The First Book of Ore: The Foundry's Edge (36 page)

Ahead of her was the polished new train track.

He was close behind. Phoebe hurdled past the rails.

His shadow consumed her.

WHOOMF!

The tracks ignited in a bright purple glow.

Kaspar stumbled, howling in fury. She turned to look.

He strained to grab her, but one of his boots was stuck securely to the track. With a sucking sound, his other leg swept against the rail, connecting with a clunk. He was locked firmly in place. Her breath was ragged. She was shaking. Gathering her nerve, Phoebe leaned in close.

“Gotcha.”

Kaspar swiped a gear-gnarled hand at her.

She left him snarling like a rabid dog against its leash and rushed to join her companions. They were gathered at the metal control box, which had been shot open by her father. Micah had worked his grease monkey magic on the circuits, splicing lines with his teeth and hot-wiring the magnetic train tracks just as he had done to the Lodestar.

“Minus two ticks,” snapped Orei's warbling voice. Several disks on her chest and arm were bent or cracked. She hobbled toward the abandoned tunnel, and they raced to catch up.

With a roar, Kaspar pounded his fists down on the rail to flatten it. There was another clang as they too locked in place.

Phoebe had never heard a more gratifying sound.

As the Chairman crossed the throne room, he glanced up at the eighty-foot-high statue and had a vision of what it must have looked like in its prime, resplendent in all of its barbaric glory. Supplicants would have come to grovel at its feet, to marvel at its saw-blade wings flared in a fiery array of beams.

Goodwin, too, knew what it was to feel like a god. Two worlds were his to command, revolving around him like planets around the sun. But unlike the dead despot, Goodwin persevered. He could have given Kallorax a few pointers.

“We are concerned this attack will have widespread impact,” Director Layton pontificated. “Rebellion is contagious.”

“But it is not incurable,” the Chairman assured her. “Our response must be swift and resolute. Let us look to Fuselage as our example.”

“WAIT! Enlarge that window!” shouted Director Obwilé. He stood behind one of the Watchman coordinators, staring at the screens. “Go back. Go back!”

Surprised by the outburst, the directors returned to the control center. Goodwin clenched his jaw and wondered what the troublesome man was up to.

A slow-motion video was on the display. It was a deactivated Watchman feed from Level Three, captured during the battle near the Armory. A blurry creature had struck the soldier down and cracked the lens. As the optical sensor began to short out, distorted by bars of static, its malfunctioning focus shifted to the wide-open atrium in the distance.

“There!” Director Obwilé cried.

Goodwin saw it too. Just before the feed blinked off, there was movement beyond the glass—shadowy and indistinct.

The Chairman of the Foundry stopped breathing.

He had missed something.

The Armory was not their target. All that chaos, all of those lives were a diversion. Jules had played him like a fool.

Goodwin felt the phantom of Kallorax. Heard his laughter. The fate of the damned megalarch was to be his, too.

“All units,” he boomed. “Intruder in the CHAR Lab!”

“I—I did it, Phoebe! M-Micah! I found my f-f-function!”

They looked at Dollop proudly, and she opened her mouth to congratulate him.

“Silence!” interrupted Orei. The commander withdrew her spike device, struck it against the wall, and flung it into the ore as it resonated. “She comes.”

Phoebe felt a tremor, but at first she thought it was just the blood pounding in the veins of her legs. Then the ground shook vigorously and loosened beneath them. Cracks snaked underfoot, and her father pulled her safely out of the way.

An enormous white drill exploded from the ground like a submarine through a glacier. It hurled clouds of smoke and particles, forcing them to cough and cover their eyes.

Not a drill—a giant mehkan. It was a leviathan so pale it was translucent, with a massive flanged head slotted by grooves and spinning, knurled teeth. Striated tentacles followed, dozens of them, thick as columns. Gliding like a giant squid, the mehkan doubled back and dove into the burrow headfirst. Held in its tentacles was a battered black vessel that eased to a stop as the creature submerged into the ore once again.

“S-s-s-salathyl!” Dollop chimed. “Sweet Mother of Ore! You-you're the C-C-Covenant, aren't you? See? I-I-I knew it was true! I knew y-you would—”

“In,” Orei ordered, opening the vessel's rear hatch.

They climbed into the hollowed-out compartment and found a few carved niches to hold on to and a sloshing bag that cast pale blue light. Orei slammed the hatch closed, and the salathyl bellowed in response.

“Point four two ticks remaining.”

They descended, leaving no trace of their presence in the tunnel other than a circular scar in the ore, a distinctive pattern like the spokes of a wheel. The hull rattled and groaned as they picked up speed. Phoebe held on tight to the notched black wall, feeling the vibrations of the enveloping ore. She steadied herself and took a look around.

Orei, cracked and damaged.

Dollop, scarred and shaken.

Micah, bruised and worn.

And her father. He caught her stare, and a smile crossed his sunken face. She remembered what he had told her back in that awful prison cell:
We're going to make it through this.

He winked his unbandaged eye, and Phoebe giggled.

The others looked up at her.

Micah chuckled too. Even Dollop, who was unsure what was so funny, smiled wide. Orei measured them silently, betraying no emotion whatsoever.

Phoebe and her companions shared a moment of solace.

CLANG.

Something smashed into the back of the vessel, rocking it.

The rest happened in slow motion, a scene from one of Phoebe's nightmares. The hatch tore away with a screech. The roar of tumbling, pulverized ore filled the air.

Kaspar.

He clung to the outside of the hull, drenched in blood. Jagged debris bombarded him from all sides. His dead eyes were trained on her father. He dove inside and hurled a fist.

There was a nauseating wet crunch and Jules crumpled, his rifle clattering aside. He clutched his chest, gurgling, blood foaming to his lips.

Phoebe screamed, and Kaspar lunged for her.

The vessel flashed as if full of lightning, and he was flung back. A cascade of white rounds pounded into him.

Now Micah screamed, firing the rifle. He stormed at Kaspar. Blasting, unrelenting. Kaspar pinwheeled his arms, trying to stop his fall. He toppled backward into the crushing surge. The burrow collapsed in their wake and buried him, howling, fighting the inexorable current of ore.

Micah stood wild-eyed, his finger mashing the trigger. The four barrels of his rifle continued to whistle and spin long after the bullets ran dry.

Captain Eldridge stormed the lab with a team of Watchmen.

His orders were clear. Use magnetic pulse weapons to incapacitate intruders and draw them safely away, and then execute with low-velocity rounds. The risks of a full-on assault in here were simply too great.

The laboratory was huge, a marvel of glass, porcelain, and wood—all materials impervious to CHAR. Blinking Computators and other complex equipment sat encased in clear vitric shells, along with pine racks of test tubes, stoneware scales, and glass partitions that left nowhere to hide.

They did a rapid sweep of the primary workroom and declared it clear. Eldridge crept to the storage vault and entered the code. There was a beep and a series of clicks as the lock disengaged.

The doors slid open with a hiss.

In the glass chamber were rows of giant vats, their contents swirling black, half liquid and half gas. Some contraption he couldn't make out had been attached to their polished surfaces. Hair-thin wires curled away from the tanks, winding to a shadow hunched against the back wall.

Eldridge never got a chance to discharge his weapon. He could only watch as the figure touched a red shape on its chest and muttered a few words.

Then the world exploded in black fire.

 

oodwin was barely in his plush Durall seat when the Galejet screamed away from its launch pad. He felt the crush of speed and clutched the armrests until his knuckles went white. The dark cherry interior of the aircraft glowed as raging fires shone through the windows.

He could hear the directors muttering behind him, quietly conspiring. Goodwin looked out the glass porthole.

A massive crater vomiting black smoke blotted out the glimmers of dawn. The Covenant's detonation had triggered a chain reaction in the Armory, vaporizing a quarter of the stronghold. Most of the towers on that side were gone, toppled or blown to pieces, while the others shriveled like the curled-up legs of a dead insect. The CHAR was devouring the Citadel from the inside out, its gold metal core bubbling, sagging. The melted mehkan bodies that formed its cruel façade sloughed off and oozed down the sides.

Kallorax's ancient palace, this ageless blot upon the landscape, sank in upon itself like a carcass putrefying. The upper stories containing the Foundry's luxurious complex of suites and lounges collapsed with a groaning crash so loud Goodwin felt it through his seat.

The Foundry had extensive evacuation plans, and its employees were highly trained experts, all prepared for emergency. Behemoth Cargoliners stocked with munitions, files, equipment, and platoons of Watchmen raced across the dead lands in all directions. Legions of Aero-copters crammed with personnel hovered like flies over a mound of filth. Despite the efficiency of their escape, he knew lives had been lost. No telling how many.

Goodwin's chest felt tight. He needed a drink. Just as he was about to order a Watchman to fetch one, he was summoned.

“James.”

He steeled himself and strode to the back of the Galejet. The five representatives of the Board were silhouettes blending in with the Durall couches. Their faces were steeped in shadow, their silver earpieces glinting in the flash of an occasional explosion outside.

Goodwin stood before them, his hands behind his back.

“You are an embarrassment,” Director Obwilé stated.

“Our primary infrastructure in Mehk lies in ruins because of you,” Director Layton snarled. “Research, personnel, facilities, resources. All gone. All due to your incompetence.”

Goodwin puffed up his chest. “You listen to me. I will not stand for—”

“You cannot possibly meet the commitment to Trelaine now,” growled Director Malcolm, his affable demeanor gone. “Lavaraud will realize this before the week is out. Your failure to deliver will be taken as a direct provocation.”

“War,” spat Director Layton. “That's what you have brought upon us.”

“This is a serious setback,” he conceded, “but one that—”

“That you may not get the chance to rectify,” cut in Director Obwilé.

“You…dare threaten me?”

“Remember your place,” intoned Director Layton.

The Chairman blinked and regained his cool.

“Forgive me, but these events, they are not my doing.”

“Perhaps not,” Director Obwilé agreed. “But they will be your undoing.”

“I'm not to blame!” He loathed the naked plea in his own voice. “No one saw this attack coming. I went above and beyond the call of duty, I did everything I possibly could—surely you see that. If it wasn't for Plumm, I'd—”

“Plumm!” jeered Director Malcolm. “The man
you
hired? The one you personally brought up through the ranks despite our concerns? And all because you had a
feeling
about him?”

“The Board does not tolerate failure,” stated Director Layton flatly. Goodwin straightened his tie, ignoring the sweat.

“I have been Chairman of the Foundry for over thirty years. I pioneered advancements in the combat interface of augmented robotics. I streamlined and expanded our harvesting operations to a nearly threefold advance in output. I spearheaded the Dyad Project, which has opened new—”

“Ah, yes,” interrupted Director Obwilé. “Tens of millions of dollars invested in research and development on your precious Kaspar, and the first time we need him, he goes missing. Clearly you are unfit to manage such a critical endeavor. And let's not forget your egregious security failure in allowing two children into Mehk. We alerted you as to our concern, and yet you brushed it off.” He touched his earpiece and leaned forward, still shrouded in darkness. “The Board has come to a decision.”

Goodwin's pulse raced. His hands fell at his sides.

The directors were silent for another long moment.

“The Board must protect the Foundry. We must defend Meridian at all costs,” said Director Layton.

“Trelaine will want blood,” Director Malcolm added.

In the burst of another explosion from the Citadel, Goodwin
could see the hint of a smile on Director Obwilé's lips.

“And when their ax falls, it falls on you.”

Phoebe trembled uncontrollably.

All they could hear was the roar of ore through the exposed back of the vessel. The pale blue light from the lantern made the blood that flowed from her father's chest look inky black. He was propped up in her lap, struggling to breathe. The two mehkans stood aside to give her space, and Micah huddled nearby, holding the emptied rifle tight, keeping a sharp eye on the open hatch.

“You're going to be okay. You're going to be okay.”

She kept repeating the words again and again, squeezing his cold hand tightly in her own, trying to make him believe it.

Trying to make herself believe it.

He was staring into space, his mouth opening and closing like a fish. There was a horrible, wet slushing sound every time he inhaled, and bubbles of blood frothed in the corners of his mouth. She tried not to stare at the wound on his chest. The sight of it weakened her, sapped her will.

Dollop prayed feverishly, his eyes pinched tight. Orei stood unmoving, save for the twitching of her sliders and pointers.

“We did it,” Phoebe whispered to her father, trying her best to smile and sound hopeful. “We beat them. We—”

The words caught in her throat, choking, wrenching her insides. Her eyes burned. She fought for control. She would not give in to tears. Crying was not going to save him.

“Hold on,” she said louder, her voice clear and firm. “Do you hear me? I said hold on. We're going to make it, that's what you said to me. We're all going to make it. We'll get help.”

“How much farther?” Micah quietly croaked to Orei.

“Four point three ticks,” she said. “Safe there.”

“Is he going to die?” he asked.

Orei didn't answer.

Her father's eyes were suddenly intense, as if he was seeing something invisible to the rest of them. His brow creased and he strained. He tried to speak but made only incomprehensible guttural noises.

“Don't talk,” Phoebe pleaded. “Save your strength.”

He turned to Micah. His hand clawed at the air, quavering. He grabbed Micah's coveralls and brought him close enough to whisper in the boy's ear.

Phoebe watched anxiously. She couldn't hear what he was saying, but she saw Micah's expression change. His face was sundered by—heartbreak? Fear? Her father let go of Micah, who sat back, shaken.

“Cri…Cr…Crrick…”

Blood clogged his airway, and he hacked.

“Shhh.”

Delicately, she touched her ear to his hitching chest so that she could hear his heart, feel his breath. It was less labored now.

“I love you,” she whispered over and over. “I love you.”

At last, she felt the vessel slowing down.

Phoebe looked up to find they had emerged from underground. Soft whispers of a hazy dawn appeared outside the exposed hatch as the salathyl eased to a stop. Silence settled over them, complete and profound. The crashing clamor of their frantic escape was behind them. Mehkans emerged from a scattering of nearby metal hide tents and approached.

“We're here, Daddy!” Phoebe cried. She sat up and cast her fierce eyes at Orei. “Get someone! Help him!” she shouted.

But the Covenant commander did not respond.

“Phoebe,” Micah whispered.

“We're safe,” she said to her father, grasping his hand. She turned to the mehkans staring in from the open hatch. “Do something! Somebody, help me get him out of here!”

“Phoebe,” Micah sobbed. Dollop put his face in his hands.

She looked at them. Then at her father.

And knew.

It was over.

Time faded. The world darkened. Her mind collapsed.

She had come so far to find him. He was everything. No one else mattered. Nothing else existed. And now he was gone.

Forever.

The dam broke inside her, and she cried.