She stopped at chamber 12, which once housed Erin’s Phoenix Atlas. There was something different in this chamber that she immediately identified: a glowing red light coming from one of the consoles.
“Dr. Mustang?” she said, but the man working several doors down couldn’t hear her.
Vivian approached the red light that was deliberately conspicuous to draw attention and create a sense of urgency. She hadn’t learned much about the operation of the docking systems—all she’d learned she learned from Rebecca; the only pilot who really knew how to program them was Tessa.
Next to the glowing red light, there was a button labeled IN-COMM. She pressed it. One of the screens came alive with the waveform of sound playback, and a cracked hiss poured through the speakers.
“This is First Lieutenant Erin Perry, Creux Defense Squad Leader. . .”
Though her voice was distorted by static and what Vivian could identify as exhaustion, she could tell it was Erin speaking, and it was strangely refreshing to hear her voice.
“I can’t give my exact location, but it’s been ten days since we left Zenith, and Kerek is not far. Garros Parks, Jena Crescent, Ezra Blanchard, and myself—we are all reasonably well. There have been some signs of hormesis, especially in Garros and Ezra, but it might not be anything to worry about yet. Director Blanchard asked us not to make contact with Zenith unless it was an emergency and, well, I’m not sure this beacon qualifies at all, but one of the team thinks it’s really important. When we left the facility, he claims to have witnessed the betrayal of one of the pilots.”
Vivian froze in the middle of taking a breath, her mouth left open to dry.
“Vivian!” he heard Dr. Mustang scream. She wanted to call him, invite him to hear what Erin had to say, but couldn’t move.
“You understand why this is hard to say but, if possible, we ask you to . . . just . . . keep an eye on Tessa Mason. We’re aware of how awful it is to even say it, and his suspicions are probably only the result of Creux Hormesis, but the risk of him being right is a bit too alarming to consider, and so is how convinced he really is of what she saw. It’s bloodcurdling . . .”
“Vivian!”
She took a step back from the computer and had to lean against the console to catch her breath, which returned dry and cold.
Tessa Mason. Murdered. Betrayal.
Erin still spoke her soliloquy through the speakers, and then was suddenly silenced. Vivian could only hear her own unsteady breathing, and then Dr. Mustang’s heavy footsteps.
She had said Tessa. Tessa, and not Kat. Had it really been Tessa who betrayed them, killing both Kat and Barnes before shooting herself to sell the lie? If so, Ezra had seen it happen; it hadn’t happened after he left, and Kat was buried a traitor, while Tessa had been celebrated like a hero.
What about Rebecca?
“No,” she whispered to herself.
Ezra had seen it happen and had to live with what he saw for two weeks without being able to let them know.
“Vivian! Where are you?”
Dr. Mustang appeared at the door, sweating and panting, as though he had also come to the same realization Vivian had.
“Come on! Now!”
Vivian found her balance and followed Dr. Mustang. Even from where they stood, she could hear Jed’s desperate, painful screams.
ф
Ezra was lucky he hadn’t run past Farren on the way through Clairvert, towards the wasteland. He didn’t want Farren to see and follow them. He didn’t want Farren to know that Elena was still alive, could still talk, and would tell the whole city everything that had happened. She hadn’t been in love, didn’t want to marry.
She had never fallen to the Asili, and didn’t deserve to be exiled.
He had never been good at such situations, and this one in particular was fragile and required greater care. Despite having grown close to Elena in the short time he had known her, he had already gone too deep in her family’s business, so Ezra intended to lead Malachi to her and then give them privacy. Malachi would know how to handle the situation, how to present it to William Heath, and how to deal with Farren.
The idea of Elena having fled before Ezra led anyone to her hadn’t even crossed his mind, but when it did, the possibility became large and terrifying. What would happen if he led Malachi there, excited and expectant, only to find an empty cave, and no trace of his missing sister?
He’d immediately think that Ezra had lied to him, toyed with him. Ezra’s stomach boiled with anxiety, and he had to stop for a moment in the middle of a mostly empty street.
“What’s wrong?” Malachi asked, and could read the unease in Ezra’s eyes; it became contagious. “Ezra, why did you stop?”
He was too deep into the situation now, and bore all of Malachi’s trust. All he could do was hope that his fear was unfounded, and that Elena wouldn’t know his intentions to reunite her with his brother.
“Nothing,” he finally said, and moved on, feeling every beat of his heart in his throat.
They had to leave the city carefully, making sure not to be seen by anyone—not even the other pilots. It was difficult not to be followed, as people had gathered around the area where he had fought Farren.
“Do you know a more discreet way out?” he asked Malachi.
“Well, yes,” he said; there was no will in his voice, as though he was being dragged by pure inertia. “It’s not a secret at all but. . .”
He followed Malachi to the opposite end of the atrium, where the rock became smooth and flat again, turning into the huge walls of the city. Not unlike the entrance to Elena’s refuge, one of the tunnels was hidden from sight thanks to the unique color patterns of the stone, making it almost invisible if one didn’t know it was there.
Ezra watched Malachi all but disappear into the wall, and was dizzied even more when he walked in, feeling his way through the visually confusing tunnel, until they made it out of the other side.
Two things were clear when he made it out: one, no one had followed them, either through the tunnel or the atrium; two, Lazarus was back. The monstrous Creux stood in the middle of the others, imposing itself as their superior.
Malachi looked at it the whole way across the fractured desert floor—the creature was yet to win anyone’s trust except Erin’s (something that frightened Ezra in itself). Of course it was hard to trust it, especially as how every time it left and returned, his façade was even more grim and battered. Now, the blood on its knuckles was gone—but so were most of its knuckles. The pieces of armor covering its hands were cracked and broken; whatever it had been fighting was extremely solid.
“Who is controlling it?” Malachi asked.
“No one—we don’t know,” Ezra replied, wishing he had a better answer.
Both stopped on their tracks when the Creux’s voice—a frightening mechanical hiss, and what sounded too much like a strenuous moan—let them know it had come alive.
When they looked up at it, it was looking back.
When they moved, so did its head. Its eyes, so angry, followed them as they walked. Ezra looked at Nandi like it could be their miraculous protector should Lazarus betray them, but the Minotaur did not possess Lazarus’ autonomy. He had seldom felt so observed, and so terrified because of it, in his life.
Not finding Elena inside the cave was suddenly a less chilling possibility than staying outside.
He led Malachi into the tunnel after making sure no one else was watching them.
“I knew of this tunnel,” he said. “I’ve been here before, sometimes. It even smells familiar.”
Ezra stopped when they were one twist in the tunnel away from Elena’s chamber and let Malachi pass. The soldier understood immediately what it meant and gave Ezra one last look, as if waiting for one signal that it was all a cruel joke, but found none.
Malachi disappeared behind the last corner.
“A—”
Then, he reappeared.
When he walked past Ezra, Malachi didn�
�t even look at him—only pushed him away with one powerful and decidedly angry shove. Ezra didn’t even try to stop him; instead, he looked behind the corner to confirm his fear.
Elena wasn’t there. She had left, leaving only the blanket he stole from her former home.
“Malachi, wait!” Ezra’s voice echoed through the tunnel and there was no response. “Malachi!”
Ezra ran as fast as he could down the tunnel, trying to find a way to reasonably explain himself to Malachi. There was no such way, Ezra knew; he had made an enormous mistake trying to get revenge on Farren, and had hurt Malachi. Now, the only way to make it right was to find Elena, who wouldn’t want to be found. Had he lost her too?
He emerged from the tunnel, expecting a fist to the face, which he feared he might deserve. Instead, he saw Malachi, down on his knees, crying into his hands.
“Malachi, she was there—I swear, she—”
The soldier shook his head and raised his hand, silencing Ezra.
“This wasn’t a joke. She just left; I was with her when I fought Farren. Please, believe me. She asked me not to tell anyone. She must’ve known we were coming. I swear I can find her and bring her here.”
“Just shut up,” he said, almost growled. His eyes were red and wet. “I want you to get out of this city. Right now. Right now! You can hurt your friends if you want, you can even hurt the captain, but I’ll die a thousand times before I let you hurt my family.”
“No, I didn’t mean to hurt anyone.”
Malachi got up and started to walk towards Ezra. He could sense a threat.
So could Lazarus, who hadn’t removed its sharp eyes from the duo.
“Say it one more time.”
When Ezra was giving voice to the words Malachi was challenging him to say, a blindingly bright flash of light covered the soldier. He felt the heat, and when Ezra recovered his vision, Malachi was no longer standing before him.
Only the charred remains of his armor spun over a dark brown stain on the desert floor.
Ezra heard Solis scream from his post.
ф
Jed’s desperate screams had brought tears out of Vivian’s eyes.
“No please dontletithappenagain! Please! Please get me out of here! Please!”
“What’s happening!” Vivian yelled, looking at Nebula 09 through the glass of its chamber. The Creux’s motionless, expressionless face did not convey the horrifying screams of the pilot trapped in its loin. “Dr. Mustang, please do something!”
“Something’s wrong with the programming, someone did something to it, sabotaged it—he’s trapped inside the Egg! Iron Seraphim is still in the bay—the others never left! Something happened here!”
“It’s Tessa! It was Tessa!” Vivian yelled. “She killed Kat and Barnes! She caused Absolute Omega’s explosion!”
“Please, it’s so hot in here, please let me out!” Jed had begun to cry, was banging at the capsule so hard they could hear the sound through the speakers.
“Jed, please calm down,” came another voice. Tessa’s.
Vivian ran towards the glass, pressed her hands against it, and saw Isis Nineteen calmly walking behind Nebula 09, emerging from the ramp leading to the outside, where the bitch had been hiding.
“Tessa? Tessa, please do something, let me out of here,” said Jed—his relief and trust were not well placed. “Please!”
“I will,” said Tessa. “Don’t worry.”
The sharp digits of Isis’ hand grabbed Nebula’s shoulder and yanked him back. Jed groaned when the giant machine fell backward with him inside, crashing heavily on the bay, and making the entire facility quake. The computers beeped as systems crashed and failed.
“Tessa what are you doing!” yelled Dr. Mustang, finally looking through the glass, separating himself from the console like he had finally admitted the futility of his attempts at helping Jed.
“Stop her, please do something! She’s not one of us, she wants to stop us!” Vivian yelled, no longer in any doubt about Tessa’s true intentions, too terrified to even be angry.
“What happened—I think I broke . . . no, it hurts. Guys. I need help.” Jed’s voice became weaker, more defeated, resigned to his fate, with every word he spoke. “I might not—”
Tears were streaming down Vivian’s face when Isis Nineteen took an offensive stance next to the downed, immobile Nebula 09. With one fast motion that made a blur of its hand, Isis Nineteen broke Nebula’s Apse as though she was gutting an animal. Then, the synchronization capsule lay exposed beneath Nebula’s chest, evident among the mechanical entrails.
Isis tore out the capsule, wires and tubes snapped off, whipping violently.
All communications to the docking chamber were lost, so Vivian couldn’t hear Jed’s final scream when Isis crushed the capsule in her hand. Red liquid exploded from its fist.
Vivian turned away from one horrifying sight to face another: the muzzle of a pistol aimed straight at her eyes. Behind it stood Ronald Heath, face red and hand trembling. “This is as far as it goes, Poole,” he said before slamming the side of the cylinder to her temple.
She saw light, and then nothing else.
ф
Vivian opened her eyes but she couldn’t see.
It was dark and her vision was blurry, all made worse by throbbing pain on the side of her head. Through the darkness, she could hear the sounds of someone moving around her.
The floor was cold iron and it smelled like dead animals and fecal matter—it was a scent she had been exposed to before, and one she associated with something horrible, though she didn’t remember what exactly.
She still wanted to believe that all the things that had sent her to sleep had been a horrible nightmare, but she couldn’t bring herself to believe it, because she knew it had been real.
Jed was dead. Tessa had killed him. Heath had won again.
“Are you awake? I saw you move.” Tessa’s voice. It didn’t sound normal; it wasn’t coming from the room, but from powerful speakers far above her.
She got up and tried to focus. The room she was in was large, that much she could tell.
“Vivian, I really didn’t want any of this to happen, it wasn’t in my plan. If Director Blanchard had just known when to quit, to recognize she had lost—if she had known that it was impossible to bring down a god, none of this would have happened to you or your friends. You would be back in Roue, living the rest of your life rich and comfortable. It’s what I wanted for you. I swear.”
“Where are you!” Vivian screamed, furious, and showered Tessa with insults—some in the shape of words she had never used before, only heard from Garros or the soldiers in the base.
The other occupant of the room shifted in the darkness.
The lights came on, and Vivian recognized the room. She had been here before, but had seen it from another angle. This was the huge container, the pit, used to keep Subject Edward, deep in the bowels of Zenith.
“I’ll kill you! I swear I’ll kill you!” she yelled, her voice giving out.
“No, you don’t understand: you can’t kill me,” she said. “I’m part of something big, Vivian, literally—and I don’t mean Ronald’s stupid plan. I’m part of the one that will rise. I’ll rise, and then I’ll move on from this world. You can’t kill me because I’m not a human being like you.”
“What are you talking about?” Vivian asked, finally realizing the insanity she should have recognized earlier.
“Everything will come together soon,” said Tessa. “But I want you to know that I really liked you. I wouldn’t say that about many of the others. I wanted to be your friend, and I still want you to stay alive for as long as you can—you just can’t be a part of the director’s plan. You’re gonna have to stay here until we’re sure that she’s learned that she can’t win against me—against us.”
Vivian heard a groan to her right and finally saw the other occupants of the pit: to her right, Dr. Mustang, cowering in the far end of the circular pit behind a tall h
ill of herbs and sawdust; on the other side, Felix, flat on his back, barely breathing but alive.
“We’ll see what happens now; I can’t promise you anything, but I might come back for you,” said Tessa through the speakers. “But if I don’t, if I can’t, I’d keep an eye on Lance; he’s the one you should be worried about right now. Zenith has spent too much time without Subject Edward since Blanchard killed the last one. Two birds.”
The line was cut off, and then she could only hear Dr. Mustang’s sobs.
She walked towards him and saw that he was covering his left arm.
“Dr. Mustang . . . what did she do to you?”
“Please don’t let it happen,” he whispered, his voice a terrified squeak. He looked up at her, and his eyes were swollen and yellowed by disease. “Please don’t let this happen to me.”
He uncovered his arm.
It had grown large and heavy, skin thick and cracked, gray, fingers long and twisted into sharp, deadly points.
Monstrous.
Chapter 15
Monsters at the Gates
It was difficult to help someone who didn’t wish to be helped; this was true about every person Ezra had met since his arrival at Clairvert—when lives began to change, or end.
He had been blamed for Malachi’s death, and only his teammates believed him when he claimed that it had not been his doing, either by act or will: it had just happened, and he hadn’t been able to wipe the memory from his head. The effects of the trauma were deep and cruel: every time he thought about it again, his mind made it more gruesome—it was a reflex of strange guilt which he could ignore intellectually, but not sentimentally.
In the end, the only reality had been the aftermath: Malachi, a strong, noble man, who had been hurting for a long time, reduced to nothing but maroon scorched earth in the blink of an eye.
Such is their power.
The Unfinished World (The Armor of God Book 2) Page 21
