There was a thud, and the metal door turned into a thousand pieces that flew through the air; like diamond splinters, wrapped in a cloud of icy gas that escaped from the lock’s broken compressors. A face with a single red eye appeared between the sheets of steam, glowing in the dark.
The A60-R8 went through the steamy combustion; and before the last shrapnel of the door touched the floor, leaving a ghastly metallic echo as a trace, he took his first step into a new hall.
The place was almost immersed in the shadows; only a dim blue light, which seemed to radiate out from nowhere, gave some clue as to what was in front. Except for the remains of the entrance door vomited in front of the threshold and a bit of mist, the place was empty.
It was a circular area the size of a small stadium, all covered by a geodesic dome; a structure of hexagonal patterns that glowed as if made of black glass. Across the hall was the exit, a hexagonal door that was barely distinguishable among so many other hexagons. Level 5 was after this.
The intruder walked towards it; his footsteps produced an echo that would have made anyone’s hair stand on end.
The floor was as glossy as the dome, and the A60’s image was mirrored below his feet, creating the illusion that another android in a torn raincoat stood beneath him, copying his steps.
But the hall was actually an anteroom to Level 5, and its vast architecture, like its bareness, served a specific purpose. The dome was a trap to contain the enemy, and he had fallen flat.
Officer Liza Grant’s voice sounded omnipresent, “Grenadiers, proceed to execute the intruder!”
The android stopped halfway. “Stand back and no one else will have to die,” he warned; his synthetic voice filled the dome with more echoes.
In front of him, one of the upper hexagons of the dome, near the cupola, turned into light, and that light was revealed to be a gate. There was an electric hum coming from all sides; soon, even the very walls began to vibrate. The pieces of the front door scattered on the floor began to shake.
Displaying incredible military coordination, a squad of ten men emerged from the gate, clad in gleaming black armor with olive green parts, light as acrylic but as strong as steel; the armor that only Grenadiers wore. A helmet that ended in the shape of a rounded cone, a small bevor, and dark visors. A black breastplate that simulated broad pectorals, and on the heart side, the Empire’s coat of arms: the Pegasus with laurel wings, set as if it were a medal. Huge boots with high knee pads and pronounced heels. The captain led the squad and stood out for his completely crimson armor, the same color as the Army’s coat of arms. The ten Grenadiers soared through the air thanks to the Daedalus thrusters that were attached to their backs, leaving silver trails behind them. Watching them was like witnessing a strange mixture of times; they carried the arrogance worthy of a medieval knight, and at the same time, the terrifying aura of a futuristic machine, of a killing machine with chrome wings.
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One after the other, they skirted the walls of the dome, initiating a circuit around the Cyclops. They were like cunning wolves studying their prey before jumping on it. The hum of the thrusters scraped the air until it became a roar.
The intruder stood still.
The ringleader in crimson armor fulfilled his role as executioner, and raising an arm, delivered the sentence. Cannons appeared from the wingtips, and from their muzzles, a bubbling of light foreshadowed the attack. The commander lowered his arm, and the cannons hurled laser rings at the enemy. Shots hit their target, and the dome rocked with an explosion that lifted metallic debris and stained the glossy dark walls with the glow of the fire.
Everything lit up red.
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Dodging destroyed androids and fallen soldiers, some convalescing, some dead, Juzo and Malin hurried through the corridors of Bellatrix.
Malin was looking straight ahead, praying to the gods not to run into anyone to stop her at that moment; her civilian clothes would make her a magnet for questions that could end in her arrest.
Juzo, for his part, clutching the straps of his backpack, was focused on the route that Rigel had recommended to follow to reach his destination safely. However, as he was about to turn left, the indicated path, out of the corner of his eye, he detected something in the opposite direction, an image that made him turn around.
On both sides of the right aisle, there were about fifteen infantry soldiers, sitting on the ground and leaning on the walls, side by side, all with vacant expressions and their weapons in their laps. He approached the soldier closest to him, a boy perhaps his own age; the boy’s gaze, like that of the rest, was as blank as that of the soldier they had found in the guardhouse outside.
Then something else in the soldier’s face caught his eye, an eerie gleam under his nose. He reached out his hand and touched it with his fingers. The color was unmistakable. Blood. He looked at the soldier who was sitting opposite and saw the same thing on his nose.
It was possible that an ultrasonic weapon, as Malin had guessed, had been responsible for the trance these boys had fallen into, and of course, such an attack usually had consequences on blood pressure, which would justify the nosebleed. Although a hunch told him there was something else behind this, something that worried him more than he would have liked.
Footsteps sounded louder, and the walls of the corridor they had just left behind revealed moving shadows. More soldiers were ready to arrive.
“Juzo!” Malin called him in a low voice.
He wiped his finger against his uniform pants and hurriedly continued on his way, joining his partner.
“Something wrong?” she asked.
He shook his head. He didn’t want to think about what that bleeding could represent.