The Blood Solution (Approaching Infinity Book 3) (33 page)

Two men were stationed here. Stoakes thought that there would be more once they entered into an active state of war, but still felt embarrassed for them for their naivete. From within the walls, Stoakes watched them sit and do nothing for two hours except engage the mass driver to launch a test package, which took little more than ten minutes. When the shift change came, though, the men’s replacements did a series of checks for which Stoakes was immeasurably grateful. From one of the men, Stoakes learned their position and that of destroyed IP32. This provided him with some idea of where he would need to go. He also learned that the damage done to the IP32 driver was catastrophic. Stoakes hadn’t doubted it, but was reassured and encouraged by hearing reports of his efforts. The other replacement graciously called Stoakes’s attention to a countdown timer which would reach zero when the Vine was within range, though whether that was range for this particular facility or one of the others, he couldn’t be sure.

He needed to know what kind of ordnance they had and how simple or difficult it would be to detonate it. If he could set off one of the bombs here at the facility, the resulting chain reaction would do his work for him. It occurred to him that impact detonators wouldn’t do in every case for mass drivers since there was no way to insure pinpoint accuracy, and such a delivery method was quite dangerous for all involved. Armed proximity fuses or timers or remote detonators or some combination seemed most likely. Following that line of thought, it occurred to Stoakes that they would want the most control over the most destructive armaments. It stood to reason that they would observe the payload after launch, track it, and detonate it remotely when it was within range of the intended target since, again, they couldn’t guarantee direct impact and there might be other debris along the way which would make proximity fuses problematic.

He realized that he could think about it all he liked, but there was no way to know their procedures in the time that he had available to him. In the end, he thought that it would be easiest to kill as many as necessary, clog the launch way with ordnance, then engage the driver. It wouldn’t be dangerous to the Vine as yet, but improperly loading the launch way would, at the very least, destroy the coils, making them useless long enough to matter, and at the very most, would accomplish his desire to blow everything up.

Stoakes waited an hour and a half for the men on this shift to send a test package through the mass driver as the others had. He came out as far as he dared from his hiding place to watch them in as much detail as possible, learning the general process. When they were about to initiate shut-down, he gave up his stealth and put the Suicide Knife through each of their heads, killing them both in less than a second. Though these strikes weren’t as precise as those suffered by his soul echo targets, there was no spray and the only blood spilled dripped slowly to the floor where it pooled. Neither man had moved in his seat. Death had come instantly and unexpectedly for them both.

He looked at the controls for a moment, hesitated. He flicked the Suicide Knife hard enough to send the small amount of smeared blood upon the blade spattering to the floor. He stepped back and held the clear, unblemished blade before him where it reflected the rotating 3D model of the planet and the mass drivers indicated on it. After one full revolution, he placed the Knife back in its sheath and returned to the mass driver controls. He didn’t have much time before the ground crew and others became suspicious of the fact that the launch way hadn’t been shut down. It took him a few minutes, mostly due to self-conscious second-guessing, to set the system to launch again in fifteen minutes.

From one of the men’s chairs, he tore free a metal rod that was three centimeters thick and about forty centimeters long. He bent this into a U shape and drove both ends halfway through the portion of wall that accommodated the sliding door so that the door would no longer open. He passed easily through the gap on the opposite side where the door locked and rushed for the exit. He made no effort at stealth and everyone he passed fell silently. These, in his haste, he killed with powerful cuts from which blood pumped furiously.

He came out of the control tower, a black streak, and men even twenty meters away fell, popped like blood-filled balloons. He stopped when he reached a small, empty vehicle, one not meant for transporting cargo, but for getting around the facility. He pushed at the rear of the vehicle, sitting it up on end, yanked down on it with a sudden, powerful jerk, and essentially compressed it. Taking this more manageable chunk of metal and plastic in both hands, he swung around once, then twice to build up momentum, and hurled it down the length of the launch way. Stoakes’s aim was true. The vehicle bounced off of one coil, causing its shape to distort significantly, then crashed down onto another, also ruining its shape, before landing in the middle of the launch way.

Several men were approaching Stoakes now, not sure what to make of the strange, wispy black man-shape, but they’d drawn their pistols.

Stoakes thought that their guns likely operated on principals similar to those of the mass driver. He didn’t think he had much to fear while Dark, but any who came within twenty meters of him, seemed to pop spectacularly, with blood gushing out from from mystery wounds that no one but Stoakes understood. He began making his way past the hangers and further down towards the endless rows of ordnance, laid out like city blocks on either side of the launch way and down the majority of its length. Hordes of uniformed men and women were now filing towards him like streams of ants from all over the grounds.

When Stoakes reached the nearest block, he gripped a steel crate in both hands and hurled it through two giant copper coils onto the launch way. Several of the men and women fired their pistols at Stoakes, easily making their target while he was preoccupied with the crates. Stoakes felt the pistols’ tiny payloads pierce him, even while Dark. They were like rocket powered needles, sharp pains that made him wince but winked out almost instantly. He wondered briefly if they were doing any permanent damage, but dismissed the idea. He worked through the nuisance needle jabs, and resumed hurling the crates. He threw crate after crate, pausing only to slay any that came within reach of his Suicide Knife up close or his Long Sword Knife technique further way. He finished one block—sixteen crates—and started on another.

The pre-launch warning signal sounded, a rising mournful wail that echoed throughout the facility. Stoakes unconsciously looked down toward the opposite end of the launch way. The pulses would start within seconds. When he returned his attention to the crates, he was looking down the rectangular barrel of a mass driver pistol. The man behind it, Stoakes thought, was either very brave or very stupid. Before the man could fire his weapon, Stoakes swept the Suicide Knife with immeasurable speed and power—both of which were attained more through long-practice than any benefit afforded by the Knife itself—and relieved the man of both hands, cutting cleanly through each forearm. The man had been holding his pistol in both hands and now he dropped to his knees, raising his stunted arms in an appeal to the heavens. Stoakes jabbed the blade of the Suicide Knife towards him, not connecting, but blowing the man’s throat out the back of his neck just the same.

Stoakes returned to his work with the crates, throwing as many more as possible onto the launch way—a total of twenty-four—before the pulses began.

Everyone stopped to watch in horrified fascination at what might happen. All of them stood with their mouths open, their pistols clutched in hands than hung slack and useless at their sides. The facility personnel knew the ordnance’s safety provisions, but nothing like this had ever happened. There had never been a simulation quite like this.

Stoakes, too, watched, following by sound the approaching pulses, as his thrown crates were picked up suddenly and shot haphazardly down the launch way. None of what he’d thrown in there would have the benefit of full acceleration, but he had an idea that what he’d done was sufficient. Nothing was moving along the launch way as intended by design. Crates moved in several different trajectories within the space allowed by the coils, until impacting into them. Three crates did this with no effect. One crate got just beyond the coils ruined by the thrown vehicle and detonated upon a coil further beyond. A pinprick, infinitely bright, lit the darkness and Stoakes smiled as he watched much of the copper near the blast point turn molten and splash away in strange patterns dictated by an increasingly erratic magnetic field. By the light of copper fire, Stoakes saw several crates shoot skyward, right out of the launch way through the rift made by the first bent coil. Those would come down, and based on how the first detonation had occurred, he had little doubt that impact alone would result in a satisfying, fiery show. Eyes going back and forth from the blaze to the bombs still rising skyward, Stoakes backed away. No one opposed him. No one thought that any of them, Stoakes included, would live beyond the next ten minutes, and ten minutes was perhaps generous.

Stoakes turned finally and bolted. He would not be caught in the conflagration. He would run as hard and fast as he could and he would outrun the blast.

Except that he wouldn’t. The crates came down and everything inside them detonated on a scale large enough to ignite the stockpiles on either side of the launch way. Stoakes was caught up and swept away by forces he couldn’t have imagined, not even with his vast experience and the scale of his own power. The shockwave overtook and overwhelmed him, aiding him in his flight, but not necessarily in his escape.

The first of the explosions knocked Jav out of bed, awakening him. Mao had fallen on top of him where she slumped oblivious, still asleep, and snoring open-mouthed. Disoriented, Jav looked about the dark room, waiting for another jolt to confirm that he hadn’t just fallen from the bed on his own. When the jolt came he gripped Mao protectively and spoke her name to wake her.

She started to rouse, but her head was sleep-clouded. She brushed ineffectively at the dark curls covering her eyes once then twice then a third time, growing more and more frustrated. “What time is it?” she managed to say.

“I don’t know. Mao, something’s wrong. We need to get up.”

Just then Brin Karvasti’s voice came over the Palace public address system. “Please do not be alarmed. We have moved into range of the eighth planet’s offensive capabilities. The explosive devices employed by those of the eighth planet pose little threat to us at this time. Several of the devices were intercepted prior to impact, but it will not be possible to prevent contact with every explosive device directed at the Palace. Remain calm. As a precaution, all non-Division personnel are requested to remain in their quarters until further notice. Shades, please report to the war room by 0600. Thank you for your understanding and your cooperation.”

Jav snorted. “Come on,” he said.

He sat up, placed his hands under Mao’s arms, and picked her up as if she weighed nothing. He gently set her back down on the bed, where she curled up and tried to go back to sleep. He stared at her there for a moment. He had a bad feeling about this. He wanted her awake and alert in case something really terrible happened, but if something could jeopardize the integrity of the Palace he had a good idea that being awake and alert wouldn’t contribute much to survival.

Jav pulled the blanket back over her, bent to caress her face, and lightly touched her lips with his own. She reached out absently to bring him yet closer. He he took hold of her hands, squeezed and kissed them, and returned them to just below her chin.

He dressed in his grays quickly, but then hesitated to leave. He felt as though he’d forgotten something. He’d been feeling out of sorts for about three weeks now. He thought back to that day he sparred with Vays, when something inside him broke under some unknown pressure or popped like a bone slipping out of joint. It wasn’t physical exactly, but it had disturbed him for days thereafter. It was like the way a vivid dream would affect one’s mood even after waking, but though he could pinpoint the sensation, he had no idea what it was or what it meant. He’d been irritable and restless, at ease only when in Mao’s presence. Practicing distracted him, but for the most part, he practiced with Mao these days, so whether or not it was really the practice that was helping, he couldn’t say. As he stared at her, he had the awful feeling that he was going to lose her, that he had lost her already even though she was right there on the bed. Whatever feelings afflicted him, he was helpless to change or adequately address them. Finally, he simply made himself go. There was work to do.

On his way to the war room, Jav took a short detour to pass through a public area. It was empty and eerily quiet at this hour, but the observation window, four meters by two, gave a pretty clear picture of what was happening. He could see the three planets of interest—one of which would be their landing site before too long—and myriad objects issuing forth from them. They varied in size, but were consistent in their construction: hexagonal plates with struts at each angle forming a kind of container for a stack of cylinders fitted along a central strut. These were the base units, which were grouped and fitted together in different formations, stacked plate to plate to increase length, and with the hexagonal plates fitting together around a core unit to add girth. They were obviously bombs. Some of them detonated long before they came close to the Palace, some got closer, and a few got close enough to affect the Palace, either detonating within mere kilometers or upon impact. With these latter in particular, Jav had to shield his eyes from the glare and brace himself as the Palace shook. He found it difficult to reconcile the peace and safety he usually felt at this and countless other viewports with the jarring explosions. It was difficult to trust in Brin Karvasti’s assurances of safety. He knew that she was just the mouthpiece, but hoped that there had been truth in her words.