The Plague Forge [ARC] (35 page)

They were running again, and four steps later Tania could see the bulky shape of the
Helios
resting in the clearing where they’d landed. The sight of it brought a renewed urgency to her burning legs, and then, as suddenly as it had started, she was through the door, closing it. Vanessa had veered away and went to the cockpit without a spoken word of planning. They both knew what had to be done.

Tania pulled the door shut at the same moment a subhuman slammed into it, forcing it closed with such ferocity that she stumbled backward. She could see the being’s face through the tiny porthole window. Two blue eyes, bloodshot and ragged and … sad. Profoundly sad.

The engines were already whirring, soon pushing to a roar that vibrated the walls.

She’ll fly,
Tania thought. The pulse that had ruined her suit had not, it seemed, extended this far.

Tania realized the light above the door showed red. No seal. Panic surged through her. Had something caught in the door? The being’s foot, or hand?

She saw it then, and cursed herself. She’d simply forgotten to yank the handle into the sealed position. It took a force of will to step toward the door, toward those blue eyes and clawing fingertips that left little dirty smudges on the glass. Yet she did it, she stepped up and gripped the long metal bar with both hands and turned it clockwise. It snapped into place, the light turned green, and instantly the aircraft lurched.

Those eyes disappeared, fell down and away, as the
Helios
took flight.

Tania lay on the floor of the aircraft for a long time, the fingertips of her right hand resting gently on the triangular object. She stared at it, tried to thrust her very soul into the weave of microscopic channels that laced its surface, its beveled edges.

“Are you what saved me?” she whispered.

The emerald light that pulsed within those tiny lines did not waver.

She ran a finger over the corner of the triangle with the missing tip. “Are you what protects me now? Or am I … immune, after all?”

The odds of that were astronomical, she knew, and with more than a little mirth she countered that with the fact that she was an astronomer.
And, if the jury will allow, this very object came from the stars, did it not?
Tania smiled at her own wit. Astronomical odds weren’t so hard to believe. Not anymore.

After a time reality began to pull her back to more practical matters. She relieved herself after first shedding the torn spacesuit and the leotard she’d worn underneath. Sitting naked on the floor, she used dry-shower wipes to clean herself, then combed her hair and tied it into a tight bun. From a locker under the bench seat she pulled a fresh set of sweatpants and light sweater, both emblazoned with the logo of some Brazilian football club she’d never heard of.

She ate a bland packet of peanut butter mixed with various vitamins and some sort of grain, the type of thing they used to drop from aircraft into starving villages. She sipped water from a stainless-steel canister. Not too much. It was room temperature and tasted metallic, and when she looked down into the darkness of the container the ripple of water there reminded her of the underwater river, the cave, and Pablo.

She stared at that water for a long time, unblinking, remembering.

Later Tania pulled the hood of her sweater over her head and sat cross-legged on the floor, her arms thrown over her knees, her head bent down in something that might resemble reverence, and she cried for him. A man she’d hardly known, who died for her. Another death for her rather vague cause.

When the Builders did arrive, they’d have a lot to answer for.

A few hours later Vanessa landed the aircraft somewhere in southern Mexico. She tapped the window and mouthed that she was going to recharge the caps, then stepped back in surprise when Tania yanked the handle and opened the cabin door.

“The air’s already contaminated, remember?”

Vanessa tightened her lips. “Are you … I mean, it seems unlikely you’re immune.”

Astronomical odds. Tania tried to act nonchalant, and shrugged. “I don’t know what happened, but when that shock wave hit the pain receded, stabilized. I think maybe the object creates a small aura. I suppose now we’ll find out. Keep an eye on me.”

Vanessa nodded and moved aside.

Tania stepped out into the cool evening air and inhaled the rich aroma of wild vegetation.

Vanessa had set the
Helios
down on a landing pad on the grounds of a resort or hotel. An isolated place, and despite being enveloped by the jungle around it, the grounds still spoke of immaculate, expensive landscaping. Lights were on everywhere, inside and out, but of course nobody was around.

Tania moved a step from the door. Then another. Then ten.

“I’ll help you,” Tania said, smiling with more confidence than she felt. “Just … haul me back here if I start acting strange.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes. Come on.”

Together they found and then cleaned the charge cable, which had become home to a particularly large and hairy spider. Vanessa had recoiled at the sight of it, but Tania simply swatted it aside with one quick brush of her hand before picking away the remnants of its web. Then she carried the weight of the cord while Vanessa snapped the charge coupler into place on the receptacle near the tail of the aircraft.

“Nice strong line,” the woman said. “Won’t take more than an hour to ensure we can get home.”

“Did you fly before … you know, before?”

“No,” Vanessa said with visible pride. “Skyler taught me.”

For a time they simply sat on benches that lined the walkway to the landing pad and listened to the sounds of the jungle. Despite the ample landscape lighting around them, the stars above still put on a dazzling display. It was a clear, warm night, and other than the occasional insect landing to snack on Tania’s arm, she found the place surreal and calming.

Vanessa let out a long sigh. “I wish he was here. Pablo, I mean.”

“Me, too.”

The woman cast a sidelong glance at Tania and smiled amiably enough. It was clear she wanted to grieve but not in the company of a stranger. She wanted to be with Skyler and Ana, with her crew, to mourn and remember.

“What’s going to happen,” Vanessa asked, “when we gather all of those … things?”

A shiver ran across Tania’s shoulders.

“I know,” Vanessa continued, “I asked you before and you said you didn’t know. But … what do you think is going to happen, Dr. Sharma?”

“All I have are lame hypotheses. Guesses, really. A hypothesis would require some concrete information at least.”

Vanessa’s features hardened. “Tell me anyway. I want to know.”

“You want to know what Pablo died for,” Tania said gently. The other woman looked away, her lack of denial serving as an answer. “I want to know that, too.”

A tear slipped from the corner of Vanessa’s eye and began its stutter-roll down her cheek. She swatted it away like one of the insects and took a big deliberate breath, exhaling through her mouth.

“There is some evidence,” Tania said carefully, “that there will only be one more ship to arrive. An end to this … sequence, less than a year from now. And my guess, educated or otherwise, is that things will go very badly for us if these objects are not installed before that time.”

“And if they are? What happens then?”

Tania shrugged. “No one knows. But Skyler felt strongly that simply waiting around, or ignoring this altogether, was unlikely to lead to the desirable outcome. Assuming of course there is a desirable outcome, for us at least.”

“He’s right. And there must be.”

“I wonder sometimes.” She shivered again. A few minutes later, an audible click from the cap spooler said the
Helios
was ready to go.

Chapter Twenty-Three

Darwin, Australia

31.MAR.2285

A small waft of smoke rose from the barrel of the gun in Kelly’s hand.

So swift had the motion been that Sam had no time to react. No time to dive toward Prumble and knock him out of the way, to take the bullet herself. No time even to wince or cover her ears as the bullet exploded from the barrel of the pistol and took flight, the retort from the weapon a single deafening clap that echoed briefly off the walls of the crowded room.

No time, even, to curse Kelly’s name once and for all. All Samantha had time for was the useless acceptance of the woman’s new name, Sister Josephine, Patron Saint of Bitches That Need to Die.

Sam started to turn and saw the body topple backward, dead eyes staring straight ahead.

Not Prumble. Kip.

The frail man’s stringy gray hair folded around his head like the embrace of Death’s own hands and he hit the floor with his arms splayed outward.

Skadz reacted first, a split second before Prumble. He rushed sideways behind Sam and tackled the nearest Jacobite guard.

Prumble, God bless him, flung his clipboard like a Frisbee straight into the face of the guard on his left. The thin, hard object caught the man right in his gaping, surprised mouth, and when he coughed in reaction a spray of blood came out. He fell, gurgling. Prumble had already moved on. He surged forward and to the left, swinging one meaty arm like a cricket bat, his flat hand slamming into another soldier just below the ear and sending him, eyes closed, to his knees.

Kelly fired her gun twice more, dropping another guard, before the man closest to her slapped the weapon away and raised his own rifle.

The initial fog of battle melted away and everything around Samantha seemed to slow down. She rushed straight toward Kelly, heard a gunshot behind her that surely had been meant for her own heart. Had she not moved, she’d be dead, and the guard who fired would have done so again had Skadz not swept his legs from under him.

Kelly and her assailant were locked in a tug-of-war over the guard’s rifle. Sam closed the distance in two wide steps, lowered her shoulder, and rammed into the man’s abdomen. He grunted, and miraculously held on as Sam lifted him off his feet. When his back slammed into the vault door, though, his grip failed as quickly as his lungs lost their air. The round door might as well have been a solid wall of stone.

Sam let the guard fall. Gunshots rang out behind her. Who was shooting she had no idea, so she dove, rolled, and came up with her own weapon in hand. The former broom handle wasn’t much, but the wood had a heft to it and it ended in a mess of splinters.

There was no one left to swing it at. Bodies of Jacobite guards lay everywhere. One that had fallen against the wall was in a sitting position, his brains splayed across the surface behind him in a splatter of gray matter and dark red blood. He slowly, slowly toppled to one side, the back of his skull leaving a neat curved smear on the wall.

Skadz and Prumble were eyeing Kelly, unsure if they should attack her or thank her. She smartly lowered her gun.

“Back on our team?” Sam asked her.

“Never left. But I figured this was the right time to make it official.”

“You’re a good actress, hon.”

She smiled, a hint of sadness in the crease of her brow. “Kip sold you out. I think Grillo knew, instinctually, that he was a mole after that business over at Selby Systems. He forced Kip to turn rat or face the alternative.”

Sam eyed the man’s body, and once again recalled the sound of Grillo’s knife plunging into that captive man in Lyons. At least this had been quick.

“When you landed, Kip called for help, and Grillo asked me to personally take care of the situation.”

“Is he here? In the building?”

Kelly shook her head. “I’m not sure where he is. Is that why you came? To kill him?”

“No,” Prumble said before Sam could. “We came for the thing inside that safe.”

Her eyebrows climbed up her forehead and she turned—they all turned—to watch as Prumble approached the massive gleaming barricade that was the vault door.

A small panel inset into the wall beside the round portal opened with silent grace when Prumble tapped it, revealing a numeric keypad within. Above the keypad was a small black square that emitted a dull red glow.

With two thick fingers he held down the buttons in the bottom corners of the keypad. Five seconds passed, then he tapped in a series of numbers before holding the two corner buttons again. At the same time, he crouched slightly and leaned down so his left eye was level with the black square. The red light pulsed. There was soft beep from the panel, then a startlingly loud noise from the door itself that reverberated within the room.

Prumble gripped the oversized handle in the door’s center and pulled. The whole thing swung outward in silent, languid motion. Inside, a series of recessed lights came on, revealing a large square room with bright white walls and a dark polished floor. The contents were haphazardly arranged. From neatly aligned lockers and shelves to disheveled wooden crates and even stacks of paper on one table. Stamped council notes, Sam guessed.

She ignored all of this. Her prize lay near the back. It looked exactly as it had the last time she’d seen it. A cube-shaped bundle of gray blankets, with rope holding them in place. Inside she knew would be a wooden crate, and within that …

Something else caught her eye. A familiar color at the edge of her vision. Sam glanced up and studied the small item on an otherwise empty shelf near her prize.

Sister Haley’s notebook, the original Jacobite holy text, in a zipper-locked plastic bag. Funny, Sam thought, that half the city probably cared more about the scribbling of a drug-addled teenager than an object sent by an alien race. She snatched the bag and stuffed it into her vest, imagining Grillo’s anger and dismay when he found it had gone missing, too.

Her attention shifted back to the bundle on the ground. Confirmation was needed, she decided. Sam untied the ropes and pulled the blankets aside, then unlatched the lid of the crate and peered inside.

Nestled within lay the alien cube. Sky-blue light still coursed through its strange geometric veins. “Found it!” she called out.

“Then grab it and let’s get the bloody hell out of here,” Skadz replied.