Idols (17 page)
M
Y BEST BET IS TO PURSUE A SOLUTION ON A SMALLER SCALE
. C
URRENTLY CONSIDERING ENGINEERING IMMUNITY (AND MORE) AT THE INDIVIDUAL LEVEL
. R
ESEARCH ON LIMBIC SYSTEM, INCREASING SURFACE AREA/MASS IN THE NEOCORTEX, UNTAPPED ENERGY, BRAIN WAVES, ETC.… IT’S ALL QUITE PROMISING, BUT
I
’M RUNNING OUT OF TIME. (
I
REALLY NEED TO MAKE SOME CALLS FOR HELP, BUT IS IT WORTH OPENING UP OLD WOUNDS?)
R
EGARDLESS, IF
I’
M RIGHT (HAH, HAH!) THEN
I
WILL NEED TO START THE BIOLOGICAL ENGINEERING AT THE VERY BEGINNING
. A
ND MY BOUNCING BABY COUNTERMEASURES NEED TO BE HERE SOON, BEFORE OUR VISITOR ARRIVES AND, GOD FORBID, TURNS OUT THE LIGHTS
.
T
HAT WOULD AT LEAST GIVE US A CHANCE TO FIGHT BACK
.
G
OOD THING
I’
M A SODDING GENIUS
.
I follow Ro through the twisting passages until the room widens into some kind of storage area. A Belter supply truck is there, waiting for us.
Along with Lucas and Tima.
Thank god.
“Dol!” Lucas calls to me through the smoke, and I can barely hear him over the muffled sound of walls collapsing behind us.
Not distant enough—it sounds louder with every moment.
“Come on. We’ve got to get this open. The entrance to the mine is on the other side.” Lucas gestures with his head, and I see he’s attempting to open one of the massive sliding doors that line the wall. Tima pushes too, but doesn’t have the strength to make a difference.
“Come on!” she yells, gritting her teeth.
Lucas isn’t much better off. He doesn’t use his arms—he’s only pushing with his shoulder. I try not to look at the massive splash of red on his shirt.
“You’re hurt. Let me.” We both duck, instinctively, as a rumble of collapsing rock echoes behind us.
Louder by the minute.
Lucas shakes his head. “Hear that? We don’t have much time.”
“Step aside, kids, this is a man’s job.” Ro pulls me back and Lucas drops gratefully to the ground. Then he pushes, burning hot, until the gate groans into an opening. Light spills from the vent tunnel into the tunnel where we stand.
Tima doubles over, trying to catch her breath.
“Lords in hell! That felt good.” Ro wipes sweat off his face, grim. “Now let’s get the hallelujah out of here.”
I don’t have time to smirk at his use of the Padre’s favorite curse, not now. The opening in the gate looks wide enough—barely—to drive through. Must have been where they hauled things in and out of here, because the gate is much larger than where we came in. But I can tell Lucas is right, it leads to the outside. I feel the air rushing in, smell the cold.
I try not to listen to the sound of the mountain falling behind me. Lucas is leaning now against the side of the truck, which Ro is attempting to start—something that involves handfuls of wires of every imaginable color.
“I don’t know what wire connects where—”
The constant stream of profanity tells me it’s not coming quickly enough.
Tima shakes her head and reaches in front of Ro and turns the key, which was already in the ignition.
She shrugs. “Remember the rabbit’s foot?”
Ro looks up with a grin as the truck’s engine splutters to life, vibrating the seat beneath him.
He motions for Tima and me. “Get in.”
Tima climbs up, Brutus scrabbling up after her. I hesitate, turning to help Lucas. He presses his shirt into his bloody side, wincing as he pulls himself into the truck.
I still hesitate. “The Bishop. What if—”
Ro looks at me through the window of the truck, shaking his head.
“I know. I don’t want to leave him back there, either,” he says, quietly. “Any of them, dead or alive. But we don’t have a choice.”
“That’s what we said last time.” I look down to where his boots are stained red and brown. Blood and mud. I’m not sure I want to know how it got there. But then I don’t ask, because he’s trying to pull me up next to him, and it’s time to go.
I don’t want to.
“Dol. It’s what the Bishop wanted.” Lucas forces the words out between his teeth.
Tima holds out her hand to help me in.
I can’t bring myself to go.
“Are you sure?” I look from Lucas to Ro, but I don’t have to ask.
They’re sure. I see it in their faces. Both of them.
They’d do anything to fight this fight—except risk my life. Which means they’ll do anything to go.
Now.
“Dol,” Ro says, forcefully. “You have five seconds before this mountain comes down on our heads.”
“I know,” I say.
“Four seconds.” Now it’s Lucas pulling me in, even though his injury has weakened him to the point where he can barely lift me.
I try again. “He was the Padre’s brother.”
“Three seconds.” Ro won’t even look at me. Tima reaches for me, yanking as hard as she can.
I’m in the truck now, but I don’t stop. “Tell me this isn’t our fight, Ro. Look me in the eye and tell me that we’re not deserters and I’ll go.”
Ro looks at me, and his eyes look like fire. Lucas tightens his grip on my arm.
“Two.” Ro slams the truck into gear, and my head snaps back against the seat behind me.
Two seconds
, I think.
That’s when rock behind us blasts into the air around us and rubble flies into the truck and black tendrils reach into the cavern.
Dust fills my eyes and I realize Ro was wrong.
He was off by one second.
We’re dead.
Ro guns the engine, flying toward the open gate.
We jerk and slow as we scrape through the gate, metal groaning, sparks flying—but Ro wills us through the opening.
He accelerates toward the light.
We clear the entrance and I look back to see that the smoke and dust in the air are dissipating, revealing what was once the cavernous opening behind us, the part of the cave wall that has collapsed in on itself.
The Idylls are sealed shut.
I turn away and feel the cold and see bright light shining around us as we accelerate through the open air.
The light hurts my eyes. Apparently I have grown accustomed to the dark. I didn’t know.
As we rush away from the mountain, Ro slams on the brakes and the truck slides to a stop in the gravel.
In front of the vehicle, standing in the road between us and freedom, is a man.
As the smoke drifts between us, he moves slowly toward us like an apparition.
“What part of ‘don’t get yourselves killed’ didn’t you understand?”
He takes another step, staggering forward, as if walking is difficult. Then I see that his clothes are bloodstained and filthy—he appears to have been beaten within an inch of his life.
And I see one other thing.
An important thing.
A tattered raincoat, flapping in the chaos.
It’s Fortis.
GENERAL EMBASSY DISPATCH: EASTASIA SUBSTATION
MARKED URGENT
MARKED EYES ONLY
Internal Investigative Subcommittee IIS211B
RE: The Incident at SEA Colonies
Note: Contact Jasmine3k, Virt. Hybrid Human 39261.SEA, Laboratory Assistant to Dr. E. Yang, for future commentary, as necessary.
PRIVATE RESEARCH NOTES
P
AULO
F
ORTISSIMO
09/11/2050
A
VOICE IN MY HEAD TELLS ME
I
SHOULD ALERT THE WORLD ABOUT
P
ERSES
. B
UT THEN
I
TELL THE VOICE WHAT CAN THE WORLD DO THAT
I
CAN’T
?
A
ND
I’
M NEVER WRONG
. R
IGHT
?
S
ORRY, VOICE
.
I
DON’T TRUST THE
UN,
OR ANY OF THE TALKING HEADS RUNNING THE SHOW IN OUR GLOBAL VILLAGE
. P
UPPETS, MOTIVATED TO MAINTAIN THE STATUS QUO
.
I
CAN FIGURE THIS OUT
. A
ND IF
I
CAN’T, NOBODY CAN
.
A
ND IF
I
CAN’T COME UP WITH A WAY TO NULLIFY (OUCH) THE DOOMSDAY DEVICES
? P
ERHAPS
I
SHOULD MAKE A DIFFERENT SORT OF CONNECTION WITH OUR VISITOR
.
I
WONDER IF SUCH A THING IS POSSIBLE
.
I
HAVE TO KEEP ALL MY OPTIONS OPEN HERE
.
