The settlement is under attack...you must have heard the cannons.”
“Yeah, of course,” he said. “Who didn’t? Those things are scary as hell, huh? Good thing they’re on our side.” He adopted a relaxed smile, and nudged the bag back as far as he could with his heel.
Yeah, keep it friendly. We’re friends, right, Aiden?
“We need your help....” Aiden said, looking down at his feet. “Why aren’t you answering my question? What are you doing in here?”
“Jeez, man...relax. Just grabbing some tools. Figured with all the commotion outside that I should be ready for anything.”
“Tools? I don’t see any tools.” Aiden pointed at the bag, behind his feet. “What do you have there?”
“Aiden, I don’t know why you’re giving me the third degree, but you’re weirding me out.” He took a few steps toward the serious technician. “Come on, let’s go and see what we can do to help.”
Aiden didn’t move.
“No. I want to know what you’ve been doing. And I want you to tell me, right now.”
He sighed. He could see that Aiden wasn’t going to let it go. It seemed that his false life, his second life, was at an end.
“Okay,” he said. “Okay, you got me.” He beckoned Aiden closer. “Come here. I have to show you something. Something I found. I think I know who the saboteur is.”
Aiden cocked his head to the side, and his suspicion deepened. The other man’s eyes flicked down, trying to see what was under the table, and then back to his face, unsure.
“What is it?” Aiden asked. “What have you found?”
“It’s here...under the welder. The traitor’s been under our noses the whole time, and this proves it.” He knelt down by the table and pretended to be fussing with the bag. “Here...can you help me with this?”
He felt the technician’s consternation, his inner-struggle. Although he didn’t turn, he could hear Aiden shuffling his feet, could sense the man turning to the door and back, torn between what his gut was probably telling him—to leave...to get help or just plain flee—or to stay and explore the possibility of finding out once and for all the identity of the one who’d betrayed them. The few seconds that ticked by while he waited for Aiden to decide were heavy, and the air inside the shop was dense.
Then, he heard Aiden slowly, carefully step closer, until the man was beside him. Aiden dropped to his haunches, furtively joining him and looking under the table. The man’s eyes grew wide when he saw the bag.
“See?” he said. “Like I said. The traitor stashed this here. Go ahead; look what’s inside. It explains everything.”
Aiden leaned closer and reached out toward the bag. He, whom they called “saboteur”, quietly reached up over the table and felt around for the instrument of his intention.
The welder was a hand tool. It was tethered to its power source by a retractable cable that hung down from a support arm on a hinge, allowing a broad range of angles to any object on the table. The slack on the cable was generous; generous enough, at least, for his purposes. His hand found the grip, and closed around it.
Aiden grasped the bag and pulled it closer. The detonators, which the traitor had purposefully obscured back when he still had hopes of deflecting suspicion, clinked together and fell out onto the dirt floor.
“What in the—” Aiden muttered.
“It’s the missing detonators,” he said, easily. He pulled the welder closer to the edge of the table. “Or, at least some of them.”
He couldn’t help it. The moment was too delicious not to say it.
“I already used the rest of them,” he finished.
Aiden looked up at him in alarm. The usually-so-stoic technician was as sharp as a diamond cutter, and so he put it together immediately.
The traitor continued talking, giving himself a few more precious seconds while he maneuvered the welder into place. “Yeah. The other detonators are currently deployed into the remaining explosive charges. The ones I’ve strapped to my chest.” He tapped his breast.
He could see that Aiden immediately recognized his own vulnerability. The man’s body tensed...maybe to roll away and flee, or maybe to fight the human bomb that he now realized was crouching way too far inside his guard. The traitor never found out what Aiden was going to do, for Aiden never got the chance to show him.
He brought the heavy welder down, and was rewarded with a dull thunk when it connected with Aiden’s skull. His former friend fell over on to his back, his eyes glazing over from the impact even while his hands instinctively clawed at the air, trying to find any piece of his assailant, any leverage at all with which to defend himself. Blood gushed freely from the gash on his head. Within a few seconds, it had matted his hair and plastered it against his scalp.
“It’s just bad luck, Aiden,” the traitor said, apologetically. “You stumbled into this. I don’t blame you...it’s not your fault...but secrecy is pretty important to me. I can’t have you running off to tell anyone about this. It’s too important.”
Aiden’s mouth was working, but no sound was coming out. The technician’s eyes were jerking this way and that, like he was searching the room for something important, but they weren’t really focusing on anything. The traitor raised his eyebrows.
Hmm. Must’ve hit him harder than I thought. Don’t know if he’s even hearing me anymore.
He needed to get going, he knew. He had other things he had to do. After all, when you make a promise to the Prophet, you keep it, plain and simple. Still, as much as he’d enjoyed the drama of revealing himself to Aiden, he wasn’t sadistic enough to leave him in pain.
He raised the welder again, and down again it came, right between the flailing man’s eyes. This time, he heard an unmistakable crack as Aiden’s skull gave way. He thought he saw the exact moment the life left his former friend’s eyes. The man’s arms dropped to the ground at his sides and didn’t so much as twitch. By any measure, he looked to be good and dead.
But, the traitor was a thorough person. That quality had made him pretty good at his former job. And so, he had to be sure.
The welder came down for a third time. A fourth. Blood splattered the floor and the wall.
A fifth.
After he was finished, he dropped the hand welder, now crimson and dripping, and stepped back. He looked down and examined his coveralls, impassively noting the spattering of red there as well. He frowned.
Damn. Ruined my suit.
He checked the harness and the explosives. They seemed unaffected by his distraction with Aiden, everything still in place and ready to go. He pulled his front zipper up to his chin, leaving an uneven, red streak up the front of his clothes.
He would stand out, now. There would be no hiding. But, that was alright. The walk to the Dome would be a short one, and whoever stopped and asked him what happened could easily be turned away with another story he could make up.
Yeah...I had to stop and help someone who was hurt...that’s what happened. Unfortunately the poor soul was too far gone to make it. But, at least I tried. So sorry. So sad.
Yeah. He could make up stories. He was good at that.
Unconcerned, he walked out of the workshop and into the full sunlight, breathing easy. By now, the people were in a panic, all heading toward the safety of the Dome’s main door. He joined the stream of humanity and let it carry him along. Sure enough, his appearance got him some wild looks, but thankfully everyone was too busy getting to shelter to bother asking him his business.
He noted the distress on the faces around him, but felt none of it, himself.
He really didn’t understand other people, sometimes.
* * *
Chapter 39 – Samuel
Samuel heard the commotion in Gorman’s office before he walked in. The remaining members of the Council were present, four in all: Councilmen Richard Gray and Will Spencer, along with Councilwomen Catrina Kay and Elizabeth
Warden. None of them were happy.
Gorman stood behind his desk, leaning on a makeshift crutch, while the rest were assorted around the room, gesticulating like the marionettes of an unskilled puppeteer. Samuel understood the reasons for a ruling committee and believed in them, but he had seen his father in this environment before, when everyone seemed to be speaking at once, sometimes about different things, and was always reminded how consistently time was sacrificed on the alter of their democracy.
Their heated discussion washed over Samuel. They were too busy to notice him.
“We did not authorize such a use of our weapons!” Councilman Gray, an elderly, thin-haired man, was saying. He was stabbing the air before him with a bony finger. “Nor were we made aware of any of your now-obvious intentions to bring them online! This is a matter to be discussed! Thought out! We can’t just go off and do whatsoever we might please, without the consent of a majority!”
“Richard, I assure you, I haven’t forgotten my obligations,” Gorman said, scowling. Samuel could see that he was hard at work keeping the peace, as usual, but also that his veneer was cracking. His father was losing his patience. “And I’ll remind you that baseless accusations seldom bear fruit. This was not my doing, however I might support it.”
“Then it must be that of your son, or one of those under his charge,” chimed in Catrina Kay, a dark-skinned woman on the opposite side of the room. “However I disagree with Richard’s tone, Gorman, I have to agree with his sentiment. We swore an oath, in the beginning, that we would be the ones to bear the responsibility of the Spire’s protection. Those decisions start with us. We cannot have vigilantism undermining the system, no matter how well founded it might be. You can condone this action all you want, but that won’t change the fact that it was decided outside of this Council’s consent.”
“I am aware of my oath as well, Catrina.”
“Then you are forced to agree that your son has circumvented us,” Councilman Gray spat, “and that in doing so has placed himself at our mercy! This outrage cannot go unpunished.”
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