by Finn Gray
Rory took a deep breath. Oates hadn’t steered them wrong yet. He’d saved them from the tree, and along the journey had, on several occasions, steered them clear of particularly nasty perils that stood in their way. But still, free climbing down a sheer rock face that was bound to be slick from the damp air and spray from the waterfall was tantamount to suicide.
“Are you sure there’s no other way?”
Oates tensed, then visibly relaxed. “The base is under the mountain,” he said, with a note of forced patience. “If we approach from any other direction, their sensors will pick us up long before we get close. This way,” he pointed in the direction of the waterfall, “we enter beyond the range of the sensors, and come up on them from down below.”
“And you’re absolutely certain they don’t know about this back door?” Marson asked.
“They didn’t the last time I was here. Granted that’s been a while.” Oates tugged at his long beard. “Still, we’re no worse off than we would be if we walked up and knocked on the front door.”
Rory supposed that was true. He didn’t have to like it, though. “You think we can make the climb?”
“What the hells do you want from me, boy? Guarantees? I’ve done it before, and even then I was a lot older than you are now.”
“We don’t have to do it, Plowboy,” Marson said. “We’ll just head on back to the crash site. Maybe you’ll get there in time to watch your Mem… your girlfriend die.” He had been about to say ‘Memnon’ but had caught himself at the last moment. Rory knew why. Marson didn’t care what happened to Jemma, but he counted at least a few of the other members of the squad as friends, and if they were going to help their comrades, they needed Oates’ assistance. And though Rory cared about his squad, Jemma was the person who mattered most. Rory’s heart lurched at the thought of her. She had to be all right. She just had to.
“All right,” Rory said. “Let’s do this.”
Oates took some time to recon the area until he had chosen what he considered to be the best way down. “We’ll start down here.”
“Are you sure?” Marson looked down doubtfully. “We’ll have a longer climb this way. It’s a long way from the waterfall.”
“Which means the rocks here won’t be wet and slick,” Rory said.
Oates nodded. “He’s got the right of it. Now, you two follow me. Choose your handholds and footholds carefully. There should be plenty. Just take your time and don’t panic.” He didn’t give them a chance to comment or ask questions. Instead, he simply dropped down over the ledge with surprising agility and began to climb down.
“You next,” Marson said. “That way, if I fall, maybe I can land on you.”
“Don’t expect me to be able to catch you,” Rory said.
“Screw that. If I’m going to die for your Memnon girlfriend I’m taking you with me.”
Rory was too busy trying to ignore the fear rising in his gut to reply. He’d never loved heights, and his sister’s fall to her death had only made it worse. Of course, he had no choice in the matter if he wanted to complete the task to which Trent had set them. Here goes nothing.
Careful not to look down into the gorge, he dropped, turned, and swung his foot over the ledge, feeling for a toehold. He found one quickly, tested it to make certain it would support his weight, then brought his other foot down and dug it into a broad crack.
His heart beat a staccato rhythm, his breath came in gulps. Icy sweat slicked his hands and drenched the back of his neck. He had never been so terrified in his life. Not even when he’d been under fire from rogue drones. There was something about scaling this open cliff face that spoke to his deepest fears. Nowhere to hide, no one to catch him should he fall.
Just like Caren, he thought, remembering his sister who had died in a fall from a cliff. I should have caught her. It would serve me right if I didn’t make it.
“Excuse me, but are we playing a game called ‘how long can I stay in one place?’ Because if so, you win.” Marson’s forced bravado didn’t fool Rory. His voice, thin from shortness of breath, trembled as if he were riding along a bumpy dirt road in a farm truck with no shock absorption. Still, he was right. Rory had to move.
“I’m going.” He stole a glance down at Oates, careful to focus on the old man and the rocks to which he clung. Oates had descended straight down a good twenty meters. Rory followed his lead, probing for toeholds and moving down a step at a time.
Oates had told them there’d be plenty of hand and footholds, and he proved to be correct. The rock was shot through with horizontal cracks the width of Rory’s fist. Once he got into a rhythm, it was almost as easy as climbing a ladder. Soon, his only worry was that Marson would grow careless and really fall on him. He had no doubt that, should Marson fall, he’d make good on his threat to take Rory down with him, if not out of spite, then in a desperate attempt to arrest his fall. When Oates announced that they’d descended far enough and it was time to move toward the waterfall, he was more than happy to slide out from below his squad mate.
Side by side they gradually worked their way closer to the roaring falls. Here, the rocks grew damp and slippery, and the men were reduced to scuffling along at what felt like a centimeter at a time. Fear rose again in Rory’s chest, and his heart raced. The chill of fright blended with the cool, misty air and the cold rocks to which he clung. His fingers began to grow numb.
“Much farther?” he gasped to Oates.
“Doesn’t matter how far it is. We take it one step at a time no matter what. Just focus on moving a little at a time. If you’re having trouble maintaining your grip, you can shove your hand into the crack, make a fist, and wedge it in. Like this.” Oates shoved his hand into the crack and let out a cry of surprise. “Scorpion!” He yanked his right hand free. The motion caused him to overbalance. “Shit!”
Rory reacted without thinking. In a single movement he wedged his right hand into the crack and with his left grabbed a handful of Oates’ beard, just below his chin.
“Ow!” Oates shouted. “That hurt!”
“Better than falling to your death,” Rory said as Oates regained his balance. The older man drew his knife and Rory hastily let go of his beard. “Don’t get mad.”
Oates bared his teeth. “Relax, kid. This is not for you.” He returned his attention to the cliff. A moment later a glossy black scorpion the size of Rory’s hand crept forward. “Almost didn’t see the little bastard. Thank the gods this variety is dumb and slow-moving, but their sting is death.” With that, he drove his knife through the scorpion’s thorax, then flicked it back over his shoulder. “Thanks for saving my ass, by the way,” Oates said to Rory.
“No sweat.” Rory managed a grin. Lending a hand to their guide had lent him a measure of resolve, perhaps even a touch of confidence, and he managed to make his way to the waterfall with relative ease.
Night was falling as they climbed behind the curtain of water and onto a soaking wet ledge. Before them lay a cave wreathed in darkness. Their destination, he assumed.
“It’s just up ahead.” Oates had to shout to be heard over the roar of the waterfall.
Rory and Marson took out their tiny, high intensity flashlights and flicked them on. The narrow white beams sliced through the fog and the darkness. Revealing a shallow cave and a blank stone wall.
“Are you sure we’re in the right place?” Marson shouted. “Because there’s nowhere to go.”
Rory took a few steps into the cave and stopped. He played the light all around, the circle of light falling on glistening stone walls, a dripping ceiling, and a smooth floor. His heart fell at the sight. Marson was correct. The cave was a dead end.
Chapter 17
Southgull Island, Hyperion
Jude and Magda took time to carefully inspect their new home. For the benefit of the hidden cameras they knew were watching, they kept up their charade—Jude the reluctant realist, Magda the true believer.
“Oh! Look at that cornice!” Magda cooed, pointing at
the spot where the wall met the ceiling.
Jude nodded. Neither of them had any interest in the cornice, or any other part of the décor, but it gave them a plausible reason to examine every inch of the flat. In fact, they were looking for a way out.
They found none. Everything was sealed up tight. The doors and walls were solid, the windows bulletproof, and the vents were tiny—much too small for a person to fit through. Perhaps if he could see the building’s floor plan, he could find a means of egress, but things didn’t look promising.
They retired to the pool area, where they sat sipping fruity wine and trying not to notice the burning orange sky in the distance.
Storen returned shortly thereafter. This time he rapped twice on the door and then let himself in.
Still playing their roles, Magda pretended to be pleased to see him, while Jude greeted him with a curt nod.
“How did you get in, if you don’t mind my asking?” Jude said.
“I apologize,” Storen said. “My ocular device triggers locks. I was in a rush and didn’t think about how rude it is to intrude on someone’s home.”
“We understand this is a stressful day,” Magda said. “Busy.”
“Quite,” Storen said. “And I hate to be abrupt, but there’s something I need to do right away.”
He raised his claw-like hand. The reflected light off the surface of the swimming pool danced across the shiny palm. From the tips of the middle and forefingers, hypodermic needles emerged.
“Gods! What are you doing?” Jude gasped.
“Inoculation.” Storen flashed a reassuring smile. “We have spent years developing an effective anti-radiation therapy. This is our first batch. I told you the two of you are special. Now, your arm?”
“Will you be administering this to all the Aquarians?” Jude asked as he rolled up his sleeve and extended his arm.
“Of course. We aren’t monsters.”
You killed over a billion people today, Jude thought. We killed them, he amended. He’d never dreamed that this was the plan, but he had aided it none the less. He couldn’t deny it.
“How will things work once everything is settled?” Magda asked. “Will people return to their normal lives?”
“Absolutely. Just as quickly as possible.” Storen said. “But with a better, fairer system.”
“No longer will the world be dominated by a handful of so-called ‘noble’ families,” Jude said, remembering the line that had hooked him so long ago. “People will rise and fall on their own merits, not their mystique, or their popularity.”
He shook his head, thinking of all the opportunities he and his family had been denied, not because they lacked the trappings of success, but because Jude had the audacity to become the first Vatcher to achieve elite status. Simon, despite having top marks and being the scion of one of the most powerful men on Hyperion, had been turned away from all the elite academies and universities. Oh, they’d said all the right things, assured Jude that his son was highly qualified, but it was just a matter of numbers. The fact that so many underqualified legacies were the cause of the “numbers” problem never came up.
Even when they did have the opportunity to rub elbows with the leading families, Jude and Magda were treated with what he could only describe as indulgent courtesy. They were polite to him because they wanted his political and financial support and the doors he could open for them, but they didn’t view him as one of them.
In truth, Jude could have bought and sold half the uppercrust, but that wasn’t what mattered most. What mattered was who your great-grandparents had been. Hells, it probably went farther back than that.
He’d come to the conclusion a few cycles ago that no matter what he and his scions achieved, a Vatcher would never be emperor. The list of “noble” families hadn’t changed in a thousand cycles and it never would.
That realization had changed him. And it had ultimately led him and Magda to this place.
“You’re exactly right,” Storen said, preparing to deliver the injection. “No more inherited titles nor inherited wealth.”
Jude twitched at that, but Storen appeared to interpret it as nervousness over the injection.
“Think about it,” Storen continued. “It’s unfair for a person to inherit a noble title. That person did nothing to earn that station. Likewise, it’s unfair for a child to be granted extreme wealth that he or she did not earn. You’ll feel a sharp sting and the needle will be in for several seconds.”
He jabbed the needle into the vein at the crook of Jude’s elbow. It burned like a hornet’s sting.
“What happens to the family’s wealth when the parents die?” he grunted, eyes watering. Gods that hurt!
“That’s another thing that will change. In New Memnon, everyone will be cared for. They are further granted luxuries in accordance with the value of their contributions. So there will be no more ‘wealthy families.’ We will all be rewarded according to our merits.” He smiled as he withdrew the needle and then swabbed the injection site.
“Who assesses individual value?” Jude asked, trying to affect a tone of curiosity rather than affront.
Storen shrugged. “The people who are appointed to do so.”
“How can I be of value?” Magda asked as Storen turned his attention to her. “I’m not the brilliant businessman my husband is.”
No, Magda, you’re just a master of behind-the-scenes machinations thanks to your life as a daughter of a crime boss. Jude couldn’t help but smile.
“I was thinking of converting to the faith,” Magda continued. “Would that be of value?”
“Absolutely it would,” Storen said as he jabbed the needle in. “Particularly in your cases. With your public profile, if the two of you advocated for the faith, it would go a long way towards restoring peaceful society. It doesn’t hurt that the two of you are, to use the vernacular, easy on the eyes.” His eyes said that, despite the compliment, it was only Magda whom he found attractive. He’d stolen more than one glance at her cleavage. “We won’t force anyone to join,” he continued, “but we will encourage and even incentivize it.” He locked eyes with Magda. “There are… benefits to cooperation. Those most loyal to the faith are treated well.” The expression on his face left no doubt what that treatment would include for Magda.
She closed her eyes and whispered, “Praise be!” Gods, the woman ought to be on the stage.
“Indeed.” Storen finished up and bade them goodbye.
When he had gone, Magda stood and inspected the spot where the needle had gone in.
“Do you think it’s really an inoculation?” she asked, switching back to Old Corrisian.
“I think so,” Jude said.
“So certain? You don’t think we’ve been dosed with some exotic virus?”
“What would be the point? There are quicker, cleaner ways to kill us if that’s what they wanted.” He tucked his hands into his pockets and strolled to the window and looked out at the hazy sky. “I think they’re sincere about wanting to bring Aquarians into their faith and around to their way of doing things.”
“Their way,” Magda scoffed. “In which everyone scurries around licking boots in hopes that the benevolent leaders will give them a few more scraps?”
“Exactly.” He turned away from the window and began a slow circuit of the room. “I would speculate that, since the last war, the Memnons have been unified by a single purpose—to reclaim Aquaria. With that as a carrot, their system probably worked. But what happens next?”
Magda nodded. “Once you’ve slain the monster under the bed, what’s to keep the child from wandering off into the dark?”
Chapter 18
Soria, Hyperion
Rory couldn’t believe it. They’d come all this way, risked death, only to come to a dead end. The cave in which they stood ended only a few meters back. There was nothing there but rocks.
“What do we do now?” Marson asked. “Is there another way in?”
“Maybe there’s an
other cave?” Rory suggested without much hope. “Maybe we came in too high or too low?” He doubted that but it was all the only idea he could come up with.
“What in the hells are you two talking about?” Oates shouldered past them and deeper into the cave.
“We’re talking about the fact the cave ends right the hells here.” Marson flicked his light back and forth. Nothing but rock.
“Do you two dumbasses really think I’d leave the way open so the Memnons could find it and seal it off? I figured I might want to come back some day.” His voice trailed off as he spoke the last word. His cheeks reddened. Clearly there was something deeper going on here. “Just help me move these rocks.”
He moved to the left and then dropped to his knees before a large protrusion of rock. He drew a knife and began working around the stone. Rory could see that this was not a protrusion, but a rock that had been pushed up against the wall. Mud had been packed in around it to create the illusion of solidity. He drew his own knife and set to work. In short order they’d broken the stone free and rolled it away, revealing a low passageway, barely large enough for them to crawl through.
“Hand me a flashlight,” Oates said. Rory handed his over and the old man dropped down on all fours and crawled through. Rory and Marson followed behind.
It was a strenuous crawl. The ceiling was so low that the men either had to belly crawl or hold what amounted to a plank position while squirming through the narrow, winding passageway. They had to push their packs and weapons along in front of them, which made for an even more challenging trek. By the time they emerged from the passage into a small chamber, Rory was gasping for breath, his muscles turned to rubber.
Oates stood, arms folded, smiling down at the exhausted marines. “You eggs are out of shape. I thought you said you just completed training.”
