by Jon S. Lewis
Pierce raised his M4A1 assault rifle and was about to fire when Oz wrapped his hand around the barrel and ripped it away.
“Do you know what kind of armor those things have? Bullets would bounce off them and into the crowd. Stop trying to be a hero and get inside!”
“But—”
“Now!”
Pierce hesitated, but Oz shoved the rifle into his chest and watched Pierce run into the building with the others.
The scarabs were part of the Omega Foundation’s defense system, and they had been activated when the wall was breached. Waves of energy erupted from the palms of their hands. The blasts ripped into the sidewalk, sending clumps of asphalt into the air as the crowd screamed. Nervous police officers fired back, sending a hail of bullets into the sky, but they ricocheted off the scarabs just as Oz had predicted.
Colt’s heart pounded as the scarabs drew closer, red eyes pulsing as wings pounded and flames shot out from the heels of their jet boots. He was about to head into the building when he spotted a kid with a hoverboard standing behind one of the barricades. Before the kid knew what was happening, Colt grabbed the board, slipped his feet into the bindings, and took off.
“Where’re you going?” Oz shouted.
“To create a diversion!”
As Colt raced toward the scarabs, one raised a hand and took aim. At the last possible moment Colt leaned back, and the energy blast ripped through the air where his head had been just moments before. The bolt struck a building across the street, tearing away part of the façade. Someone screamed, and Grey swung the ABS around, moving it to shield a girl and her dog from debris the size of a Volkswagen Beetle. Concrete rained down, bringing the massive ABS to its knees, but Grey kept it from toppling over.
Colt banked hard and pulled an EMP grenade from a pouch in his weapons belt as one of the scarabs reached for him. The grenade was magnetized, so when it came in contact with the robot’s exoskeleton, it latched on. There was a flare of light as tendrils of energy spread across the scarab like tiny bolts of lightning. The machine convulsed. Its eye faded and its body went limp as it fell, landing on a garbage truck that buckled under the weight.
:: CHAPTER 39 ::
Colt led the other scarabs down a four-lane street, weaving around flying buses and skirting hovercabs. He whizzed past drivers covered in scales and fur. Some had horns, and others had more eyes than he could count. One even had two heads, but there was no time to gawk—not with a pair of ten-ton killing machines chasing after him.
He knew that a moving target was more difficult to hit than something stationary, so he tried to change his elevation, diving below the flow of traffic and then shooting high above. He narrowly missed what looked like a 1962 Corvette, though the hovercar roared through the skyline without any wheels. The driver blared his horn as he cranked his steering wheel to the left. Momentum took the Corvette into oncoming traffic, but the driver managed to swerve back into his lane before he collided with a flying sanitation truck.
One of the scarabs sent an energy blast that missed Colt but hit an animated advertisement for an apparel store. The screen exploded in a shower of sparks that lit up the night like a burst of fireworks. Colt ducked, covering his face with his arms as glass pelted his uniform. The shards cut through fabric and nicked his skin. Simulation or not, he felt pain, and the blood looked real.
There was a break in the buildings, and he took a hard left, pulling in front of a delivery truck at the last second. The scarabs tried to follow, but the truck smashed into one of the machines, sending it reeling into the side of a building. There was an explosion, and people screamed as the scarab fell, ripping through an awning before it landed in a crumbled heap.
Its eyes faded, but Colt didn’t stick around to see if it was going to get back up. He raced down an alley that felt like a narrow canyon. An occasional light flickered over a back door or in a random window, but it didn’t help much. If it weren’t for the glow beneath his hoverboard, he would have been flying blind.
For a moment the fragrance of oregano and basil overpowered the stench of garbage as he rushed past a man sweeping the back stoop of what must have been a restaurant. Colt hoped the red stains on the man’s apron were marinara sauce, not blood. The sweeper looked confused when he saw Colt, but when he caught sight of the scarab he dropped his broom, ran inside, and slammed the door shut.
Colt was startled when something jumped from a stack of crates and into the shadows behind a garbage bin. His arms flailed as he tried to keep from falling off his hoverboard. The bindings held tight, and he managed to maintain his balance as his heart pounded and his breathing grew shallow. He looked over his shoulder and saw the red eye of the scarab pulsing in the darkness.
The machine raised both hands, and waves of energy shot from its palms, cutting through the darkness in jagged streaks. One blast hit a light pole, ripping it from the ground before it twirled through the alley and into a wall. The second grazed Colt’s rib cage, singeing his uniform before it struck a rusted 1968 Plymouth Valiant. The impact lifted the car off the pavement, flipping it over before it landed upside down.
Metal crunched and glass shattered, but Colt kept going. He thought about ditching the hoverboard and trying to escape through one of the buildings, but he knew the scarab would follow. If any civilians inside got injured, points would be deducted, and Colt didn’t want to be responsible for the team failing. Besides, escape was never an option. He was a decoy, which meant he needed to stay out in the open.
It was almost too late when Colt noticed that the alley was about to end. He banked hard to the left until he was practically parallel with the ground. His board scraped the brick wall and sparks flew before he straightened out and cut between two buildings. Moments later he was in a crouch, bursting back into the street.
“Sorry!” he shouted over his shoulder, after he narrowly missed a woman who was walking some kind of dog with a spiked tail and tusks. When he turned back around, he was staring at a billboard fixed to the back of a flatbed truck, and he was close enough to reach out and touch it. He managed to jump out of the way, but the scarab didn’t have time to react. It burst through the sign and ripped it from the back of the vehicle.
The momentum threw the sign into a storefront across the street, and the truck rolled three times before it crashed into a fire hydrant that burst like a geyser.
Somehow the scarab kept coming.
Colt wondered if the team would get points deducted because of the wreck. He needed to get off the street and away from the crowds to avoid any more collateral damage, but he didn’t know where to go.
Thanks to the police barricades, traffic had come to a standstill both on the skyway overhead and in the streets down below. Frustrated drivers blared their horns and shouted out their windows. One driver tried to make a U-turn, but he was sideswiped by a delivery truck.
The Omega Foundation loomed over the cityscape. Smoke poured from a shattered window at least twenty stories overhead, as well as from the gaping hole down near the entrance. Colt hoped that everything inside was going according to plan. He sped toward the building with the scarab right behind him, dodging and weaving through the vehicles.
The only weapons Colt had were the EMP grenades, and from that distance and at that speed, the odds of hitting the scarab weren’t very good. Besides, if he missed, there was a chance that he could take out at least one hovercar, if not more.
Then he had an idea.
Colt raced toward the Omega Foundation, knees bent and head forward. The scarab fired again and blasts of energy slammed into random windows, sending a shower of glass to the empty sidewalk below. Jaw clenched and eyes focused, Colt kicked down with his back foot, and the nose of the hoverboard shot straight up. Instead of following the trajectory of the street, he was climbing the building.
The scarab gave chase.
Flames leapt out from a broken window overhead. Colt figured that Intellitron was holed up, but if his plan was going to
work, he had to time it just right. He reached for one of the magnetic EMP grenades, set the timer, and let it fall from his fingers where it latched on to the metal frame of his hoverboard. The tiny green light flashed as it counted down to detonation.
Quick as he could, he fished out five more grenades and set them as well. He closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and hit the release button on his bindings. They unlatched, and Colt kicked hard. He dived through the open window as the first grenade detonated. There was a flash and an explosion of light and sound, setting off a chain reaction. The hoverboard sputtered and died, falling as waves of electricity leapt at the last scarab, engulfing it in crackling light. Its back arched and fingers twitched as its body started to convulse.
Air rushed from Colt’s lungs as he hit the floor, flipping over backward. He crashed into a desk, sending papers flying like a swirl of confetti before he came to rest against the wall. Groaning, he opened his eyes and saw Intellitron.
:: CHAPTER 40 ::
Intellitron was taller than Oz, with a broad chest, narrow waist, and long arms that ended in four fingers. Its body was wrapped in alloy casing, and its eyes glowed an angry red as metal tentacles shot out from a compartment in its back. They writhed like cobras under a trance. One grabbed Jomtong, who dropped his Sig Sauer P228 as the robot slammed him into a table.
Colt barely had time to react as Intellitron threw an office chair that smashed into the wall over his head. He rolled out of the way, wincing as he landed behind a desk that was flipped over on its side. It wasn’t much in the way of cover, but it was better than nothing.
His hand fell to his rib cage, and when he pulled it away, it was covered in blood. It didn’t make sense. There wasn’t supposed to be any risk of injury—at least not serious injury—but his side felt like it was on fire every time he took a breath. Colt hoped he hadn’t broken a rib, but even if he had, he had to focus. The mission wasn’t over.
Nearby, Danielle had her computer hardwired into the building’s network. Her fingers danced across the keys as she tried to shut down the system before Intellitron launched any of the nuclear missiles. Oz stood over her, holding an M4A1 assault rifle, but the bullets were useless against the robot’s armored shell.
“I can’t break through,” she said.
“Keep trying!” Oz discarded the rifle and picked up a rocket launcher, firing the FGM-148 Javelin anti-tank missile. It was designed to penetrate armor up to 60 mm thick, and it hissed as it sped toward the robot. Intellitron knocked it aside with one of its mechanical tentacles as though it were batting a fly with a newspaper. The missile exploded, blowing another hole in the building. The floor shook and walls swayed as a heavy wind whipped through the room, sending papers swirling.
“Your attempt to override my primary function is futile,” the robot said, shooting a tentacle toward Oz. It picked him up and threw him against a wall, where he slumped to the floor.
Danielle’s eyes were wide as another tentacle crashed down on her computer. Broken components flew in every direction as the same tentacle coiled around her arms, pinning them to her sides. She screamed, kicking her legs as she tried to break free. The robot held her in the air so that her face was mere inches from its glowing eyes. It regarded her for a moment, as though studying her at a molecular level. Then the tentacle moved toward the gaping hole.
Colt felt a wave of panic as instinct took over. More tentacles shot toward him, but time felt like it had slowed. He leapt out of the way of one and then another before wrapping his hands around the tentacle that held Danielle. Sparks flew as he ripped it from the machine’s back. It released its grip, sending Danielle rolling across the floor.
Intellitron lashed out at Colt, and tentacles whipped across his face and chest, cutting into his skin. It grabbed him by the shoulders and drove its metal forehead into his nose. Blood splattered across the front of Colt’s uniform like crimson raindrops as another tentacle wrapped around his ankles. Before he realized what had happened, he was dangling upside down.
There was a series of sounds like metal hitting metal, and Colt looked up to see five EMP grenades latched on to Intellitron’s body. There was an explosion followed by a blinding flash as electricity pulsed across the robot.
Colt fell on his head as the machine staggered to a keyboard, where it started to type faster than Colt could track. “Initiating launch sequence,” it said in a synthesized voice.
Colt rose to his feet, his head swimming as he tried to maintain his balance. The cadets didn’t have enough firepower to stop Intellitron. Not knowing what else to do, he launched at the machine. Like a linebacker, he wrapped his arms around its waist and drove with his legs, heading straight for the gap in the wall.
“No!” Danielle cried out, but it was too late. Colt jumped off the ledge.
As it fell, the robot tried to latch on to the wall, but the bricks crumbled. Colt thought about closing his eyes and waiting for the simulation to fade, but he had a nagging suspicion that if he died inside the scenario he was really going to die.
He drove his elbow into Intellitron’s chest and pushed off with his hands, trying to create separation so he could get a better view of his surroundings. They were about thirty feet above a crowded skyway filled with hovercraft, and they were closing fast. Traffic was backed up for blocks, and just below a semi tractor-trailer was stuck behind a hovercycle with a sidecar. It rumbled in idle as smoke poured from its exhaust pipes.
Twenty feet.
Colt glanced up and saw the other cadets watching from high above, the wind tousling their hair as they stood in the gap.
Ten feet.
The trailer was close enough that Colt could see the rust spots and scratches. He braced for impact, and with a thud his chest hit the truck. Oxygen exploded from his lungs, and if his ribs weren’t broken before, he was fairly certain they were now. His fingernails scraped across the paint as momentum took him over the edge, but somehow he managed to hold on.
As he dangled over the side of the trailer, Colt felt something latch on to his ankle. He looked down to see Intellitron hanging on by one of its mechanical tentacles. The machine was heavy, and Colt’s grasp started to slip. He tried to kick free, but a second tentacle grabbed him around the waist as a third took hold of his arm. The robot pulled itself up, trying to climb over him like a spider.
Colt looked down and saw a fire truck speeding toward them, lights flashing as it tore through the sky. He counted to three and let go.
:: CHAPTER 41 ::
The atmosphere shimmered before it disappeared, replaced by the sterile white of the simulation room. The sudden shift back to reality was disorienting, as the frenzied sounds of the city were replaced by the soft hum of air rushing through the vents overhead.
Colt’s heart pounded and his hands shook as they ran over his ribs. His side was tender to the touch, and the blood that stained his uniform was warm and sticky. He wondered if Agent O’Keefe had lied to them about the danger, or if there had been some kind of mix-up when the instructor programmed the simulation. Either way, thanks to Colt’s fall, the simple act of breathing had become painful.
As he looked up, Colt noticed that the other cadets were staring at him. “What?” he said.
“You’re one of them, aren’t you?” Pierce asked, stepping forward. It was more of an accusation than a question. “I mean, it’s either that or you’re some kind of freak mutant. Nobody could do what you did in that simulation.”
Colt’s heart raced. “What are you talking about?”
“Don’t play stupid,” Pierce said. “My dad warned me that shapeshifters would try and infiltrate this place, and he was right.”
“Whatever.” Colt fought the urge to run. What if the metamorphosis had begun? Had his skin been replaced by green scales? Were his eyes glowing? He was desperate for a mirror, but he stood there unmoving, trying to play it cool.
“Then how did you tear the tentacle off that thing?” Pierce asked. “And how did you surv
ive jumping out of a skyscraper without a parachute?”
Colt relaxed, though just a little. If there had been a physical change, Pierce would have mentioned that first. “It’s called luck,” he said. “Or maybe it was adrenaline. How do I know? I just reacted.”
“Liars won’t look you in the eye, and they get sarcastic,” Pierce said. “You know, to try and throw you off.”
Colt made a point of looking Pierce directly in the eye. “What, so now you’re an interrogation expert too? I’m surprised they haven’t given you Lobo’s job already.”
Everyone laughed.
“All you’re doing is proving my point,” Pierce said as his face flushed red.
“What’s wrong with you?” Danielle asked. “Besides the fact that you’re obviously jealous.”
“Of him? Yeah, right.”
“Be careful,” Colt said. “You didn’t look her in the eye. And you have to admit, it was kind of sarcastic.”
There was more laughter as Pierce clenched his hands. “Don’t try and flip this around, McAlister. You’re not going to think it’s funny when the Depart of Alien Affairs shows up and takes you away in handcuffs.”
Pierce’s father was on the Senate Committee on Intelligence, which oversaw the DAA, but Colt doubted that Pierce had that kind of pull. Still, the idea of being led out of the academy in handcuffs was unnerving.
“If Colt was a shapeshifter, then why did he fight against the Thule back in Arizona?” Danielle said. “That doesn’t make any sense.”
“How am I supposed to know? Maybe it was a setup.”
“I didn’t think it was possible, but maybe you really are as dumb as you look,” Oz said, surprising Colt by coming to his defense.
“Then how do you explain what he did?” Pierce asked. “I mean, there was no way we were going to beat that scenario, and then Colt shows up and takes out Intellitron with his bare hands? Give me a break. He’s one of them.”
