by J. C. Staudt
I felt weak in the knees, and found myself having to sit heavily on the front steps to keep from falling over. Soon I heard a clamor from within, smelled the hot metal tang of energy weapons and the wailing song of death. The doors open behind me, and the synod poured out with my Evelyns at their backs. I didn’t rise or turn. It was over.
“You look… unimpressed,” said Jawhead.
“Sorry to disappoint you,” I said, unable to shake the feeling that I’d screwed over the entire world. “I’m ready for my consequences now.”
“Fate has seen fit to give us this seat,” he said. “We have seen fit to let you go. After all, you did succeed in taking the capital… before you had a change of heart. Deliver us the Regent, and you may go.”
“I don’t have the Regent.”
“Neither do we. Which is why you will flush him out for us.”
“I thought you said he wouldn’t get far.”
“He hasn’t. And if you deviate from my instructions this time, we will destroy not only the Regent, but you and all your friends as well. The choice is yours, Mr. Jakes.”
“I feel like a contestant in one of those carnival games. Which door do I choose?”
“There is only one door, Mr. Jakes. It is the only choice you have.”
“Okay,” I said, standing up. “Instruct me.”
“The secret passage behind the throne room leads to a series of escape tubes. These tubes jettison through Roathea’s underside. The Regent believes they need only make it there to survive. However, even now he is refusing to leave without his family. Some of your friends are refusing to leave without you, while others among them are not so swayed.
“Follow them down the passage. Tell them you’ve escaped. Make sure the Regent is the first to use his escape tube. Our gunships are already waiting below to destroy him. When the Regent is dead, we will deactivate those gunships, providing you and your companions with clear skies by which to make your escape. Be aware that the gunships will remain active until the Regent is detected and eliminated. If and when you do escape, I advise you to leave Roathea and never return. The New Regency will not tolerate your presence here again, Mr. Jakes.”
My choice seemed easy. I could betray some guy I didn’t really like, or cause the deaths of most everyone I did—some of whom I liked quite a lot. It should’ve been an easier choice than turning myself in to the Civs had been, but it wasn’t. I estimated the synod’s capacity for lying to be on par with Yingler’s—that is, approximately infinite. Somehow, I believed them anyway. Mostly because I didn’t have a choice. There was only one way to get out of this: give the synod what they wanted.
“I’ll do it,” I said, turning to trudge past the Evelyns on my way back toward the throne room.
“Best hurry, Mr. Jakes. Not all your friends are intent on staying here to rescue you.”
The ones who leave without me can kiss my keister, I thought, hoping no one would, but bearing a few possible candidates in mind.
The throne room was painted with a new layer of blood when I arrived. The bodies of the palace guards were strewn across the room, dropped as they fled for their lives, their Red-and-Tans now mostly blue-violet. I navigated the minefield of bodies to reach the rear wall, where I pulled back the curtain to reveal a sliver of doorjamb no thicker than a fingernail.
Pushing on the wall caused a door-shaped section to slide back about two feet, revealing a side passage that curved left into pitch-darkness. The motion made no sound, the stone door as light as if it were made of foam. I took a deep breath before I entered, hoping the entrance was the only section of the passage that smelled like a moldy foot.
No such luck. I kept my hand on the wall to keep from keeling over as I followed the passage’s every turn and staircase. Sure enough, I soon heard voices ahead of me. I made sure to call out before I came around the corner.
“Hello!”
“Who’s there?” someone shouted.
“It’s me, Muller,” I said, stepping into the open room. Someone pointed a bright beam of light into my face. “Get that thing off me,” I said, shielding my eyes. “I’m going blind over here.”
When the light moved away, I saw that there were other lights too. People were waving them around to examine the room and each other. Someone came forward, and before I knew it I felt Sable’s arms around me. I could hardly see her, but I could smell her hair and the lingering odor of prison-scum in her clothes.
“Thank the heavens you made it,” she said. “I thought for sure those robotic freaks were going to have their way with you.”
“Only one person who’s allowed to have their way with me,” I said, grinning.
“Why didn’t you take a flashlight?” Thomas asked.
“From where?”
“There was a rack of them mounted to the wall, just inside the passage door.”
“Of course there were,” I said with a frown.
“Alright, Muller’s here. Let’s go,” said a man’s voice. It was Blaylocke’s, I knew—I would’ve recognized those sour grapes anywhere.
Someone pointed their flashlight at him as he was opening one of the cylinder doors. He stepped into the escape tube and shut the door, standing there like a wire inside a glass fuse.
“No. Don’t do that,” I said, rushing over to him. I pounded on the door until he unlocked it, at which point I flung it open and yanked him out by the collar.
“I thought we were making progress, you and I,” I said. “And here you are, still denser than a can of beans. Nobody is using these heavens-forsaken tubes. Not a one of you.”
“What are you on about?” said Blaylocke, giving me his mean face. “Get off me, and stay out of my way.” He tried to shove me, but I wouldn’t let go.
“The first person to use these tubes is gonna get shot out of the sky. And the second person, and the third… until that person happens to be the Regent.”
“That’s a bunch of hogwash,” said Blaylocke.
“It isn’t. Listen to me. The synod sent me down here to make sure the Regent went first. They said once they got him, they’d let the rest of us go.”
“How are they going to know which pod he’s in?”
“I have no idea… but they sounded pretty sure they would.”
Max folded his arms. “I’ll remind you that I’m not leaving here without my family.”
“Welp. Looks like we’re stuck as a gopher in a cave-in,” said Ezra. “Too bad we didn’t think this through. Could’ve left sooner, and kept…” His voice broke off.
“Angus,” I finished, getting an idea. “I shut down the gun emplacements when he tried taking off in the Galeskimmer. If we can get ourselves to a ship, there’s a chance the synod has overlooked that. We might be able to take off from above.”
“Might? Those aren’t the kind of odds I’m comfortable with,” said Blaylocke.
“Then go ahead and take your chances with the tubes,” I said, waving at them.
“If you will permit me to share a question…” Rindhi said, lifting a finger.
“I’ll allow it.”
“The answer may be more obvious than we realize,” he said. “While we may be uncertain about whether the synod has reactivated the gun emplacements, do you know for a fact that they have also removed your voiceprint from the legion’s programming?”
“I’m sure they’ve—” I stopped myself mid-sentence. “No, I don’t know that.”
I pulled the remote from my pocket and mashed the button. “Evelyn. Destroy all remote bluewave control units in sight.” I let up. We all sat still and listened. The palace exterior was too far away to allow us anything but the faintest sounds. All we heard for a few long, excruciating seconds was silence.
Then there was a thud.
A clank.
Silence again.
Unfortunately, there was no way to know whether those sounds had had anything to do with the command I’d given.
“Let me try something else,” I said. I presse
d the call button again said, “Evelyn. Kill all employees of Maclin Automation. Kill all members of the synod.”
We waited again. No sounds this time.
“I really hope something just happened,” I said. “We’re going to have to go above sooner or later. Do you own an airship, Max?”
“We may not need an airship,” said Chaz.
I hadn’t noticed Chaz was gone until I saw him crawling down from a ceiling vent beside one of the tubes. His feet hit the floor, and he wiped his brow with a sleeve.
“Tinkering away up there, huh?” I said. “What’s cooking?”
I saw the geeky grin spreading across his face and knew he had something good for me. “There are jet engines on the back of these things. They’re not made to fly, really—just to shoot the pods straight down at high speeds, and then trigger a parachute once they’re clear of the bottom.”
“Like upside-down rockets,” I said.
“Exactly. They have limited steering capability, but I emphasize the word limited.”
“So how does that help us?”
“It doesn’t. Unless…”
“The tubes.”
Chaz nodded. His grin was sparkling like a sunlit river now. “I pointed my flashlight up there and didn’t see an end. I’m pretty sure the tubes go all the way up.”
“Max, do you know if that’s true?”
“Haven’t the foggiest,” he said.
“One way to find out. Everyone, give us a hand.”
With a whole lot of struggle and some finagling, we managed to hoist the pod out, flip it over, and put it back in the tube. It was by no means lightweight, but it wasn’t nearly as heavy as I’d expected it to be. The lack of substance in its frame gave me pause. By the time we were done, everyone was hot and tired, with half a dozen pinched fingers and pulled muscles between us—especially on the primitive side of things.
The Regent was nervous. “You realize how incredibly ridiculous this is… don’t you?”
“How come you and your family didn’t use these when we showed up?” I asked.
“I would never put my family in such danger. These tubes are meant as a last resort. I don’t trust the things to fall, let alone carry someone up.”
“Well, this one’s about to do just that.”
“You’re not going to go up in it, are you?” Sable asked.
I looked at her like she should’ve known better than to ask that question. “Someone has to get off this rock and warn the… I can’t believe I’m saying this right now… warn the Civs. If people are still mustering on Grimsley, that means they don’t know the synod is here. If they don’t know that, I’m willing to bet no one has any idea there are two more legions waiting for them at the Regent’s palace. They’ll get destroyed.”
“So let them,” said Blaylocke.
“Believe me—normally, I would. But if they’re calling all the privateers to Grimsley, that means my Ostelle is there, and so are my mom and dad. I’d enjoy watching Kupfer get his, but I’m not about to watch my parents follow him into a trap. I’m starting to believe the synod planned it all to happen this way. They may be old, but they didn’t build the biggest corporation in the world with mutton for brains. So it looks like either I crash and burn, or we all do.”
“Before you go shooting yourself to the moon, perhaps we might take a look outside and try to determine whether the coast is clear?” suggested Thomas.
“Tommy, I admire the rational part of your mind, however miniscule it may be. Feel free to do so, but realize there’s a very good chance the Evelyns aren’t programmed to listen to me anymore. Which means that as soon as you go sticking your head out, they’re going to pop it like a grape.”
“For a chance to get us all out of here instead of sending you up alone, it would be an honor,” he said.
Then Thomas did maybe the bravest thing I’d ever seen him do. He jogged all the way back up the tunnel, by himself. Then he crept through the throne room and down the hallway to peer out the front doors and see what was going on outside. We waited.
Five minutes later, we heard fast footsteps. Thomas careened around the corner, panting and heaving. “They’re still… in control. The synod is… deploying the legions. The Evelyns are… intact.”
“Well, shucks. I guess I’m going up.”
“Don’t do this… Mr. Jakes. You’ll die.”
“Tom, you of all people should know that I refuse to die.”
I swung the door open and climbed into the pod, flipping myself upside-down and shoving my feet into the metal stirrups. After several more words of warning and some not-so-subtle objections, I managed to calm everyone down enough to say my goodbyes. “You’re all champions for sticking with me,” I said. “Not you, Max. You’ve been a real pain in the ass. Anyway, I’m sorry I have to leave again without the rest of you. If I live through what I’m about to do, I’ll come back for you. Promise. If it’s the last thing I ever do, I’m coming back.”
No one said anything.
“Okay, someone shut the door. The blood’s all going to my head and I feel like I’m about to pass out.”
Blaylocke came forward to oblige me. “You’d better not even think about dying, Mull.”
“Give me your bluewave comm. I’ll call you if I don’t.”
He was frowning as he handed me the comm and shut the door. I locked it and let my head hang back. Thomas was biting his nails. Chaz and Blaylocke were moving to the back of the room and covering their ears. Thorley gave me a salute while Eliza frowned at me. Sable and Ezra both had tears in their eyes. I smiled at her, but the glass was already fogging up.
It felt terrible to know I’d come all the way to Roathea to find her, only to have to leave her behind again. I would’ve let them all come with me if I’d felt like the escape pods were safe. But I wouldn’t know that until I tried this thing out for myself.
There was a joystick on either side of me and a single button on the dashboard—a big shiny red one with black and yellow stripes taped around it. It was the kind of button that was supposed to deter you from pressing it. It was also the kind of button I couldn’t look at without wanting to. I am the dumbest person I know, I thought, mashing it with a fist.
The restraints flicked into the walls. I fell, dropping like a pencil through a hose. My stomach shot to my knees. This was not the plan. The plan was for the button to fire up the engine, not to release the pod. It had done both, however, and I was falling too fast for the engine to keep up.
It was then that I knew I was going to die. The pod was going to use all its thrust just to slow me down, and there would be no fuel left to push me to the top. It’s been nice knowing me, I lied.
But the jet engine didn’t die. The fire didn’t go out. The thrust was scorching up the sides of the tube as I fell, the whole pod rumbling like an upset stomach. But the architects who’d constructed the system deserve some credit, because the pod fit the tube like a bullet in a barrel.
The glass was completely fogged over now. It was so hot inside the capsule I felt like my hair was melting into the headrest. When I leaned forward to escape the heat, I inadvertently pushed on the joysticks. I hadn’t known the joysticks could move.
The jet whined, and the pod shook like an angry hornet. I began to slow gradually as the jet accelerated. I had flashbacks of my descent toward the Churn in that blasted old hovercell—slowing to a stop, and then rising again as the engines built power. This time, there would be no rising.
I could barely manipulate the left joystick, thanks to my bad arm. In a pinch, I used my knee instead, shoving the joysticks as far forward as they would go and hoping it wouldn’t blow the engine. It didn’t.
Before I knew it, my stomach had left my knees found a new home in my throat. I was going so fast I don’t remember passing the tube room where everyone was standing. But as it turned out, Chaz had been right.
The pod launched up through the palace roof with a thunk and a puff of flame. I was soaring thr
ough open air, my head vibrating like a buzzsaw. Fins flicked out—not wings, mind you—fins. Little miniature triangles with tiny flaps and ailerons, which I guess might’ve passed for wings if the capsule had been the size of a beer bottle.
Morning was only a few hours away, and I was shooting through a dark sky in a rocket with all the agility of a paper airplane. But I was gone, and that was the important thing. I had no idea whether the gun emplacements had been reactivated, let alone whether they’d detected me as I left Roathea’s windspace. What had seemed a wholly unlikely proposition now felt more like a minor accomplishment. Taking off had been the easy part. How in the heavens was I supposed to land this thing?
Oh yeah, the parachutes. The ones these pods were supposed to be equipped with. But a new button had not appeared on the dashboard; there was still only the single big red one, and I’d already pressed that. Just to be safe, I pressed it again. The engine shut off.
I yelled the foulest word I knew, then pressed it again. Nothing this time.
Told you you were an idiot, I said to myself. Clearly it had been the button’s fault for making me want to press it.
I felt gravity begin to weigh on the capsule as I moved in a slow arc from nearly vertical to almost horizontal. I tried wiggling the joysticks—forward, backward, side to side. That seemed to do something, slight as it was. I raged out, swinging my head and slamming my fists against the windows, wondering how I’d managed to survive this long without dropping dead of stupidity. It wasn’t the first time I’d ever been angry with an inanimate object. It was the first time I’d done it while being propelled to my death inside that object.
On the plus side, I was heading in a relatively Grimsley-ward direction. At least when I crashed, it would be somewhere near the mass of airships that were gathering to commit unintentional suicide in the morning. I tried the red button a few more times and found that, while it was still fun to press, it still did nothing.
The pod had soon leveled out and begun its slow downward arc toward what I hoped was Grimsley, rather than complete and utter nothingness. You can imagine my terror when the capsule reached such a steep angle that I felt like I was standing on the weight of my own two feet again. The pod must have had some kind of gyroscopic sensor, because when I was about to reach the point of pure nosedive, there was a puff, and a jolt.
