The Apocalypse Club (33 page)

“You don’t care for bagpipes?” Tristan said.

“My family is from Scotland,” I said. “So I feel a sense of guilt that my country was responsible for foisting something like that on the international community. It’s the same way most Canadians probably feel about Celine Dion or Bryan Adams.”

“Shut those godawful windbags off!” Hudson yelled.

“But sir,” Oren protested. “Bagpipes are part of all Baraka cere–”

“Shut them off or I will insert all three into your rectum and inflate them simultaneously!”

“Yes, great leader!”

Oren ordered the pipers to retreat. The technicians that had been checking the connections on the enormous body all cleared away in a pack as the readouts started to light up in sequence. The low hum in the background started to get louder, almost drowning out what Oren was saying.

“—all metabolic processes are in the green, so it looks like we’re ready to proceed with the Baraka for our great leader,” Oren said, sounding as excited as a 10-year-old girl at a Justin Bieber concert just prior to the moment when the headliner removes his pants. “On a personal level, I would just like to say that this is the greatest privilege it has been my honour to witness!”

“Can you witness a privilege?” Violet said. “I didn’t know you could do that.”

“You have to cut Oren a certain amount of slack,” I said. “Imagine you were the pope and you were invited to the nativity or the crucifixion. That’s basically what this is for him.”

On screen, the hum became so loud that all other noises were drowned out. The room – or at least Oren – was vibrating so much that the camera image became a blur. After what felt like minutes but was probably only seconds, the noise dropped off and the image stabilized. The camera was zooming in on the C-Mech’s face. You could tell it was Hudson, but it looked like an idealized, plastic version of him. Sort of like the difference between a movie star on screen and a movie star standing in line at the DMV to get their licence renewed.

“We should know any moment,” Oren whispered. “All signs seem to indicate –”

The C-Mech opened its eyes. They were jet black, shark-like eyes and I admit the first sight of them was so unexpected that I gasped.

“All C-Mechs have those,” Max said, noticing my reaction. “It’s for night vision.”

“Our great leader has opened his eyes!” Oren squeaked. “Our great leader walks among us once again! Oh, what will be his first words to us?”

The C-Mech looked left and then right.

“I CAN’T MOVE MY FUCKING ARMS!” it boomed. It then took one step forward. It tried to raise the second leg, but it didn’t appear to be working. Because it had so much forward momentum, it simply pitched forward and landed face-first on the floor, disconnecting several hundred wires in the process. Although we didn’t actually see the nose hit the floor, the sound was unmistakable. “PIG ME UB, YOU FUGGING IDIOSH!”

“The leader has fallen!” Oren screamed, rushing forward. “We must help him! Quickly!”

About 15 techs surrounded the fallen C-Mech, each grabbing a different body part. None of them were able to budge it.

“It would appear that the great leader has fallen and he can’t get up,” Violet observed.

“If I ever attain god status, that’s exactly how I want to make my entrance,” Max said.

“This part will probably be left out of the official biblical accounts,” I noted.

Onscreen, two forklifts were trying to manoeuvre into position from either side to get the C-Mech back on its feet while the army of technicians frantically swarmed over it trying to reconnect wires and cables.

“Do not despair, great leader!” Oren said, crouching down next to the head.

“WEN I GED UB, I’M GOIG DO RIB YOO FUGGING NUDS OFF, TIBBS!”

“This is the best corporate video I have ever seen in my entire life,” I said. “Even better than the one on sexual harassment.”

“I’M GOIG DO RIB ALL YOO NUDS OFF!”

Finally, the forklifts managed to get the C-Mech off the ground and back on its feet. Blood had curtained under its nose and one of its eyes was already bruised and swollen shut.

“They’ve always had issues with tissue generation for C-Mechs,” Max observed. “Sometimes the stuff just seems to overheat and fall right off. It’s pretty gross.”

“Yuck,” Violet said.

“What? Like the scene where they open the ark at the end of
Raiders
?” I asked.

“No. Those ones melted. With C-Mechs, it comes off in chunks. It’ll be walking around and then – splat! – the left cheek just falls right off.”

“Face or butt?” I asked.

Max took another spoonful of stew. “Sometimes both. They make female ones, too. One time, I saw this chick with huge –”

“I’d really like it if you didn’t finish that story,” Violet said.

On the screen, Oren had found what looked like a beach towel and was waving it in the general direction of the C-Mech’s face. He was trying to wipe away the blood, which was still running out of the nose and splattering down on the techs, who were crawling everywhere like worker bees trying to get everything reconnected. The problem was that the source of the blood was still about seven feet from his outstretched arm.

“I need a ladder!” Oren shouted. “I need a ladder to reach the mighty leader’s nose!”

Nobody was paying any attention. Blood continued to rain down on Oren, who didn’t appear to be making any attempt to shield himself. One large droplet landed on the lens, obscuring most of the left side of the frame in a red haze.

There was a click and a whirring noise.

“Left hemisphere is online!” somebody shouted off camera.

“Great and mighty leader!” Oren said. “I have – glurg!”

We could just make out one of the arms swing into view as the camera swung violently up, pointing at what looked like the ceiling. It then began turning slowly counter-clockwise while somebody (Oren, presumably) began to make a horrible screeching sound.

“I GED A DOO DIS WID MY OWN HADS, YOO PESDILED LIDDLE COGGSUGGER!”

There was a crack and a wet ripping sound. Those of us watching covered our mouths in horror as the rest of the lens was obscured with red.

“Oh dear,” Tristan said, looking like he was about to be sick.

“I’m guessing that Oren is no longer the go-to guy at Firmamental anymore,” I said.

“OWDA MY WAY, FUGWIDS!”

There was a loud thunk as the microphone hit the ground and then the sound went dead.

“That’s it,” Violet said.

“So we know Hudson is in a C-Mech, even if it didn’t go one hundred per cent according to plan,” Max said.

“When was this shot?” Tristan asked.

“Yesterday,” Violet said. “Last night at eight-oh-four pm eastern standard time, to be precise.”

“He’s probably on his way to the site now,” Max said. “If he isn’t there already.”

“The storm actually gave us a bit of a push,” Violet said. “We’ll be there by tomorrow morning.”

“I hope so,” Tristan said. “If he gets there first, then this could all be for nothing.”

I glanced back at the final frame of the video and shuddered. Based on what we had just seen, I couldn’t envision any scenario where our early arrival would make the least bit of difference. Of course, there was still the matter of Ida and her team of glorified bounty hunters looking for us as well. Was it better to freeze to death on an ice floe, be sucked off the face of the earth by a tornado, crushed under a few million tonnes of ice, eaten by some sort of subterranean alien species, shot by a sexual predator, or torn in half by the psychotic 12-foot-tall half-robot, half-chief executive officer of the company where I used to work? They did, after all, appear to be the most likely options.

“Think I’ll head topside and get some air,” I said, heading for the stairs. I figured I might as well absorb as much fresh stuff as I could while I still had the chance.

W
e arrived at the entrance to the Handleer Crevasse early the next morning, at which point we became aware of a minor impediment to the execution of our plan.

Only, that is, if you can call 700 vertical feet of masonry concrete “minor.”

“What the hell is that?” Max said.

We were bobbing in the waves about 200 yards from the shoreline. It was foggy, but the rising sun was already starting to burn most of the mist off. In an hour or so, we would probably be in clear sunlight and our presence would be no mystery whatsoever to anyone who happened to glance oceanward from the shore.

We could see the massive grey cliffs of Greenland’s west coast towering straight up out of the water. The problem was, the space where they parted to allow entry into the crevasse had been blocked by what looked like the largest dam I had ever seen in my life. It was so tall, in fact, that we couldn’t really see the top, which disappeared into the mist and was only visible for a few scattered moments when the wind blew a hole in the clouds.

“That was not here the last time I visited this place,” Tristan said.

“I’ve never been here before,” I said. “But I’m willing to take your word on that.”

“Why would you build something like that?” Max said. “If you wanted to block the entrance to ships, you could have built a breakwater that was one hundred times smaller.”

“I don’t think it’s there to block ships,” Violet said. “Well, not just for that reason, anyway.”

I noticed what looked like large, circular black protrusions spaced evenly across the face of the dam. They made it look like some sort of giant game board. Like the dam itself, I had no idea as to their purpose.

“Okay,” Max said. “Then why?”

Violet looked at Max. “Why do you usually build a dam?”

Max thought about it for a moment. “To hold back water?”

“Exactly.”

“But it’s not like Greenland is in danger of flooding, is it?”

“I believe I understand your meaning,” Tristan said, clearly grasping the implication before Max did. “Not to dismiss it out of hand – because I believe it may prove to be extremely important – but our most pressing consideration at the moment is how to get on to the island.”

“Right,” Violet said. “Well, there is a large shipping dock about a mile up the coast. That’s where they bring in all the shipbound cargo for the Weather Station. I was avoiding us going in that way because it’s also a GDI naval operations base. There’s no way we’d be able to sneak in there unseen.”

“Well, I believe we are going to have to try,” Tristan said, eyeing the cliffs. “Unless, of course, the four of us would like to put our mountaineering skills to the test.”

I gulped. Just the sight of the cliffs was enough to make my testicles want to retreat into my throat. The thought of trying to climb them was enough grounds for said organs to file for divorce. I had never climbed anything higher than the monkey bars behind my old elementary school, and even then, I was fifteen minutes late coming back from recess once because I had gotten to the top and was too scared to try getting back down.

“I’m with Tristan,” I said. “Shipping dock sounds good.”

“I still don’t get the dam,” Max said. “Why are they trying to keep water out?”

“They’re not trying to keep it out,” Violet said. “They’re trying to keep it
in
.”

“That will all become clear in time, I fear,” Tristan said. “In the meantime, I do not believe it is wise for us to linger here.”

“Okay,” Violet said. “It may not be wise for us to go that way, either, but what the hell.”

Violet disappeared into the pilot house. A moment later, the ship’s nose swung around and we were heading silently north. The wind and sun were burning off the last of the mist, allowing us a better look at the massive icebergs floating in the distance, some so big that they qualified as islands of their own.

“Did it look like this the last time you were here?” I asked Tristan.

“No,” he said. “The entire coastline was covered by the ice sheet. I remember the first time I set foot on it. A spot not so very far from where we are right now.”

“Wouldn’t try it now,” Max observed. “Unless you can walk on water, that is.”

“Indeed,” Tristan said. “A lesson that I fear a great many people are going to be forced to learn the hard way if we are unsuccessful.”

We came around a rocky outcrop and the docks came into view. Tristan and I instinctively ducked down behind the rail. I could see five long concrete docks sticking out from the shore like giant fingers. Three of them were relatively short (maybe 500 feet) and two looked long enough to berth an oil tanker. A rectangular harbour had been carved out of the cliffside, where I could see several dozen buildings. The GDI base was easily identifiable thanks to the fact that it was completely surrounded by a steel security fence with sentry towers at every corner. It was next to one of the longer docks, the entry to which was also barred.

Max ran below and grabbed a pair of binoculars. Even without them, I could see there were no ships at anchor and no vehicles moving on shore.

“Place looks deserted,” he said, sitting next to us and panning the binoculars slowly back and forth. “I can’t see any activity at all.”

I squinted, trying to see any sign of movement. “There has to be. The big boss is coming to town. The place should be a hive of activity.”

“Look for yourself,” Max said, passing me the binoculars.

I took the binoculars and peered through them. The boat was bobbing up and down in the waves, which made everything I was looking at flail wildly. I had to get up off my knees and squat with my legs tucked under me in a decidedly uncomfortable position to offset the movement of the boat. It wasn’t perfect, but at least I could focus on an object for longer than half a second at a time. Sort of. I looked carefully at each one of the buildings. I could see no vehicles, no lights, no people, nothing. Max appeared to be correct. The place looked like a ghost town.

“You’re right,” I said, handing back the binoculars. “Nothing.”

“If it really is abandoned,” Max said, looking again. “It was recently. None of the buildings or anything appears to be in disrepair. No smashed windows or overgrowth or anything like that. Looks like everybody just went for lunch at the same time.”