by M. G. Herron
“Now that we’re filtering the power through the carbonado solution, the bootup procedure is erratic. This is as close as we’re going to get right now. If we had a chance to run more simulations, or extra time to tinker with the software…”
“All right,” Amon said. “What’s the estimated margin of error for the translocation?”
“Give or take a couple miles.”
Amon pursed his lips. They had a version of this conversation several times in the harried hours since they’d started playing guess and check to duplicate Eliana’s translocation.
“Dangerous proposition,” Amon said.
“I’m worried about far more than accuracy. We’ve never done this before.”
The meteorite sample warped and amplified the energy output of the machine in ways Amon would not have believed were possible if he hadn’t run the tests himself. The meteorite sample might look and act like a carbonado under Audrey’s microscope, but properly interfaced with the Hopper’s power source, it served as a superconductor.
As if to remind him precisely how much was on the line for this endeavor to succeed, the grinding sound of the drill steadily chewing through the blast door paused for a moment.
And started back up.
An incoming call dialogue blinked on the computer screen. Amon had muted the ringtone hours ago.
“That’s got to be the fiftieth time they’ve tried to call,” Amon said.
“They really want to talk to you,” Reuben said. “Maybe they’re having trouble with the drill.”
“They should have breached the blast door hours ago. It’s steel, but it’s not impenetrable. They’re planning something.”
Reuben grunted and turned back to the control unit.
Amon zipped up the spacesuit and ran diagnostics on the oxygen and pressurization systems.
His gaze rose to the graphs on the wall, and his mind spun through the calculations they’d triple and quadruple checked, scouring their formulas for errors and omissions. He found none, but that didn’t mean they weren’t there.
The drill on the outside of the blast door had been grinding relentlessly for the last day while he and Reuben worked on the machine. They wrestled the laws of physics and the Hopper’s software with the kind of relentless determination mustered only by the mad and the desperate.
The drill stopped. Amon involuntarily tensed his whole body in the silence that followed. The spacesuit weighed heavily on him like a full-body anchor, though it weighed only twenty five pounds, a tenth of the mass of the A7L spacesuit worn by the astronauts of Apollo 11 on their first mission to the moon.
Amon lifted his chin. What he was about to undertake was no mundane lunar landing.
He and Reuben could only discern limited details about the final destination of Eliana’s translocation with the data they had. If he reassembled on an exoplanet like Mars with little or no atmosphere, the suit’s life-support system would protect his delicate human composition. If he came out on a planet that did have atmosphere, the suit would do a chemical analysis of the air and tell him if it was safe to breathe. If, however, he came out too close to a star or a black hole…well, if that happened the suit was worthless and he was fucked regardless.
That was a risk he was willing to take. He’d come too far to be scared off by what-if scenarios. He had no what ifs left. Only when.
Only now.
He fitted the sleek helmet over his head and snapped it into place, sealing it with the suit. He slid the outer visor up then touched the computer screen to answer the call.
“Hello?”
He picked up the transponder, cranked the speaker volume so he could hear it through the helmet, and strode to the translocation platform while Fowler’s voice echoed around the lab.
“Last chance, Amon,” she said. “If you don’t open the door now, we will.”
“Try not to blow your fingers off when you do it. Firecrackers are dangerous,” he said.
“Do you really think…” she began. Background noise rustled through the speaker as people moved around on the other end. Fowler’s voice faded into the background.
“Amon, listen to her,” Lucas said. “It’s the only sensible option.”
A few moments passed before Amon recovered from his surprise at hearing Lucas on the other end of the line. He was trying to remember the last time they’d spoken. It had been at least a couple weeks. As usual, Amon had been so absorbed with his mission that he hardly noticed until now.
“Lucas,” he said. “How are you?”
“Listen, Amon, this has gone on way too long.”
“I’m only doing what I have to do.”
“There are other options,” Lucas said.
“I thought you’d be on my side in this.”
Only silence at the familiar stonewall of their opposing viewpoints.
“Are you and Wes working well together?” Amon asked. “It’s been almost two months now.”
Amon heard the smile in Lucas’s voice. “Well, you know Wes. He’s difficult for the sake of being so, but I think he has the company’s best interests at heart.”
“And how’s the company recovering? I don’t find much time to check the stats these days.”
“Our core business has stabilized somewhat. Solar panel orders are coming in again, so we have positive cash flow. The investors have calmed down, though I’ll tell you they’d be a heck of a lot happier if you’d come back to your senses and give up this whole thing. This mess with the meteorite sample isn’t good for business.”
Amon exchanged a glance with Reuben. “Say, did you ever hear from Dr. Badeux?” he said.
A pause. “I did,” Lucas said. “He told me his hands are tied until you agree to cooperate.”
Like a big puzzle, Amon began to see how the pieces scattered across the board might fit together.
“How did you know about the meteorite sample, Lucas?” Amon asked.
“Libby told me.” He stumbled over the words as they spilled out
“Libby?”
“I mean, Agent Fowler.”
“On a first-name basis now, are we?
No answer.
“They don’t work for the FBI, do they, Lucas?”
For the longest time, he hadn’t been able to see how the pieces fit, but as with any problem he attacked for long enough, the lines and dots began to connect, the edges started to match up: not being able to get ahold of the Dr. Badeux or anyone in charge at the LTA, the threats against Reuben and Charlie, being tracked to the NASA facility in a record-breaking amount of time.
“You’ve been working with Fowler this whole time,” Amon said.
Lucas responded in a deadpan tone. “Of course, we’ve been cooperating with the FBI in whatever way they need us to.”
“Bullshit. That’s not what I mean, and you know it.”
Someone covered the microphone on the other end. Amon heard muffled, argumentative voices through the speakers. The call disconnected.
“Fuckin’ gonif rat!” Reuben said.
They heard a slow hissing, then a burst of bright orange sparks that burned continuously and filled the room with thick plumes of greasy smoke.
“Dammit,” Amon said. “Thermite charges.” He raised his hand and rolled his pointer finger, the cue for Reuben to boot up the Translocator. Reuben raised his arms in a sharp motion, using the gesture controls to activate the machine.
The steel blast door spat sparks from its center. Through the haze of smoke, Amon could see small blazing cracks extending toward each other until they met in a rough circle. Safer and more clever than trying to use a brute-force blast to remove a door built to withstand it, thermite would chew through a block of solid steel in seconds if properly directed. The drill must have been used to establish optimum positioning for the thermite charges.
Of course, thermite was also a military-grade weapon. Nearly impossible to get ahold of without the right connections. Another piece of the puzzle snapped into place.
>
The fountains of sparks ceased. A cloud of smoke obscured the door.
“Reuben, open up the relay script,” Amon said. He rattled off a series of instructions. Reuben switched over to the keyboard and typed rapidly as he spoke.
Reuben’s fingers ceased typing for a moment. “You’ll give him a what?” he asked.
“You heard me.”
“You hate cameras.”
“I know.”
A slow, steady banging drummed into the room from the other side of the blast door. Reuben’s fingers flew over the keys again as he finished Amon’s message. He hit Enter to send it.
“Also, get in touch with Mather & Mayberry if something happens. They have my will.”
“You’re coming back,” Reuben grumbled. “With Eliana.”
“Thanks, old friend. I hope so.”
Reuben nodded. Worry lines creased his brow. His wispy gray hair clung to his sweaty forehead. They looked at each other across the room.
As the Hopper warmed up, another gigantic thud crashed into the blast door. The massive, rough-edged disc of steel that had been cut by the thermite charges tilted out and slammed to the floor.
Reuben waved his arms wildly, working the control unit as fast as he could. Amon held his ground before the sphere of alloy rings on the transfer platform, halfway up the ramp.
Two dozen mercenaries armed to the teeth and dressed in black body armor swarmed through the opening of the blast door and the dissipating cloud of smoke. They fanned out with semiautomatic rifles drawn. The word HAWKWOOD was printed across their chests in white letters. In place of the K was a silhouette of a knight chess piece, the outline of a horse’s head.
Amon gazed down the row of rifle muzzles. The tactical team stopped below the ramp, far enough away not to be accidentally pulled through during the jump—he hoped. With his free hand, Amon tapped a button on the computer set into the wrist of his spacesuit, ordering it to transmit his voice through the lab’s surround-sound speakers so he could be heard. He raised his hands in the universal sign of surrender.
“Move away from the machine!” Fowler cried as she stepped into the lab.
Montoya slinked in behind her. He couldn’t keep a smirk off his face, like he’d been dreaming of this day for weeks. He raised his pistol and put Amon in his sights.
“Have I given you reason to fear me, Ms. Fowler?” Amon asked.
“Never hurts to be careful.”
Amon held the transponder in one hand. The whole lab shook with a great tremor as the carbonado solution ratcheted the energy that thrummed through the machine’s great arch up a notch. The high-pitched keening of the Hopper rose into the air, and transformed into a banshee’s screech.
Almost there, he thought.
“Down on your knees, Amon,” Fowler said, though her words were inaudible.
“Or what?” he shouted back.
At a glance from Fowler, Montoya shifted the aim of his handgun from Amon to Rueben. Reuben raised his hands and stepped back from the control unit, casting a glance at Amon. The look on Reuben’s face told Amon that the translocation had been initiated. No one in the room who could stop it had any intention of doing so now.
Finally, Lucas stepped through the opening in the blast door. He wore a trim blue suit. His once dark-and-curly beard was almost entirely shot through with gray.
“Ah, hello Reuben,” Lucas shouted over the noise. “It took courage coming here after you were warned of the consequences for helping Amon. It’s too bad what that means for Charlie.”
“If you hurt him, I’ll kill you,” Rueben said, taking three quick steps toward him.
“Ah-ah-ah,” Montoya said. “Wouldn’t do that if I were you, pal.”
“Amon,” Lucas said. “The game is over. You’ve lost.”
“This isn’t a game.”
“You and I both know you’re chasing shadows. Let me help you accept the inevitable: She’s dead, Amon. Eliana died on the night of the demonstration, and you killed her.”
“Go to hell,” Amon said. He glanced back. The alloy rings had been engulfed by a sphere of light. He felt its force like a tangible thing, tugging gently at his body as it pulsed and swirled. His fingers began to tingle, though he was still several feet away.
“Go,” Reuben said. “Go now!”
Montoya turned his head to look at the platform. In the instant he glanced away, Rueben closed the distance between them and roared. He grabbed Montoya’s pistol with both hands. One shot discharged. Reuben’s momentum took them both to the ground.
Amon stepped back.
“Take him down!” Fowler yelled at the team of mercenaries who surrounded Amon. Their fear of the Translocator was evident in their stony faces. They stepped closer, but none set foot on the ramp leading up to the platform.
With a curse, Fowler drew her own handgun from a shoulder holster and pointed it at Amon. His heart skipped a beat as Montoya’s gun went off again, locked somewhere between them in the struggle, and Reuben cried out in pain.
Amon turned and sprinted up the ramp as fast as the spacesuit would allow. Another shot fired, and Amon heard a hiss of air as Fowler’s bullet opened a hole in his oxygen tank.
The radiant sphere gripped him when it felt his body at the edge of its reach. It pulled. Amon barely remembered to reach up and slam down the radiation visor of his helmet as he was yanked into the light.
17
Second Sacrifice
While Dambu lay unconscious, Eliana rummaged for his knife in the bushes. When she found it, her hands steadied as they gripped the obsidian handle.
When she turned back around, Dambu’s prone form lay still on the riverbank. Eliana held the knife before her and advanced with murderous intent.
Dambu’s deep chest rose ever so slightly. The water was shallow enough where he had fallen that it covered his ears but still allowed him to breathe through his nose and mouth. She nudged him with her toe to make sure he was still out. He didn’t move.
She kneeled down in the eddy. A gash in his forehead seeped into the muddied water. She could smell his rancid breath, feel its heat against her forearm as she rested the edge of the obsidian blade on his exposed neck.
I could end it right here, she thought. Right now. How easy it would be to cut his throat in the water, to end the life of the man who has caused me so much pain and suffering.
She hesitated. Eliana had never before had such thoughts, and they scared her.
She heard a sudden pattering of feet followed by shouts of approaching people. She took the knife away without drawing blood. Had they heard sounds of the struggle? Had they heard Eliana’s desperate shrieks? They were coming down the trail leading from the village, and their footsteps grew louder by the moment.
Eliana had no desire to face them, whoever they were. None would take kindly to an assault on their chief, no matter who attacked whom first. If the wrong person arrived, like one of the young men who was loyal to Dambu, the ones who wanted to be warriors like him, then the scene arrayed before them would not work in her favor. When he returned to consciousness, it would his word against hers. Would they believe Eliana had bested this brute of a man without using the element of surprise to her advantage?
Dambu groaned and began to stir. Eliana turned the knife and smashed the butt of the handle into his forehead. He returned to stillness.
She spearheaded into the jungle perpendicular to the river and away from the main trail so as not to be seen by whoever was coming toward her. If she didn’t get lost again, she could walk half a mile out and swing back toward the village, grab her rucksack, and get as far away from here as possible.
If she wandered off track, like she had before, she would come across the stone city of Uchben Na. Sunlight faded quickly in the jungle and it would be full dark in a matter of minutes. I have enough memories of Uchben Na in the night to last me a lifetime, she thought, so I better be careful.
Fifty yards into the woods, Eliana ducked behind a thi
ck tree and peered back. Pattering feet slapped against the packed dirt of the trail, and then two men burst into view. The men cried out and ran to Dambu’s side.
Ixchel came into view next. When she saw her husband, she did not cry out. Eliana saw her jaw muscles clench in anger, and then she too kneeled by his side.
At that moment, a flash of lightning and an enormous crack of thunder lit the dim sky. Eliana jumped up, turning in the direction of Uchben Na, where the flash seemed to have originated.
Could it be?
She hurled herself toward the jungle and ran for Uchben Na and the source of that light. The hope that she had lost once again swelled in her heart as she dodged through the brush while Ixchel found her husband and chief lying in the water, bleeding from his head. From the broken pottery, she was certain to know who had felled her husband.
#
At first, Amon operated under the belief that he had materialized in the cold emptiness of dead space, his worst nightmare come to pass. A sense of weightlessness permeated his body from the disorientation of the jump, and no noise reached his ears within the spacesuit, save for the sound of his own breathing.
While his eyes adjusted, the nausea hit him like a gut shot. He recognized the sick feeling as the effect of the molecular reassembly process, or what he and Reuben called the space bends. It was worse than usual—much worse.
As he focused on his breathing, he looked up. The stars above him twinkled in a deep-purple blanket of sky. Which meant atmosphere. Which meant he was on a planet after all. The light was sparse enough to be the forerunner to dawn or the afterglow of dusk. He couldn’t tell which.
He picked a boot up and set it back down. Gravity seemed to be about the same as Earth gravity. That was a positive sign as well.
Reuben would be immensely pleased with himself if he knew Amon had arrived safely. But Amon couldn’t activate the transponder to relay the message until he found Eliana.
Amon looked around. He seemed to be standing on the set of an Indiana Jones movie. Vast structures of stone lined the edges of an open courtyard, and a stepped pyramid jutted into the fading light of the violet sky.
