Hostage Run

by Andrew Klavan

  Through the windshield, he could see that he was in a vast circular unloading bay. Other ships were emerging from their tubes, slipping into their mechanisms, being locked in place. Automatic doors were sliding open at intervals along the curving wall of the bay. Worker Boars were pouring in through the doors. The moment each ship came to rest, the Worker Boars surrounded it, pried open its rear door, and began to bring out the energy pods stacked up inside.

  Rick looked beyond the clusters of Boars and saw that Cobra Guards were following them in through the doors: those same walking snakes he had seen outside the Golden City below, giant squirmy snakes with squirmy snake-like spears strapped across their backs, spears that, like the Octo-Guardian’s tentacles, had eyes. It seemed the Cobras were on every side of him, lining up all along the wall. They—and their squirming spears—were keeping close watch on the unloading process.

  So many eyes. So many eyes everywhere.

  Rick knew he couldn’t hesitate. Once again, he let his hand rest on the hilt of Mariel’s sword. Once again, he felt the warmth of her strength surging through him and, once again, he marshaled his will. He felt his Realm body changing back into the shape of the Pilot Boar. He knew he was too tired to hold the shape for long, but if he could just hold it until he was out of this bay . . .

  He threw open the cockpit door and stepped outside.

  All around him the Worker Boars were unloading the ships, pulling out the energy pods. None of them stopped working when he stepped out. None of them looked at him.

  But the Cobra Guards—they noticed him at once. The other Pilot Boars had remained inside their cockpits. They were waiting till the ships were emptied, waiting until they could begin their rides back to the Realm below. The moment Rick stepped out of his ship, several of the Cobra Guards around the large bay’s perimeter tensed. Their eyes widened in their flat snake-like heads. Their forked tongues slid nervously out of their thin mouths and slipped back in again. The spears on their backs writhed around, trying to turn the eyes on their points in Rick’s direction.

  Rick pretended not to notice. He moved quickly, looking straight ahead, his face set with purpose as if he had important business to attend to, as if he couldn’t be bothered with minor details like some curious Cobra Guards. He headed for one of the open doors, ignoring the two Cobras there, one on each side of the opening. The snakes stiffened at his approach, but he pretended to pay no mind, determined to bluff his way through the door and into the main body of the WarCraft.

  It almost worked. Almost.

  He reached the Cobras. Working hard to hold his Boar shape in place, he stepped between the snakes to the door. He didn’t even glance at the guards. He just kept going—or he tried to. Just as he was about to cross the threshold, two spears suddenly blocked his path. One whiplashed down from his right, one from his left. Both spears stiffened and solidified in front of him, their weird eyes going metallic and dead.

  Rick turned to the snake on his left, trying to make his tusked, piggy face look stern and angry. The Cobra spoke—and his voice was weird and frightening, a breathy hiss, just like the voice of a snake trying to imitate human speech.

  “Where do you think you’re going, you?” the Cobra said. It came out sounding like “Ha-waaare d’yoooo think yer goyng-yooooou? ”

  Rick was aware of the fear pumping through him. He was also aware that if he focused on the fear, if he let his focus slip from his own shape for even a second, he would lose his porky form and the Cobras would be all over him. He pushed the fear to the corner of his mind and held the shape in place with all the power of his spirit.

  And he said: “Get those spears out of my way! I have orders from Kurodar!”

  Created only to obey, the Cobra became uncertain at the sound of authority in Rick’s voice. He seemed about to answer, but he hesitated. Rick’s hopes rose when he saw that hesitation. But, at the same time, he felt his Boar shape starting to slip. He was losing it.

  Quickly, Rick reached out and grabbed hold of the Cobra’s wrist. The feel of the cold scaly skin against his pink palm made him shudder. Taking advantage of the snake’s uncertainty, he wrenched the guard’s arm upward.

  “Out of my way!” he commanded.

  Then, charging forward, he pushed past the other spear and went out the door.

  He found himself in a long, brightly lit hallway. Its walls were flickering with electronic maps of RL, earthly cities represented by clusters of lights. Groups of glaring bulbs hung from the ceiling with air vents between them. The hall went straight forward for about fifteen steps before it intersected with another corridor. If Rick could just get to that intersection before he lost his Boar shape, if he could just turn the corner and get out of the Cobra Guards’ view, he might make a run for it.

  He hurried forward—one step, two, three, four, five . . .

  And then a harsh, bone-chilling whisper came from behind him as the Cobra Guard recovered from his surprise and uncertainty.

  “Ssssstop riiiight therrrrre . . .”

  Rick didn’t stop. He didn’t turn back. He kept on walking. Six steps, seven, eight, nine, ten . . .

  “I ssssaid ssssstop!”

  As his breath grew short, as his fear and excitement mounted, his concentration slipped. He was no longer focusing on himself. He couldn’t. His mind was on the situation. His Boar disguise began to contract back into his normal shape. The bristling fur vanished from his arms. The large piggy arms slipped back into being human. He took another step, another. He was almost to the corner.

  “Ssssstop hiiiiim!” hissed the Cobra Guard.

  Rick’s Boar shape melted off him. He was himself again as, with another step, he reached the intersection. He dodged left—why not? He had no idea where he was headed anyway. He entered another well-lit metallic corridor, running past more maps with more flashing clusters of lights. The bulbs and vents went by in a blur above him. There was another intersection up ahead, another chance to escape his pursuers. Maybe he could reach it, maybe he could get away. How fast could a Cobra run, anyway? They weren’t even supposed to have legs!

  Rick dashed wildly down the corridor toward the next corner. He glanced back over his shoulder, and to his great relief he saw there was no one behind him, no one giving chase. He was going to make it. He turned the corner at the next intersection. Turning right this time, traveling on pure instinct. Another corridor. More maps, more lamps, more vents. The WarCraft was so huge, this could go on forever. Another corner, another turn . . .

  Hope surged through him. This corridor was longer—and at the end of it, there was a doorway.

  He glanced back again. Still no one there. He put on an extra burst of speed, heading for the door.

  He was halfway there when the Cobras got him.

  They seemed, at first, to materialize out of nowhere. Then he realized: they were sliding in through the vents in the ceilings above him. They had been chasing him, invisible in the walls, all this time.

  Now they squeezed into the corridor all together. It was one of the most disgusting things Rick had ever experienced. Snake after giant snake slithering through the vents above and showering into the corridor like rain—a reptilian downpour. Soon, the hallway was full of them and every one was coming toward him, half walking, half slithering over the floor, slithering over one another, reaching for him with scaly hands. Snakes everywhere, ahead of him, behind him. There was no place to run.

  Feeling panic rise up inside him, Rick drew his sword. Mariel’s steel flashed in the corridor’s bright lights as the enormous snakes closed in on him. But before he could strike, a powerful Cobra had wound itself around his arm. Another coiled around one leg and another coiled around the other. Their cold scales covered him. Their black eyes closed in over him. Their spitting forked tongues licked at his face. Their bared fangs dripped and gleamed.

  The lights of the corridor grew dim as the snakes smothered him and forced him down to the floor. He couldn’t breathe. The sword was yanked
from his hand. The snakes started to drag and push him forward, their writhing, muscular bodies moving him helplessly along. He was carried down the hallway on a veritable river of snakes.

  Terror, disgust, and the lack of air overwhelmed him. His consciousness dimmed, flickered out.

  Then there was nothing.

  33. KISS

  MOLLY HELD ON to Victor One’s hand as he led her through the dark for what seemed a long time. She was tired and hungry and scared, and the wound on her arm was burning. She could barely think anymore, and when she did think all she thought was: She wished she were back at school. She wished she were safe at home. She wished Rick was with her . . .

  “We should rest and clean up our wounds,” said Victor One.

  Molly sighed loudly with relief as she slid down to sit propped against a tree. Victor One pulled an energy bar from his backpack and handed it to her. She devoured it with mindless passion, staring into space. She was exhausted. She didn’t even have the strength to speak. She never knew she could endure so much, survive so much for so long.

  Now Victor One went into his backpack and came out with a box of first-aid supplies. He used a damp cloth to clean the blood off his face. Then, when he was done, he knelt next to Molly. She flinched with pain as he rolled up her sleeve. She looked away as he trained his flashlight on the wound.

  “Is it really just a scratch?” she asked him, staring into the trees. She was afraid to look for herself.

  “By the look of it, I’d say you’ve only got about seventy or eighty more years to live,” said Victor One.

  “Ha-ha.”

  “You’ll be fine,” he told her. “Hold this.” He handed her the flashlight. “Point it at your arm.” Molly did, but she still didn’t look at the wound herself. “Say, ‘Ow, that really hurts,’ ” he instructed.

  Molly snorted. “What do you mean? Why should I . . .? Ow! That really hurts,” she said as he swabbed the line of pain with disinfectant and the sting went through her.

  “Okay,” said Victor One. “Hold still while I stitch you up with a sharpened stick and a skein of wool.”

  “What?”

  “I’m kidding. Just let me put a bandage on it and you’ll be done.”

  Molly finally turned her head and looked—not at her arm, not at the wound, but at Victor One himself. He was tearing open a bandage wrapper with that ultraserious single-minded concentration that men seem to bring to simple tasks. She thought it was cute the way guys did that: tearing open a wrapper as if it were as complex an operation as defusing an atom bomb. She watched Victor One work. In the glow of the flashlight, he was a lot more handsome than she’d thought at first. Or maybe it was just the fact that he’d saved her life and that he was brave and kind and funny. He didn’t have (as she couldn’t help thinking) that passion inside him that Rick had, that hot spirit that made Rick seem so fiery and alive, as if he had the life force of two men or three or four. But someone like Victor One would be an easier sort of man to know, she thought. An easier sort of man to love.

  As he pressed the bandage gently against her wound, he glanced up and caught her watching him.

  “What are you looking at?” he growled.

  “Nothing.” She smiled. “But thank you.”

  “It’s just a bandage.”

  “I meant thank you for saving my life.”

  He rolled her sleeve down over the bandage, but he remained as he was, crouching beside her. Looking at her with that humorous expression on his craggy face.

  “You saved my life, too,” he said. “You drew the drone away from me, didn’t you? That’s why you were running like that.”

  “I couldn’t think of anything else to do.”

  “Pretty brave stuff, Molly,” said Victor One. “I’ve seen some brave people in my time, men and women both, but you’re right up there.”

  Molly didn’t know what to say to that, so she didn’t say anything. She just sat there against the tree, holding the flashlight and looking at Victor One and looking at him some more. And he just crouched there next to her, looking right back at her.

  Then he leaned over and kissed her.

  It was a brief kiss and gentle, but it sent a shock of realization through Molly that took her completely by surprise. Before this she had thought about her kiss with Rick a million times, she had asked herself a million times whether or not she was in love with him. And here she was, looking at another man, thinking about another man, attracted to another man—and yet the moment his lips touched hers, she realized: It was Rick. It had always been Rick. Since they were kids. Maybe longer than that. Maybe since forever. Maybe she was made for him. All she knew was . . .

  “What?” said Victor One. He had just drawn back from her. He was studying her face, his eyes narrowed. “Did I do the wrong thing?”

  “No, no . . .,” said Molly, confused. “It was nice, just . . .”

  “What? What are you thinking?”

  Molly shook her head quickly. “I’m . . . nothing, I’m sorry, I . . .”

  Victor One’s weather-beaten face brightened with a lopsided grin. “Oh, I get it. Wrong guy, huh?”

  “I’m sorry, Victor. I should have . . . I wasn’t sure, I . . .”

  He laughed. “Well, I’m glad I could straighten that out for you.”

  She reached out and touched the side of his face. “It was a nice kiss,” she said.

  “It was,” he told her. Then, with a look of resignation, he sighed. “Hey, Rick’s a good guy. He’ll be a great guy if . . .”

  He stopped himself before he finished the sentence. And Molly said, “If what?”

  Victor One shook his head. He stood up out of his crouch. “We better get moving.”

  Molly watched him as he began to pack up his backpack again.

  “You were going to say ‘If he lives,’ weren’t you?” she said. Victor One didn’t answer. And Molly felt her heart take a dip inside her. “Is he really in that much danger?”

  Victor One nodded. “I understand it’s pretty bad where he is, pretty rugged.”

  “Do you think he’ll be killed?”

  “You want an honest answer?”

  “Yes, I do.”

  “I don’t know. He might be killed, sure. He’s a pretty reckless character, pretty wild. But . . .”

  “But what?”

  “He’s got . . . something. Something inside him.”

  “Yes,” said Molly. “I’ve seen that. Something bigger than he knows. Better.”

  “That’s right,” said Victor One. “If he can find that . . . if he can take hold of that . . .”

  “Then you think he’ll survive,” said Molly.

  “Then,” said Victor One, pulling the pack’s strap over his arm, “then I think he’ll almost deserve you.”

  He reached down, offering her his hand. She took it. He drew her to her feet. They stood face-to-face, very close to each other. The light of the flashlight surrounded them, the darkness spread out beyond. Molly saw Victor One’s blue eyes gleaming. She saw his teeth as he smiled again.

  “I’m glad I got the kiss in before you figured things out,” he told her.

  She laughed.

  He said, “Let’s go.”

  34. BEHIND ENEMY LINES

  AWARENESS RETURNED TO Rick slowly at first—and then very fast. The Cobra Guards were releasing him. Vaguely, as in the last trailing wisp of a dream, he sensed their cold forms withdrawing, slithering away. As the smothering pressure of their bodies receded, cool air washed over his face and made him stir.

  Then he sat up quickly, wide awake.

  He saw—impossibly—an entire city standing in front of him. No. He shook his head, clearing the fog from his mind. It was a model of a city. Of course. He recognized the place at once: the white monuments, the monumental buildings, the spire and the temple facing each other across a long pool, the sweep of the big river around it. It was Washington, D.C., all in miniature, a room-sized model beneath a digital reproduction of a cl
ear blue sky. The city’s quiet majesty was offset only by the strangeness of its silence. Nothing moved here. No sound came from it, other than the whispering babble of water. The Potomac River, shimmering silver, was fashioned out of real Realm water being piped in from somewhere to Rick’s right and flowing away through some unseen outlet to his left.

  As Rick stared, he saw something move across the shining river’s surface. It was a reflection of something, something pink, hanging in the air above him.

  Slowly, Rick’s gaze lifted—over the mock buildings, past the mock sky. He saw that the sky trailed away to nothing in the room’s upper reaches. There was only blackness up there.

  Blackness—and Kurodar.

  Rick felt his heart go cold. He recognized the madman’s Realm form on sight. He had caught a glimpse of it once before. Here in MindWar, Kurodar was nothing like the holographic images Commander Mars had shown him. Those images were of the RL Kurodar: a small, slouched, ugly little man with bulging eyes and sagging jowls. A great scientific genius maybe, but no movie star, that was for sure.

  Here, though, in this vast cyberworld born out of his own imagination, Kurodar had cast that unpleasant physical being away. You would think—or Rick would have thought, anyway—that given the chance to take any form he wanted, Kurodar would have chosen to become some handsome superhero type or something, or maybe some great graceful fantastical creature like a centaur or a unicorn. But no. Kurodar chose to be nothing but a sort of pink cloud of pure mind. It was, Rick thought, as if Kurodar was so disgusted with his bodily self that he wanted to be free of a body altogether. Or maybe he was just so proud of his brainpower that he wanted to be nothing but brain . . .

  Whatever. The point was: Kurodar floated in the black space above the model city. And even though he didn’t have a head exactly or eyes that Rick could see, Rick knew he was looking down at him.