by Ethan Cooper
Are you one of the good guys?
I descend the cockpit steps and stumble into one of the side chairs. Phoenix bypasses the steps by dropping in. He’s in the pilot’s chair a moment later, his hands dancing over the controls. Video screens flare to life. He pushes a red button and the Lady Luck’s docking thrusters begin to roar. Phoenix slams a lever forward and then we’re underway.
Slowly underway.
We weren’t quick enough, and we’re not moving fast enough to clear the dock before people get onboard. There are cameras all over the boat, allowing me to watch on the viewscreens as several shadowy figures leap onto the deck.
Phoenix says, “Lockdown.” The cockpit hatch closes with a thunk, and I hear a similar sound a moment later. Hopefully that was the other compartment closing. I left my backpack in there, and I’d really hate for somebody to steal it.
“Dammit, this isn’t fast enough,” I say, watching on the viewscreens as several more intruders leap onto the deck.
“I know. I thought I told you to strap in.”
“Sorry, I was busy watching our new friends.” I fumble for the seatbelt and shoulder harness. “What about you?”
“I’m the captain. I make the rules. Hold onto something. In the next five seconds, we’re either going to be moving very fast, or we’re going to die in a really big explosion.”
I brace one hand against the side of the cockpit, and with the other I grab the back of his seat. Some part of me wants to grab his shoulder, or even his hand, to make some sort of human connection, just in case this is the end.
Phoenix raises the PLAN C red metal cover and flips the switch underneath.
60/Obliterated
2195.12.31/Night
The boat lurches forward like it’s a projectile fired from a gun. I’m slammed back into my seat. The viewscreens tell the story: bodies tumble along the upper deck, leaving dotted lines of red wherever they hit. We run over one of them. He’d been hanging onto the railing near the bow. Even though the engine’s whine is deafening, I can feel his body thump underneath the hull. Another one flew over top of us at just the right angle to be caught in the flame path of the thrusters. There had been some sort of explosion at that point—probably some explosive device he’d been carrying. A few of them manage to hold on for a while to the side railings, but the ocean takes them. One—a female—gets her hand caught in the railing, which breaks her arm when we accelerate, but she’s unable to let go. We drag her until some part of her limb finally gives way, her broken, unconscious body dropping into the churn of our wake.
Whatever Plan C was, it only lasts about twenty seconds. Enough to distance us from the shore. Enough to rid of us of all intruders. But not enough to feel safe.
“That’s it?” I ask. “That’s Plan C? How many times can we do that?”
(why are you asking)
(dumb questions)
Phoenix looks over at his shoulder, his eyes drifting to where my hand is white-knuckled to the edge of his seat. “Plan C is a one-shot. I’m going to go check things topside. You can stay here if it makes you feel safer.”
I follow him out on deck.
The deck of the Lady Luck is cleaner than I expected. There are blood splashes in a few areas, but spray from the ocean has washed everything else away.
“Looks like you’re the only stowaway left onboard,” Phoenix says after we’ve completed our search.
I ignore him, suddenly transfixed as I look back toward the island.
Burning.
Glowing.
Dying.
Life becomes unlife.
On a microscopic level, everything is falling apart. Solids burst and crumble into so much dust, then into smaller particles and fragments invisible to the naked eye. Subatomic byproducts pillaring into the air, countless columns of expelled energy. It’s a coughing mass of wriggling cloud-worms that doesn’t as much burn upward as it does pulse, like some necrotic organ, exposed in surgery then left to rot. The end of the world as I know it unfolds before me. The island is quivering and groaning, surrendering to the ultimate glitch.
We might be a couple of kilometers away. Maybe less.
The whisper in my ear: This is hell. There is no escape.
But for now, I’m alive.
I tell myself that Aran and his technomancers fixed the Rusted Whale, and that JACK, 2-85, PIIX, and 7 are onboard. They survived everything that the island could throw at them. They’re alive.
I tell myself this.
I tell myself that, despite all I’ve been through, the baby inside me is still alive, and that one day, I’ll hold it in my arms.
I tell myself that I’ll know what to do when we get to the mainland. That my path will be clearer than it was on the island.
(find athara syl)
No. I tell myself that Calamity Carl is back on the island, and that I’ve seen the last of him and his brand of insanity. His secrets. His Devilgod.
I tell myself that I’ll remember who I was. And if I don’t, that’s okay, because even if I don’t know who I am, I know what I’m not.
This world makes victims of us all, but I am not a victim. That is my choice.
My name is (2)syl. I don’t know who I am.
But I am alive.
And I am not alone.
Phoenix is beside me. “It’s safer down below.”
“I’m staying up here.”
“To watch that?”
“Yes.”
We don’t talk for a while after that. I watch parts of the city implode to the steady song of the Lady Luck’s docking thrusters.
“Your friends, I’m sure they made it off,” Phoenix says. “Nothing seems to kill those technomancers anyway.”
My friends aren’t technomancers. “Oh, there’s always a way,” I reply, thinking of 7.
A bright flash to one side of the island. We don’t hear the boom of the explosion until quite a few seconds later. If every flash like that didn’t mean that another few hundred people had died, it’d be almost pretty. Everywhere I look, the city is glowing gray.
I can feel Phoenix’s eyes on me. Damn skinsuits.
I’m about to say something to him, but—
bzzzzzZZZZt!!!!!
—I don’t get a chance, because there’s static, and a detonation.
It’s the entire island this time.
A perfect bubble of light races outward. Should I really be able to see a shockwave like that? I don’t know what type of energy release that is, but it envelops the entire city quickly, expanding outward, out into the ocean, a wall of gray.
“Get down there!” Phoenix shouts, pointing toward the cockpit.
I’m running across the deck, Phoenix right behind me, but I know we’re not going to be fast enough. We’re not far enough away. I hear a great grinding sound.
“Too late,” I say. “Hold onto something.”
Phoenix puts one hand on the railing, and the other arm goes around my waist, pulling me sideways to him. He turns my head away, and—
—the shockwave hits us. My entire world is shifted violently, teeth and brain rattled, whacked to the side. Hair whips like it wants to tear itself out of my scalp. Phoenix’s grip tightens, his arm digging into my back and my side. Something he’s wearing on his chest digs into my shoulder. Think I bit my tongue there—some metallic taste in my mouth, then—
—it’s beyond us, still strong, but weakening as it goes.
Then.
Dropping.
Whoa.
The Lady Luck is falling into a hole where there was water only a second ago. My feet actually leave the deck for a moment, but Phoenix has me, making sure I move with the boat. We both grunt with the effort of maintaining grip on the railing.
“Ride’s not over yet,” Phoenix says. “Going up!”
For a second, I see walls of water on all sides, and the image comes to me that we’re in the maw of some huge water beast about to close its mouth around us. Our descent stops, and now we
’re being shoved back up, water rushing to fill the hollow. We rise even quicker than we fell, the Lady Luck not quite leaving the ocean’s surface as we peak. We splash down and the boat lists to one side for a few moments before righting itself.
“Are you okay?” I ask.
Phoenix is holding two fingers to his temple, his eyes closed. “I’m alive, but let’s not go on that ride again.”
bzzzzzZZZZt!!!!!
The static bursts so hard that my vision fades out for a moment. I blink several times, flailing, grabbing Phoenix’s hand because that’s the first thing I come into contact with.
(just in case)
(this is the end)
bzzzzzZZZZt!!!!!
This static attack feels like it’s going to last for a while. I can feel the buzz in my jaw, right underneath my ears. When my vision clears, I blink away tears, confused at what I’m seeing. The island. It’s gone.
“Phoenix, look.”
Okay no, the island’s not gone. I can see the tops of city skyscrapers. They disappear into a black void, as if the entire city is sinking down into the ocean.
(only that’s)
(not what’s happening angel)
(is it)
The reason I can’t see most of the island is because a perfectly enormous wave of water is blocking my view of it, and that wave is going to reach us in about fifteen seconds, and there’s no chance that the Lady Luck can get us out of its way or even outrun it, and I don’t know if there’s a way to survive it.
That wave is a life ender.
Phoenix swears. He’s scared, his face a mask of sincere panic.
That static takes me to my knees.
Is it just my imagination or is the Lady Luck motionless in the water?
So fast. That wave is moving so fast—not as fast as the shockwave which proceeded it—but fast nonetheless, coming up behind us. Got to be at least twenty meters high. It’s not a smooth, beautiful thing, but a churning monster of a maelstrom.
I’m seeing spots in front of my eyes, black holes because the static is sawing my head in half. I’m on the verge of passing out. Want to close my eyes and shut it all out.
Can I swim?
Another few seconds, just another few seconds.
Phoenix grabs my hand. He yells right in my face, heedless of some spittle running down his chin, trying to tell me something, but I can’t hear his last words to me.
As the wave overtakes the boat, tossing us forward and upward, Phoenix’s hand slips from mine and then he’s gone, spinning into the air. Below me, the Lady Luck flips.
The ocean takes me.
Static bursts like explosions in my mind.
Chilled to my core in a blink, my body bends to the will of the water.
In the end, I hold onto two things:
My name is (2)syl. And I am not alone.
After that, there’s only
swirling
swirling
swirling
mind
and eyes closed
(2)Syl’s story continues in
DARK ANGEL RISING
A DOWNFALL NOVEL
THANK YOU
…to Megan, my awesome wife.
…to Benjaman Thornton and Mike Uchida, who conceived the Downfall world with me many years ago.
…to Jock, for his friendship and his art
…to my talented, faithful, and cosmically attractive beta readers:
Brynne Hardesty
Jock Hardesty
Paul Lewis
D. Marie Prokop
Christopher Salch
Mike Uchida
…to my brother Benjie and my sisters Leah and Naomi, for their continued support. Love you.
…to my mother, for so many things. Too many to mention here.
…to my dad. Miss you. Wish you were here to read this.
…to Jennifer Hardesty, for being the original Downfall fan.
…to YOU, brave reader, for taking the time to experience this novel. I hope you enjoyed it, and don’t worry, there’s more coming.
DATABANK
ACCU: Armored Civilian Control Unit. ACCUs are the soldiers of the Nation of Utopia. The major characteristics of ACCUs are heavy armor, a wide array of advanced weaponry, flight, and a coordinated disregard for reality. They are recognizable by their red and gold armor and their passion for communicating over loudspeaker at all times.
Brainfry: Somebody who has suffered brain damage while connected to Cyberspace.
Circuitstream: Can refer to any sort of interconnected physicality. It is commonly used to describe the metaskin patterns on wirewitches but is sometimes used to describe various transportation pathways.
Cyberspace: A global communication network. Data is encoded for visual display and interaction. After two hundred years of digital evolution, what started as a simple network for computers to talk to each other now dominates every aspect of society. Every conceivable piece of technology relies on Cyberspace for operation. Since access to the network is critical, very few people don’t have a Cyberspace access implant installed. By the year 2195, Cyberspace is foundational to the function of societies across the world. It’s best not to think about what would happen to the planet if anything were to cause Cyberspace to become inaccessible.
Cyberspace Council: A governing entity that maintains control of the Cyberspace construct. All Cyberspace users are registered and tracked by the council. To police Cyberspace, the council maintains a force comprised of both digital and Realspace resources.
Dokk: Future, meet your Dr. Frankenstein. First, take one legit street doctor, and—you know that section of brain just behind the right ear that goes active when making decisions between good and bad?—remove that. Next, toss in a penchant for amputating body parts from conscious victims and the ability to smile while a patient screams. Finally, wrap it all in a slick package: shaved head, a white trench coat, and a yellow wraparound visor. Dokks can be male or female, and most would be classified as modies, since many of them do have implants. It’s uncommon to see a solo Dokk, as they band together in groups of two or three. Their most common victims are women and children.
Eoa: An eoa in three words: Bone. Metal. Rampage. These tusked beasts have six legs and long, spiked tails. They average three meters in height and eight meters in length. Eoas are carnivorous, roaming the Wastelands and other less-populated regions of the Free States. They move in herds, mate for life, and are vigilant about protecting their young. Their origin is unknown, and no nation has taken responsibility for their creation.
Exomancer: If you don’t want to risk the almost-certain death that comes along with the procedure to become a technomancer, but you want some of the advantages that technomancers have, then you can consider becoming an exomancer. All their technology is external to their body. They are characterized by their gearsuit, which is a technological wonder on its own, providing them with a variety of tool storage, as well as defensive and offensive capabilities.
Eyebuzz: Slang for an attractive person.
Flesh Vendor: A merchant who deals in human organs.
Fleshware: Slang for technological implants designed to be installed inside a person’s body.
Fleshwreck: Slang for a person so addicted to technology-based body enhancements that they disregard safety protocols and procedures during the installation of implants.
Flitterwasp: Amazingly, these small, winged insects survive only in the Untamed since their primary food source is the whistlewisp. Reminiscent of the now-extinct butterfly, they are characterized by five sets of wings. These endangered creatures are associated with beauty and luck—the latter of which is necessary to survive long enough to catch a glimpse of one in the lethal expanse of the Untamed.
G’ekk: A small, slimy creature that thrives on every continent due to its ability to eat anything. A primary part of their diet is their own feces.
Glitch: All-purpose curse word. Most commonly used by technological beings.
&
nbsp; Gooblyn: Created by the genetic research department of Takiyoma, gooblyns are a pristine example of genetic engineering failure. In 2151, Takiyoma decided to create a new type of human—one that they could trademark and sell—by performing aggressive genetic experimentation on human embryos. Previous failures (such as that of Technacatamine-22) resulted in an oppressive sense of urgency and corner-cutting. In a world torn by war and corporate infighting, progress was difficult. Even though small glimmers of success were visible, humanity’s corrupted gene pool made the goal an unattainable dream. Sensing this, Takiyoma cancelled the project, irradiating the research facility. While many Takiyoma employees were killed, many of their experiments survived—including the children that would later be called “gooblyns.” They reproduce by normal means, but don’t often live past their teenage years. Their flesh is soft and secretes a slimy residue that helps to cool their overheated bodies. While they do have eyes, all gooblyns are blind, instead using echolocation to navigate. Since they are all children and have no natural defenses, they are often exploited, and in some circles are rounded up and kept as pets.
Guardian: An overseer of a Haven. They manage the day-to-day happenings of their Haven, as well as provide protection for the people who seek refuge there. While their duties usually keep them near the Haven, they will often venture out in search of those in desperate need of salvation.
Haven: In a world designed to kill you, there are no real sanctuaries, but a Haven is as close as it gets. Havens are designed to provide basic food, water, and shelter necessities for those in need. Havens are sacred, and even the most debased of beings are inclined to respect the ground one is built on. Everybody is accepted. Everybody is protected. Violence within the Haven is forbidden. Their locations are often hidden, and many Havens relocate on a regular basis. Havens are overseen by a person known as a Guardian.
Holo: Television of the future.
J’aa: Slang for the rotting remains of a g’ekk.
Keetcha: Slang for a female who engages in sexual perversions.
