Dagger-like pain shot through my skull. I reeled back, slamming my head into the opposite wall. “Ahhh,” I groaned, lifting an arm to rub the rapidly forming knot under my hair. But as I lifted, my hand jammed against the hard slate bulkhead. My knuckles stung. I pulled my hand back, only to smash the ball of my elbow.
“What the fuck?” I mumbled.
“I’m sorry–”
“Arlo, goddammit.”
My eyes were only centimeters away from the bulkhead, and the room was nothing more than a dark haze. I tried to roll my shoulder to the opposite side, only to catch on the wall. OK, I wasn’t crazy; they were shrinking the cells each time. I wiggled my pinned arm free, allowing me to push and glide up the wall to a standing position. The cell wasn’t wide enough for my shoulders to turn, let alone sit down. I was either stuck standing or lying to one side. The cells may have been shrinking, but I couldn’t help but feel that was a drastic leap compared to the last few interrogations.
I had never been claustrophobic. It was rare for someone to be as comfortable in tight spaces as I was. So many promising young aviators were selected out of the ISP training pipeline because they couldn’t handle the mental rigors of being in confined spaces for long stretches of time. Not me, however. I was as much as a natural as they came. But that cell tested even the strongest fibers of my resolve.
Just get it over with, I thought, concluding it would be better to get to the end than wait in agony for the inevitable. The mind could handle only so many interrogations before it finally broke, and I was near the tipping point.
“Arlo,” I said. I wasn’t sure what to ask, but suddenly, I was missing his company.
“Yes, Jack. What can I help with?”
“Is Richardson alive? They seem to think so…”
“I am unsure who the they you are referring to, but I am unable to discern Admiral Richardson’s vital status based on the corpus of information I have been provided.”
“Take a guess, would ya?”
“Based on the date of General Secretary Marcus’s archive entry, I find it doubtful Admiral Richardson would still be living. However, I can confirm she was alive two hundred and fifty years prior to the journal entries made aboard the Trinidad. So, my findings are inconclusive. The paradox of which, does leave a non-zero possibility Admiral Richardson is in fact still living.”
“Yeah, that’s what I figured, too,” I replied, resting my forehead against the wall. A wave of exhaustion set in over my body. The periods in which I was unconscious hardly constituted sleep. And in the confines of those black cells, I had absolutely no concept of the passage of time. I could’ve been there for a few days or weeks, for all I knew. “Arlo, who created the GCS?”
“I’m sorry, I don’t have that information in my corpus.”
Of course not. The GCS probably wrote most of the archives. “Has a General Secretary, or anyone for that matter, ever shut off the GCS?”
“Yes. According to Archive 6,” I drowned out the rest of the numbers and popped back in when he started speaking again. “The GCS has lost connectivity twice in the past.”
“Why? I mean, how?”
“I am unable to ascertain the why or how, but of note, each loss of connectivity occurred during a period of purge activity.”
“And there it is,” I said. Arlo connected the final piece of the puzzle. Is that what Claudius wanted me to know? It can’t be. So he was following orders from Augustus and at the same time saving himself. So what? Self-preservation was hardly a grand revelation. Knowing him, he would’ve gladly caused the chaos, his own future on the line or not. I’m missing something. I have to be.
“Arlo, what do your Archives mention of Claudius?”
“Cladius occurs in the Archives many times. Are there any specific questions you have?”
“Filter for anything anomalous,” I said, trying to prompt the model.
“Can you be more explicit in your definition of anomalous?”
“No. Create a chain of thought to filter down any entries containing his name and remove any that you classify as routine. Present the last three archives.”
“Complete. First entry, Archive–”
“No need to read the Archive designator, just the entry summary.”
“The first entry describes the purchase of young women from a lower market for delivery to the capital,” Arlo said, pausing.
“Horrible, but not out of character.”
“These women, according to the entry, were shuttled off of Earth’s surface and toward deep space with no known outposts or bases along its trajectory. Even more anomalous was the condition of the vessel. It was a salvaged mining craft.”
“So he shuttled them into deep space? Alright, what’s the next one?” I had a sudden urge to pinch the bridge of my nose, but the wall pressed back against my rising hand.
“Claudius received and carried out an order to impregnate a member of the house staff in the Capital living quarters with the genes from a redacted donor. I apologize, I am unable to decode the redaction–”
“Who sent the order?” I asked. I knew the redacted name all too well.
“I’m sorry, the archives do not say.”
“OK, and the third?” I asked, losing hope that there was more to Claudius’s schemes.
“Claudius, unbeknownst to Secretary Lucius, manually entered a distress signal for a point just inside the orbit of Saturn. The very point both the vessels Victoria and Trinidad were intercepted by the Directorate Navy.”
“Who told him?” My brow furrowed against the smooth slate wall.
“I’m sorry, the Archives do not say who.”
I opened my mouth to ask a follow-up, but before a word came out, the air parted with a Schuuunk, driving an icy spike up my spine. Instinctively, my head whipped toward the door, but the side of my eye caught the rough surface and scraped to a halt.
“Just fucking get it over with. We all know how this ends,” I yelled. My breath reflected off the wall, reminding me how long it had been since I brushed. There was no reply. Pressing back, I turned my head, finding the heavy metal door retracted with no one standing on the other side. The hall was empty. Blinding white cones of light flooded the space but didn’t permeate into the dark cell. It was as though the walls ate the illumination. Which, for all I knew, they were designed to do.
I shuffled out, breaking through the narrow door into the hall. Just like before, hexagonal tiles lined the walls. Only now, they weren’t breathing but evenly spaced, emanating a low red glow through the cracks.
My legs dropped out from under me. The hard ground rose so fast that I was unable to break the fall. My hip bounced, followed by my elbow. I expected to be paralyzed from the waist down, but writhing in pain, I could feel sharp jolts through my femur. What just happened?
The ground shook again. I splayed out to avoid being tossed around. Lesser grumbles followed up the initial tremor, reverberating through my aching bones.
“Arlo, what the hell was that?”
“I’m sorry, I don’t have that information in my corpus.”
Of course. Why would you? “Just trying to be conversational,” I said, playing it off.
Door after stout metal door passed as I rushed down zigzagging gray corridors. I became lost, stuck in a muddled gray maze. Each hall looked the same as the last. I couldn’t tell if I was making progress or doubling back on where I had already been. The floor stayed level. I desperately searched for a staircase or incline - anything to help me get topside.
The floor rumbled, nearly sending me to my knees. With every tremor, the walls exhaled, temporarily hiding their low red glow before opening up again. My heart raced nearly as quickly as my feet. I sprinted, slowing just enough to round corners before returning my pace. A faint echo rattled in the distance. It was sporadic at first, but the cracks intensified as I followed its trail. Gunfire. Has to be. That must be where all the guards are.
Light bolted down the corridor as I stepped out from my dim hall. A torrent of young men, blasting wildly without taking the time to aim, streamed through on the other side. One turned, letting loose an undisciplined round into the slate behind me. I jumped back before he could get off another.
“Jack,” a low voice called out. “Hold your fire,” he continued. “Jack?” he asked again.
“Whose there?” I yelled over the ringing in my ears.
“Jack, it’s James. Where the fuck did you come from?”
Cautiously, I peeked around the edge of the wall, revealing just enough of myself to see James. He squinted, his eyes widening when they met mine. James tilted the barrel of his rifle until it rested on his shoulder.
“Holy shit, you’re a sight for sore eyes,” I said, feeling a sudden release of tension.
“How the hell? Why are you down here? I didn’t see you…” James said as he turned to look down the hall from where he had just come. “You weren’t apart of the assault force, were you?”
“No.” The dark silhouette of his head tilted. He shifted his rifle so the hand guard fell into his palm. “I was taken prisoner. Held.” I looked back. “Down there.”
Before James could respond, an explosion sent us both hurtling for cover. I dropped, flattening against the ground while he lunged for the wall. James pressed his back against the dark slate, shifting to the side momentarily to glimpse where the blast came from. He looked back at me. Even in the black corridor, I could feel his eyes tunneling through me.
“So, did you choose a side?” He asked.
“A side?” I asked. I knew what he was after, but I hardly felt like that was the time or place to affirm allegiances. Then again, maybe it was.
“Yeah. Us or them?”
“I didn’t…,” I tried to reply. I peered into the dark hall broken by grey metal doors - doors that very well may have housed me over the past several days of torture.
James followed my gaze, giving an understanding nod. “Do you still want to get into the archives?”
More now than ever. “Yes,” I simply replied.
Gunfire rattled in the distance as James pulled a blocky handgun from his belt line. He spun it. I grabbed the grip and pulled it close. A flicker of light brightened the whites of his eyes just before the concussive wave of another explosion rattled the hall. He disappeared into a heavy plume of dust hanging in the air. I raced forward to follow, but another blast rocked me back on my heels as I turned the corner.
The air felt as if it sprang to life, taking on a mind of its own. It violently shifted, pushing out before reeling back in. I was sucked down the hall by the invisible force. Flung through the murky void, I lost all semblance of direction, sliding down the wall before crumbling to the floor. My lungs emptied. I fought for breath past the heavy suspended particulate.
Another wave blew me out before slinging further down the hall. I clipped the back of a runner’s legs who suddenly appeared in the mist. My pistol dropped as we tumbled to the ground. I jumped up to grab it when a hand gripped my ankle, ripping me back down.
The hand released. “Dammit, Jack.”
I looked back. James rose to his feet and scrambled into the haze and out of sight. Padding the floor, I found the pistol and secured it in my waistband. It only took a single step to remember I was in my boxer shorts, and the elastic was well-worn. It barely supported its own weight on my bony hips, much less that of an oversized chunk of plastic and metal. I bent over and picked up the weapon before another wave hit.
“Where’s that coming from?” I screamed across the hall. The waves grew deeper into a bowel-shaking vibration. I had mistaken them for explosions, but now I could see they emanated from something else entirely.
With his back pressed against an opposite wall, James yelled, “Not much further now.”
“What the fuck is it?”
“Don’t know. But I’m guessing whatever’s waiting for us at the end isn’t good.”
I thought of the riot wall, crushing crowds in the streets above. He was right. They were pulling us in, not pushing us away. Whatever waited at the other end wouldn’t be pleasant, and I had no intention of finding out what it was.
I took shelter in the mouth of a shallow indent that was more decorative than functional. Still, set into the marble flooring was a stone grate large enough to squeeze through. I heaved the heavy plate from its birthing and slung it into the middle. A wave picked it up. The heavy metal disk disappeared into the beige fog before reappearing, slung in the opposite direction.
The opening led to a cramped tunnel wide enough to crawl through. With his smaller stature, James fared better as he dropped in from the opposite side. We connected in the middle before pushing forward. The thin metal sheeting beneath us groaned, agonizing after each concussive thump. Before long, we had passed beyond the apex of the force and decided to resume topside. James passed off his rifle and placed his shoulders against a grate, pushing up and out until it released.
The marble floor was slick with a crimson sheen. Hunks of white-hued flesh littered the tile, strung together by stray strands of hair and sinew.
“Jesus,” I mumbled. I felt an urge to vomit. I managed to resist until I took a deep breath. A pungent mixture of burned steak and iron clung to the air. My mouth burst with saliva before yawing open to spew.
James slipped. His footing gave out as he tried to race toward the wave. Between spurts of vomit, I called out to him. But my voice didn’t carry far - drowned out, lost within the amplitude troughs. Thoughts grew labored and incoherent. Soon, the room spun, and I couldn’t keep my footing. I dropped to one knee just as a gelatinous chunk smacked my ribs, followed by a bloody mist.
“James,” I stammered. My sight tunneled, losing all periphery as I scanned the hall through a black tube.
“We have to shut that fucking thing off.”
“Leave it. We have to go,” I yelled back, trying to trace the direction of James’s voice. The room distorted the closer I looked at the wave. In its oscillating spectral ripple, a dark blur scrambled along the wall.
“Jack, get up here. I need–” His voice disappeared. The hall shook, and the blob dropped.
“James,” I called out after the tremor subsided. The blob didn’t stir. “Hey… Fuck.” Stepping carefully, I made my way toward where I last heard him. His outline sharpened as I approached. A bulb of blood blistered from his forehead, draining onto the slick floor and rippling out with every breath. His body tensed just before his eyes snapped open. “You have to get up,” I said just as another wave hit.
A chunk flashed by, missing my head by a few centimeters. I was spared the projectile but not the rain. Drenched, I lifted him by the arm. He clutched his head. “Shoot it.”
“Shoot what?” I asked, trying to pull him to safety. He resisted, ripping his hand from mine to point to a gray dome receding into the ceiling.
Where have I seen this?
“Is that what–”
“Yes. Now shoot it. I would but I can’t see a fucking thing.”
I raised the barrel of my handgun and trained the dotted sites. A hexagonal tile shifted, bulging out. The gun bucked as I squeezed off a round. Then another. And another until the magazine emptied. The tile shattered, raining down jagged debris. A mechanism just below the surfaced pulsed in and out, but no wave. My vision cleared. The fog setting in around my mind dissipated, and the full extent of the horror came into view. Broken bodies, halved and quartered, lay strewn across the blood-soaked floor. Put back together, the hunks of flesh could’ve made at least a dozen full-grown men.
James straightened and swatted me on the back before calling, “All clear. Move up.”
Like insects scurrying from a lifted rock, the corridor filled with attackers. Some looked familiar, their faces flashing faint memories of the tunnels below. As one passed, no older than sixteen, his eyes met mine. “I’m Glad you came. I feel better now that you’re here.”
I couldn’t answer. My voice froze, allowing him to pass without response.
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“Who.” I cleared my throat. “Who are they?”
“The main assault force,” James said casually as he counted the men passing by. His hand tapped their shoulders one by one before letting them catch up with the others.
“You didn’t have this many the last time I saw you.”
“No, but you did.”
I studied the faces closer, picturing each one somewhere in the line as we rushed the market or trudged down endless black tunnels.
“It was you…”
“What’s that?” James asked, tapping the last of the group.
“You told them where we would be.”
He dropped his head. “We needed more men,” he conceded, watching as the assault force disappeared around a corner. He opened his mouth to say more but pursed his lips.
“Come on,” James said before taking off after them.
Dead Capital Guards littered the halls. The gray slate walls turned to marble, growing more elegant the further I climbed. The assault force was making quick work of the interior defenses. But at a cost. Crumpled brown blouses were nearly as numerous as the gray tunics. At that rate, James’s men would be depleted after another few floors.
Paintings were thrown from the wall by a concussive blast, lifting me from my feet. I landed with a thud. A brief ball of fire billowed from around a corner, scorching the delicate crown molding. Rifles barked shortly after. An intense barrage of deep, unsettling cracks drowned the air. But as suddenly as it started, it stopped.
James took count of the men he had left before ushering them into a room. “Jack, get in. Let’s go,” he yelled. His stern features contorted with fear. From the bodies, I could tell he’d had a hell of a fight and wore it openly.
In the room, seamlessly inlaid monitors covered every square inch of the walls. Row after row of hologram control panels emitted a garish green hue, taking up what little ground the screens left. James barked orders, directing his men toward different desks.
“Hey,” James started in his commanding tone before finishing in a softer one, “secure the door. There’s a control panel for the secondary blast shield.”
The wall was blank as I ran my hand along it. Unable to wait, James rushed forward and produced a screen from one of the tiles, sending home two thick ceramic doors.
“I didn’t see that,” I said.
“Don’t worry about it. You weren’t involved in the planning.”
“You knew that was there? How?”
“We practiced. Every action has been mapped out down to the last detail.” James began checking over shoulders, tracing invisible lines with his finger as he manipulated projected screens. Claudius must’ve helped. He had to have. Who else would know this tower so intimately?
James smacked his hands together, letting out a victorious howl. “That’s it, guys. The rest is up to them. Great fucking work,” he said, working his way row by row to congratulate the remaining men.
I couldn’t tell what they had just done. I scanned the screens before a single monitor flickered, catching my attention. A broad set of gilded double doors broke open, allowing a flood of men and women alike to flow beyond its breach. On another screen, an identical set of doors opened. Soon, nearly every monitor played the same scene.
It was chaos. Muzzle flashes disappeared in a torrent of ravenous attackers. Weaponless, they consumed and clawed the guards into pieces. When a monitor showed a packed hall, one of the men would switch the feed to show the front of the pack working its way up the tower. From that room, we traced the hoard’s progress.
“Looks like half the damn city,” I said, studying a screen.
James chuckled. “Not quite, but hopefully enough.”
“They’re going to take the whole tower?”
“That’s the plan. They have a long way to go, though.”
“What now?” I asked, my eyes glued to the carnage.
“We wait. Give them another ten minutes. That should clear out their defenses from this wing.”
“What then?”
“Then we go to the top.”
“You want to join that?” I asked, pointing toward a picture of a hall so crammed that those at the edges were in danger of suffocating.
“Different towers. This one holds the archives. Those,” he said, swinging a pointed finger in a wide arc, “are the Undersecretary living quarters. And that one is The Capital.”
“We’re not in The Capital,” I said under my breath.
“No, we aren’t.” James pulled a chair out from under a desk. He interlocked his fingers on his head’s crown and leaned back. “You aren’t the only one who wants access to that data, it would seem.”
“What use does Constantine have for it?”
“Don’t know. But you can ask him when we get up there.”
“He’s here?”
“He will be. In,” James said, peering over his shoulder, “about thirty minutes.” He paused, swiveling toward the room. “Five minutes, guys. Five minutes. Check your weapons.”
Methodically, each man racked the bolt of their rifle halfway to the rear. The sound of their metallic slides pinged off the walls.
There was little resistance on our way to the upper elevator shaft, except for a few stragglers who barely fought before turning in flight. Three elevators could run simultaneously, carrying no more than fifteen of us at a time. James held me back for the second wave. When the elevator opened, a lone gut-shot young man lay slumped over in the corner.
“Let’s hope the others faired better,” James said, directing the body to be removed.
We stepped in. He pulled me to the back of the car with him. Blood rushed from my head. My toes throbbed as the holographic numbers in the corner raced upward.
Guttural screams cut the air as the doors opened. At the end of a blood trail lay a man, holding the remains of his intestines, keeping what was left of the shredded entrails from spilling out onto the pristine marble floor. Through the smoke-filled room, three Capital Guards were lined up facing the wall on their knees.
“Help him,” James directed the front of the car, grabbing the rest and pointing them in the opposite direction. The group bisected. The wounded man was dragged into the elevator just as I left. His shattered eyes met mine, calling out for god.
“James,” one of the men standing watch over the guards called out. He stopped and examined the group momentarily before shaking his head. The brown blouse took hold of the gray tunic’s short cropped hair, yanked down, and pulled the trigger of the handgun pressed to the back of his skull. The others followed. The sharp crack of the pistol’s report dug a spike into my skull as if I had been on the receiving end.
I looked away, unable to stomach the sight of more bloodshed. I’d had my fill. No amount of torture - of suffering would make me immune to the sight. I realized at that moment that I wasn’t numb. The indifference I had sought for so long evaded me. And I was grateful. Indifference was a curse, not a gift to get you through the hardest of times.
“Archives secure,” a young man reported.
James nodded. He took another step and staggered toward the wall. His hand ran across a coat of fresh blood, tracing a smear as he went. He pushed off, stumbled a few more steps, and fell. I ran over, expecting to find an open wound. Instead, his shoulders quivered as he sobbed.
“We did it. We fucking did it.”
“Yeah, you did.” I looked out into the room. It was the first time I took notice. I couldn’t help but feel underwhelmed. The Archives were little more than a series of hologram terminals stacked atop one another. Their screens flashed to life from the touch of an attacker. He jumped back, nearly shooting the terminal in surprise. James looked over his shoulder and shook his head. “He should’ve been here.”
“Who? Constantine?”
“No. Mathew,” he said, choking up on the last syllable.
Who? Oh, from the Heights assault. I remembered the young man writhing in agony, bleeding out on a safehouse table in front of a group of helpless onlookers.
“I’m uh… I’m sure he would be proud.”
“He’d be horrified. Still, he should’ve been here.”
I went to say more, but the elevator chime caught my tongue. Constantine stepped into the room - his squared jaw splattered with dried blood - his blouse stained a deep brownish-orange. Behind him, more PLM poured in, checking and clearing corners until they realized the room was filled with friendly faces.
I turned away, allowing him to approach before he noticed. “Jack? How?”
“I think you can guess. I’m sure you knew the cells were beneath this tower?”
“I did. But I didn’t think you would end up in them.”
The elevator chimed again. Beyond their doors was a young woman toting an oversized rifle. Her weapon was at the ready, and we locked eyes from across its glowing sights. Ancillae.
“How could you bring her?” I asked in a growling tone.
Constantine smiled. “I wouldn’t be able to keep her away if I tired.”
“And…” a lump worked its way up in my throat before I could finish.
“He’s safe. Secure in another tower, waiting for us… for you.”
My child. My only flesh and blood. I couldn’t bear the sight of her, and yet I couldn’t look away. She must have felt the same as her rifle never lowered. I could count the notches on the flash suppressor tipping her barrel.
Constantine patted the air with his palm, and she finally trained the weapon on the floor. Ancillae took a few steps more before turning back toward the elevator.
I wanted to call out to her, to say something, anything. I wanted to say I was sorry. For what? I didn’t know. I didn’t force myself upon her, and yet she was still the victim.
“She’ll come around with time.”
“She doesn’t think I…”
“No. It was all a part of the plan. What lies Claudius filled her mind with while you were gone… well, I cannot say.” Constantine helped James to his feet and gripped his shoulder, pulling him tight. “We did it. We’ve taken the city.”
“The other towers?”
“Will be ours… soon. The Capital’s defenses are proving more stubborn than we anticipated. Still, they weren’t expecting this. Any of it.”
“So, he never caught on?”
“In the dark the whole time. I bet he didn’t even stop to realize all the lower control levels were made identical.”
“Too arrogant,” James remarked, wiping his nose.
“Too something. Call it arrogance or stupidity.”
“I wish Mathew… and Peter could’ve been here to see it,” James said, pushing back tears.
“I do, too. I do, too.” Constantine placed his hand on James’s chest and gave him a light pat before dawning a wide grin. He pulled away and sauntered to the Archive terminal - a pep propelling each step. James caught me staring at him, his face giving away what I already knew. Constantine didn’t care. Ne never cared. This was his moment and his alone.
The elevator chimed, and more brown blouses flooded in, nearly taking up half the room. I pushed my way through. They formed a tight semi-circle around the terminal where Constantine was fast at work manipulating screen after screen.
“Where is it?” I heard him grumble as he furiously swiped.
“Where’s what?” I asked.
He looked back just as a hole opened in his forehead, scattering the back half of his skull through the hologram projections and onto the terminal faces beyond. His eyes flinched, resting in opposite corners before his limp body crumpled to the floor. I didn’t hear the shot - only a high-pitched ring.
The crowd turned. Standing just behind the first layer was Claudius, his eyes smugly aiming down the length of a pistol barrel. He looked around as the crowd drew on him. He lifted the barrel skyward, taking his finger out of the trigger well. The firearm spun before dropping to the ground.
For a moment, I felt as if the whole room would erupt. Half the group would be cut down by their own bullets in the frenzy. And for that, I was thankful as it stilled even the most jumpy among us.
“Constantine,” Claudius called out. He paused, waiting for the roar to die. “Betrayed you. He wasn’t your leader. He was merely a pawn of The Capital.” Cladius shot a look that only those who knew him would catch.
One of the young men stepped into the circle’s center, looked upon Constantine, and drew his weapon. I was closest. I didn’t know why, but at that moment, instinct kicked in, and I dove, catching the young man’s shaking arm before he could squeeze off a round. The handgun clattered to the floor and slid to a stop. I barrelled into him, sending him to the ground not far from where his weapon landed. Without hesitation, he reached for the pistol.
“Grab it,” I barked at the closest brown blouse, and they obeyed.
The would-be assailant lifted himself. “What the fuck is wrong with you?” he wailed. Tears streamed down his cheeks. A murmur among the crowd grew into a low roar. He was right to ask - to feel the pain pouring from the heart out his eyes. I wanted to ask Claudius the same. He took the opportunity to slide in behind me, shielding himself from another potential shooter.
The crowd began to close in. We backpedaled until my feet caught Constantine’s. “Say something, Jack,” Claudius whispered into my ear. I wanted to duck and run. To allow them to get their vengeance - the exact vengeance I was owed. I wanted him dead, and yet there I was, standing as a human shield.
“Alright, hold on. Just wait,” I said in as commanding a voice as I could muster. The weight of the air lifted as the mob hesitated. I had a brief window, and it was already closing. “I want this man to pay for what he’s done just as much as you do, if not more.” I looked at Claudius. Even now, he wore the hint of a grin below half-open eyes. “But we can’t kill him. Not now, at least. He’ll answer for what he’s done. First, he needs to explain–”
“Who cares? We all saw what he just did–”
“I know. Believe me. But he wouldn’t help take the capital and…” a glimmer of doubt crept into my mind. I cleared my throat to firm up my tone. “He wouldn’t help and then just kill him without cause. Without a reason.”
“All a part of her plan. Excellent work, Master Jack, now take us home,” he murmured.
I stepped away. Even the most receptive members of the group would be dissuaded by the simple act of whispering in my ear.
The elevator chimed, breaking the tension in the room. “We need reinforcements,” a man yelled from the rear. A thin layer of black soot clung to the sweat, coating his skin. He doubled over, out of breath. Sucking in a deep lungful, he continued, “They won’t be able to take it without more men. Where’s Constantine?” His voice echoed through the silent chamber, filled with a bite of panic.
“I do believe that’s your cue, Master Jack,” Claudius said in a low tone.
I felt the collective weight of a hundred eyes bearing down on me, and all I could think about was her.
“James,” I called out. There was no answer. “James,” I said again, scanning the top of the crowd looking for him. After a short pause, a hole opened in the crowd, and James stepped forward. I looked at him, expecting his commands. But he pursed his lips and looked away, staying silent. His eyes shifted to where Constantine lay, then back. I tried to pull him in by placing my hand on his shoulder, but he shrugged it off, swimming through the gesture. “Hey, they need you,” I said hushedly so only he could hear me.
He curled his upper lip and looked away. “No point. Not without Constantine. Not like this. Take your master and fuck off.” He shoved his way through the crowd and out of sight.
“I need bodies, now,” the man at the rear yelled again.
“Shit,” I whispered under my breath. “You,” I pointed to the nearest man, one I recognized from the elevator leading the assault. “How many men do you need to hold this tower?”
“Ah,” he stammered. He looked around to check if it was actually him I was pointing to. The people around him took a collective step back. “A handful. Maybe more. Ten should do it.”
“Good. Grab them and start setting up your defenses. Whatever happens, The Archives cannot fall.” I looked out over the mob. “The rest of you will follow…” I snapped, pointing at the newcomer.
“Arturius.”
“You’ll follow Arturius to The Capital. We have to take that tower. As long as it’s in their hands, the city is too.”
“What about him?” someone from my side asked.
“He’s coming with us.”
“You can’t be–”
“Listen,” I yelled to quiet the room. “He’s going to help us take the tower. Aren’t you?” I looked back. Claudius’s grin grew wider, connecting the laugh lines from eye to eye.
“That’s why I’m here.”
****
I kept Claudius close as we descended to the base of our tower and shuttled to the next. Sitting in the tram, he leaned over and whispered, “She’d be proud if she could see you now.”
“Who are you talking about? Have you completely fucking lost it? This is the third time–”
Claudius shushed me with a devious grin. I shook my head and braced for the deceleration. The Capital Tower was still as we entered. Arturius informed us that the fighting was happening on the upper levels. They had taken heavy casualties and couldn’t break their defenses just below the living quarters.
“What are we walking into, Arturius?” I asked after the elevator doors shut.
“Something we’ve never seen before. Some type of force is sucking the men into a grinder. I… I haven’t seen anything like it.”
“We need a way to bypass it. Get on the other side. Then we can take it out.”
“Have you seen this before?” he asked, turning toward me.
“In the other tower. James and I destroyed one.”
“What color are the walls?” Claudius casually asked. He seemed disinterested - only helping because it wasn’t too inconvenient.
“I… I don’t know,” Arturius replied with a puzzled look.
“It’s quite simple. Were the walls marble, like the floors. Or were they patterned - with paper?”
Arturius looked down, shaking his head. “I… I don’t know. Ah, marble. I think.”
Claudius raised his brow and shifted his head from side to side. “That is the trickier of the bunch. Hmmm…” He gripped his chin, knocking his elbow into the man in front of him. “There is a service tunnel running parallel to the elevator shaft. The elevator is disabled, I take it?”
“Yes. Well, sort of. We tried climbing up it, thinking it was. They dropped the car on a few of our guys.”
Claudius chuckled, enraging everyone in the car, including myself. I wanted nothing more than to see him ripped from the piping of an elevator shaft, climbing for his life. “The service tunnel then. What floor are we going to?”
“Ahh, 1051,” Arturius replied.
“Take us to 1047. We’ll climb from there.”
Arturius stopped the car and punched in the new floor number on a hologram screen.
When the doors opened, the crease between the floor and the car shifted. A steady whopping noise reverberated through every surface, straining whatever tensioner held the elevator in place. I stepped out, catching a brief glimpse of the shaft below before the crack sealed up again. Claudius casually walked out in front, not saying a word as he strolled around a corner. Arturius gave me a funny look. All I could do was shrug and hurry to catch up. When we found him, Claudius stood beside an inlaid hexagonal panel, pointing.
“Pry this open,” he instructed.
“Why? What’s behind it?” Arturius asked before I could.
“The maintenance shaft,” he replied, examining it closer. “At least, I believe it is. I suppose it could be an electrical panel. That would be unfortunate. Master Jack, better we stand back while it’s opened.”
Shaking my head, I grabbed a pry bar from a member of our group and started to work the crease.
“So be it.”
The panel took some convincing before it started to give. The wedge split a stout yet malleable seam before I could put my full weight behind the leverage. Once the bar was set, Arturius and another grabbed hold. Collectively, we pulled, yanking in unison until the entire panel gave, falling to the floor with a light thud.
On the other side, a dim, narrow shaft rose. A series of conduits and piping latticed the walls, leaving just barely enough room to squeeze in. Arturius grabbed the edges of the hole.
“Ah, Jack. Maybe you want to be the first one in?” Claudius said, his voice raising a pitch at the end.
Arturius stepped away, allowing me to pull myself in. It was a tight fit. Both my shoulders compressed, pushing against the rigid tubes housing what I could only imagine was enough volts of electricity to kill me ten times over. Claudius shimmied in after.
“I would’ve expected you to stay behind,” I said, grabbing hold of the next conduit junction to step up.
“Does this feel familiar?” he asked.
I paused, shaking the question off. “First time.”
Every few breaks in the wiring, another hexagonal panel passed, breathing as it bulged and then receded. Light filtered in and out of the shaft with the rhythm of the panels. I kept a mental count, ticking the floors by as I went. The higher we rose, the deeper the waves set into the sheet metal lining. A chorus rang out, spreading down the well like a gong. I had to stop when a new wave hit. The vibrations carried through my hands and arms, relaxing the muscles and loosening my grip.
I paused to let another wave pass when a sharp scream echoed up. One of the men below had lost their grip, knocking down another two with him. I watched their strobed faces recede out of sight, their voices still riding up the narrow walls until there was a muffled thud at the base.
“Now aren’t you glad you went first?” Claudius said. The tunnel lit briefly, revealing the whites of his teeth.
Ignoring the comment, I climbed until the sound of the wave emanated up and not down.
“This should be far enough,” I called to those below and then set about kicking the panel down. I gripped a rough metal pipe with both hands and repeatedly jammed my heels into the plate.
Claudius watched me strike the panel five or six times before saying, “Here, allow me.” He drew up a pin in a narrow slot between the crease and the wall, opening a hole in the shaft.
My heels ached, and my face flushed red. “Seriously?” I asked.
“Just how it was supposed to happen, Master Jack.”
Once through, I helped the rest of the group up. The halls were as I remembered them. Marble molding perched above ornate textured wallpaper. Paintings and busts placed evenly, each requiring their own detail of light. We were in the upper quarters, somewhere near those of the Secretary General by the looks of the decor. I knew we needed to move quickly and stay hidden. The defense mechanism had stopped the assault force, and there were likely still to be Capital Guard lurking - waiting in ambush.
“Alright, follow me,” Claudius said.
I was surprised he took charge, leading us from one corridor to the next. I half expected him to lead us directly into an ambush with each corner turned. Instead, he found a winding staircase and descended. We followed, strung out across two floors, when he suddenly stopped.
“What is it?”
“Shhh.” His brow furrowed as he concentrated. The stairs shook, flexing under an invisible force. “Ah, there it is.” He continued downward.
The case felt as though it was going to buckle when we finally stepped off. My shoulders raised with each new wave, but Claudius barely flinched. He carried on as though everything happening was of little consequence. A heavy set of oak doors opened into a once pristine white room. Only now, every surface was dripping in crimson—the smell, familiar and putrid, wafted in. I gagged. I would’ve vomited all over the face of Claudius’s tunic if he hadn’t reacted so quickly and stepped out of the way.
“How’s your aim, Master Jack?”
I wiped away strings of puke and concentrated down the sights of my handgun, releasing a round when the grey bubble appeared on the ceiling. It shattered, revealing a pulsating black metal mechanism.
One by one, brown blouses emerged from nooks inlaid in the hall. A larger group stacked up at intersecting corridors peeled off and made their way toward us at a trot. The young man leading them, barely old enough to shave, barked orders and scooped up the traumatized stragglers. We ushered them up the stairs, taking count as they went.
“Are you bringing up the rear?” he asked, slowing just enough for us to respond.
“We’ll be right behind you,” Arturius replied.
“Good work Art, really saved our asses in there.”
Arturius gave a friendly salute and continued tapping shoulders, counting aloud in a hushed tone before pushing them toward the first step. The young leader raced up the stairs, his feet pounding a mile a minute with his platoon in tow.
“That should probably be you, Master Jack,” Claudius said in my ear.
“Do you know what’s up there? Waiting for us?”
“I can’t say for certain, but I can assure you far fewer of these men will make the descent. And fewer still if you aren’t there to lead them.”
I turned to face him. His wry grin never let up. He nodded his head toward the stairs. I told Arturius we would catch up with the front of the pack and that he should finish his count. He agreed without protest, as I figured he would.