Final Empire (17 page)

Our transport slid silently over the desert floor, just a hundred feet above the blustering sand dunes below.
It was our attempt to avoid detection. It wouldn’t matter. We’d be off of any traditional radar at this altitude, but Sultan Darmaki’s powers went far beyond any known technology. The slightest vibrations in the air pressure around his land might tip him off; we could buy ourselves a handful of minutes if we were lucky, but that was about it. He’d sense our presence long before we even had his fortress in our sights. 

“The local temperature in the Liwa Desert is forty-two degrees Celsius,” Karin’s voice crackled over the com, using her most official-sounding pilot cadence. “We’re about fifty kilometers away from the evil super-villain’s not-very-secret lair, which means we should be arriving shortly. Please buckle your seatbelts because it looks like we’re about to hit some turbulence.”

We were all ‘suited and booted’ for war. With my swarm robotics suit destroyed, I’d gone back to my traditional smart fiber armor. I’d put on a few unwanted pounds since then thanks to my steady diet of first-person shooters and potato chips, but thankfully it was designed to expand and contract. The flexible bodysuit conformed to my body, while the gauntlets, shoulder pads and boots latched into place.

Brynja and Peyton donned their own smart fiber suits, and were adjusting their boots and gauntlets prior to landing. Peyton’s grey and pink armor had been retrofitted with a couple of new gadgets, and I’d repaired the tasers in her gauntlets. Brynja’s light blue suit had been modified to absorb electricity (her only known weakness, which she’d discovered during the original Arena Mode). Gavin was suited up as well, his helmet resting on his lap. He was rapping his fingers against it, eyes darting around the cabin. Karin had her own freshly-printed suit, which was canary-yellow to match her bob of wild hair. McGarrity, once again, laughed off the notion of wearing protective gear in favor of his ripped jeans, runners, and black t-shirt with a cartoon skull emblazoned across the chest. I’d given up arguing with him. If he wanted to go down in a blaze of glory – riddled with bullets, or ice shards, or whatever Darkmaki had poised to throw at us – that was his prerogative.

Gavin pulled on his helmet, secured the visor and sat back against the passenger bay wall, yanking the straps across his shoulders that latched magnetically to the steel wall. I could see his chest rise and fall in a rapid pulse. Peyton went to his side and latched herself into place at his side, wrapping her gloved hand around his. The exchanged nods and Gavin’s breathing seemed to even out.

Brynja and I faced them from across the bay, quickly buckling ourselves into place. McGarrity stood at the center of the room, arms folded, feet locked to the durasteel floor. “What’s the point of buckling up now?” he scoffed. “We’re going to be on the ground in a few minutes anyway.”

Before he’d had a chance to finish his sentence the windows darkened. We were blanketed by sand, the transport bucking wildly like an untamed stallion trying to unhorse a rider. McGarrity went airborne, his back slamming into the passenger bay ceiling, then crashing back to the floor.

Brynja shook her head. “That’s the point,” she muttered flatly. “Jackass.”

McGarrity sprang back to his feet, eyes wide. “What the...what happened?”

“It’s the turbulence I warned you about,” Karin said through the com. “It’s Darmaki. He knows we’re here and he generated a sand storm. I’ll try to land us as close to his fortress as possible but it’s getting choppy out there, guys – I can’t make any promises.”

The wind grew more ferocious as we approached. The transport slowed, and the passenger bay windows groaned from the pressure. Tiny spider webs crept through the glass, creaking and crackling. A pressurized pop shot through the cabin, triggering sirens to blare from the speaker system.

“The windows are all about to blow,” Karin screamed against the shrieking noise. “And we’ve lost pressure. I’m putting her into emergency landing mode.”

Karin raced from the cockpit, slamming the door at her back. Protective sheets of metal covered the failing windows, and cabin lights illuminated. She strapped herself next to Brynja, and McGarrity finally decided to do the same, buckling himself in next to Peyton.

“Now what?” Gavin shouted. He was barely audible over the rushing wind.

Karin’s eyes darted nervously towards the window as the protective armor plates slammed shut, biting off the dull shaft of light that was creeping in from the outside. “Now we hold on. Tight.”

We made impact a second later. The transport collided with the crest of a sand dune, spinning us like a pinwheel. We bounced and rolled more times that I could remember; lights flickering, the screeching howl of our wings snapping off. When we finally slid to a stop we were upside down, and had collided with the side of Darmaki’s fortress.

I winced and unbuckled my straps, falling downwards into the ceiling. By the time everyone had dismounted and regained their footing it was too late.

“They’re already on their way,” Brynja groaned, clutching her ribs. She’d fallen awkwardly on her side after she’d unbuckled. “I can hear their thoughts...twenty, maybe thirty of them – all racing towards us.”

“You’re up,” I instructed Karin, and she nodded. She flashed me the salute that she often did, but her typically luminous smile was not nearly as pronounced.

“I’ve got this,” she said weakly.

“You
do
,” I agreed, much more forcefully. “You’re going to crush them.”

McGarrity pulled a glow-stick from his pocket and cracked it in half, letting the bright light saturate his skin. Within a moment he was glowing from the inside out, his skin radiating like a cloudless sunrise. He channeled the energy into a broadsword made of pure energy, gripping it with both hands. A pair of overhead swipes carved the side of the passenger bay open, welcoming a blast of sunlight and a swirl of sand.

The mob had arrived. Two dozen men clad in white robes sprinted towards us brandishing machine guns. They fired, wild and untrained, spraying us down with a hail of jacketed lead. The bullets bounced harmlessly from our suits and helmets. McGarrity’s broadsword flattened and expanded, becoming a six-foot shield, protecting his entire body. Each slug melted into a sopping pile of liquid as they made contact with his creation.

Karin extended her hands and a flash of pink light swirled from her fingertips. The beams turned to a fine mist, dancing and crawling through the air, surrounding the charging mob.

They lowered their weapons in unison and began to gaze around, as if they’d smelled something enticing and were searching for the source. A few of them exchanged curious glances. Then it happened. They fell, all at once, collapsing to the sand.

My pilot swayed, eyes fluttering, and toppled. I caught her arm.

“That was a rush,” Karin said, bringing a hand to her temple, knees still rubbery beneath her. “I don’t know if I have another one of those in me.”

“It was enough,” I assured her. “But we need to keep moving.” I pulled a syringe from my utility belt and popped off the cap. I peeled off her left gauntlet and plunged the needle into her wrist, injecting her with a dose of adrenaline. It stiffened her body, even before the vial had fully drained into her bloodstream. Her pupils dilated to the size of saucers.

“We good to go?” I asked.

“Holy shit are we ever!” she ran to the overhead compartment of the passenger bay (which was now on the floor), tore it open and pulled out my anti-matter cannon. She tossed the giant cylinder, knocking me backwards as it collided with my breastplate. I flung it over my shoulder and secured it to the magnetic plates along my spine, carrying it like a comically oversized backpack.

Once everyone had a machine gun and several spare clips, we sprinted from the ragged hole in the side of the transport, circling our way around to the front of the compound.

“Incoming,” Brynja shouted, pointing towards the towering marble columns that framed the entrance to the massive structure. And out poured the one-man-mob. The black and yellow leather-clad copies burst from the opening, rushing shoulder to shoulder. They moved as one, perfect mirror images. They rushed lockstep, forming an impenetrable wall. More copies swarmed from either side of the compound, flanking us on both sides.

“You’ll never make it out of here alive,” a thousand voices called out as one. The effect caused an eerie reverberation that travelled through the mob; it was a surreal echo that sent prickles of fear trailing along my spine.

Brynja, Gavin, Peyton, Karin and I stood in a circle, back to back, weapons drawn, as the horde of doppelgangers surrounded us.

“Might wanna crack out that big fat anti-matter gun,” Peyton shouted, the stock of her gun pressed firmly into her shoulder.

“Not yet,” I yelled back without averting my eyes from the crowd. “It’s not the right moment.”

“We could head-shot every single one of these copies,” Gavin said, a frantic tremble cracking his words, “And we
still
wouldn’t have enough bullets. The moment isn’t gonna get any more right than this!”

I shouted out in my head as loud as I could, if that was even possible. Apparently I’m a naturally loud thinker so I was confident it was going to work.

Brynja, Jonathan Ma needs a line of sight. He’s going to have his eyes on us. Figure out which one he is.

They’d been holding their ground around the perimeter, but something triggered them. All at once the clones rushed in. When they plunged forward they were greeted with a barrage of bullets. They were torn ragged by the close-quarters assault, but they didn’t bleed when the slugs penetrated: they crumbled, one body after another, shattering into piles of crystalline shards. The sound of gunfire was deafening, but even with a helmet muffling the sound I could still hear the human replicas shattering like panes of glass.

McGarrity swung his glowing sword in wide, looping arcs, bisecting up to three clones at a time. He looked smoother, more practiced. I don’t know if he’d actually been training or had just watched more samurai movies, but whatever he’d been doing was apparently paying off. He whirled and slashed, smiling wider with every stroke. I’d seen that look before. It was the confidence brimming from his every action that went beyond hubris: it was borderline suicidal. As more and more copies surrounded McGarrity he got drawn into the crowd; sucked in, surrounded. Before long he was invisible behind a thicket of black leather and flailing arms. The sheer mass of humanity was overwhelming him, piling on top as if they were children in a schoolyard, burying a hapless playmate beneath their sheer weight. Eventually the bright light from his sword vanished beneath the bodies.

We’re running out of time,
I shouted out in my head, tearing one clip from the base of my gun and slapping a fresh one into place.
Find him, Brynja!

She ripped off her helmet and threw it aside, cupping a hand over her brow, squinting against the powerful wind. Scraping her wave of blue hair aside she scanned the towering ivory building. “There!” she shouted, jamming a finger towards the rooftop terrace.

Standing behind the railing was Jonathan Ma, observing the carnage below. Directing it.

I leveled my weapon, centering his forehead in my crosshairs. My finger twitched. I was poised to squeeze when a splash of crimson burst from his shoulder, spinning him on his heels. Jonathan cried out, clutching the fresh gunshot wound.

I glanced to my left to see Peyton staring down her telescopic sight, a plume of grey smoke twisting from her barrel.

Then things got bizarre: the clones that surrounded us – hundreds upon hundreds of them – froze in place like storefront mannequins, their volatile expressions locked into place. It was a strange, windswept diorama where not a single muscle twitched, not a single eyelash fluttered, yet grains of sand blew past in thin waves just to remind me I wasn’t staring at a photograph. And then, all at once, and with a loud pressurized pop, they burst. Their bodies littered Darmaki’s courtyard with waves of pebble-sized crystals. We lowered our weapons in unison and breathed a collective sigh of relief, standing knee-deep in glittering human remains.

A hand reached out of a particularly large pile, like a zombie clawing its way from a grave. McGarrity crawled to the surface, spitting wads of crystal. “Ugh,” he groaned, “I think I just swallowed a chunk of someone.”

He was waist-deep in the shiny quicksand and unable to free his legs, so I reached out and grabbed his forearm, helping him step from the pile.

“You knew all of his clones would shatter?” McGarrity asked.

“I guessed,” I admitted. “Based on a couple calculations.”

“Damn.”

I shrugged. “I’m a good guesser.”

We now stood unchallenged before the entrance. The walkways that bridged the moat led to the towering columns, where a staircase gave access to the upper levels of the compound. It was where Darmaki almost certainly was, along with his last (and likely, more dangerous) line of defense.

I turned towards the tarmac at our backs, where a single aircraft occupied the landing strip – the teleporting black jet.

“Karin, go take it up to a safe altitude,” I instructed. “I’ll buzz you when we’re ready for a pick-up.”