The Path to Loss (Approaching Infinity Book 4) (31 page)

Stoakes stumbled backwards, landing on his buttocks, unintentionally this time, and rolled over reflexively to vomit blood onto the shiny black floor. His head was pounding, his vision was blurred. He felt like a giant open, suppurating sore. He had to do something about that radiation source. He had to try. He was a Shade of the Viscain Empire. He couldn’t die. Not like Isker Vays, not like Aila Schosser, not like any of the others who
had
died.

He scrambled to his feet, nearly slipping on his own blood, passed back through the foyer and into the corridor, where he kicked off mightily to sail down the straightaway to begin his search for the thing that was killing him. It was crazy, but he half-hoped that Holson would follow. He had an idea that Holson’s skill set might be better suited for what needed to be done, but that wouldn’t stop him from trying on his own. Besides, at least for now, Holson wasn’t following.

Stoakes careened into the wall then as the fortress shook and listed slightly. He had an idea that the robots had arrived and that perhaps they’d expanded on Holson’s redecorating while fishing for Holson himself. He grinned as he regained his feet and started off again. The corridor lights had all turned blood red and a klaxon sounded, filling the world with noise.

Strangely, Stoakes found comfort in the noise. Somehow it didn’t exacerbate his condition, but submerged his discomfort and evened out the pounding in his head. Everything felt muted and far away, but it was better. He didn’t care if anyone saw him. He had but one objective now and thought he might be able to accomplish it.

He rushed through a squad of twelve armed men, all clad in beige uniforms and running three abreast. He laughed out loud, thinking that none had even noticed the strange black wind passing between them, but four of the men at the rear clearly had. It only took one to call out to the rest. Most of the men drew their firearms and began shooting. Two of those at the rear had started to chase after the him.

Portions of the walls around Stoakes burst apart with great showers of liquid sparks. One of the explosive shells hit his left triceps, numbing his arm instantly and making it go limp. He stopped, patted and massaged the impact point. His arm was intact, but if the shells were sensitive enough to detonate against his person while he was Dark, then he couldn’t ignore these men. One shot hurt, was temporarily debilitating, but he might not survive multiple shots, not if the radiation continued to eat away at him. He turned around and once again ran towards the men, all of whom had stopped now. He had no time for art or mercy. Carefully eyeing the barrels, he anticipated projectile trajectories, and avoided shots by watching the bright green breech flare that preceded each discharge. He was amidst the throng in less than a second and the first of them rose up separately into the air, cleaved in two at the waist by the Suicide Knife. Another’s head leapt from his shoulders. Three gun arms were sheared at the shoulder. Stoakes whirled through them, their guns now useless in such close quarters, and lost track of the manner in which he finished them.

He started again towards his objective, staying close to the wall now, and ready to slip within, through the seams between panels. He had a general idea of where the generator, or whatever it was, was, but hadn’t been able to determine the most direct path to it. He might need to start passing through the walls anyway if he couldn’t find a way down. He was at least five floors up and needed to get to the ground floor.

It wasn’t long before he came across two sliding doors, which opened following a terrible grating sound and disgorged another squad of twelve men. He backed through the seam in the wall opposite and let them pass the way he’d come. He nodded silent thanks for showing him to the elevator.

None of the ninety degree angles were where they were supposed to be anymore, so the elevator doors were having difficulty closing. Stoakes ignored them, stepped to the threshold, and dropped through the two-centimeter gap that opened into the crooked shaft below.

As he descended Stoakes felt increasingly sick, so much so that he thought he might black out. It was a struggle to remain Dark, which was unusual, but somehow he intuited that remaining Dark was expediting his worsening condition. All the while, the green light intensified in brightness and. . . and sound.

An access ladder ran the length of the right wall of the shaft. He reached out just as the roar of the green light rose to nearly deafening, took hold of one of the rungs near the closed elevator doors, and returned to normal. Instantly he felt a wave of relief wash over him. He was still nauseated and his head still pounded, but both had subsided. The sickness was inside him and festering, but less so now, and he no longer felt like an open wound.

He kicked the elevator doors, easily loosing them from their tracks and sending them flying into whatever corridor or foyer they opened into. He hauled himself out, landing on one of the doors, and marveled slightly at what he saw.

Stoakes stood in an atrium, the hollow center of the fortress, which rose up to what he guessed was at least half of the building’s overall height. Directly before him was the source of the green light. It was like a giant diaphanous green gem housed in a plain, unimaginative setting. Only it wasn’t a gem, it was pure energy. Stoakes could feel it reaching the Artifact inside him, corrupting or disintegrating it bit by bit. A lush lawn spread beneath the generator. Bushes and trees with luxuriant growth surrounded it in a lazy, pastoral palisade. Stoakes shot glances in every direction to confirm that all of this was housed
within
the fortress. It was like a park, and if not for his nausea, the blatting alarm, and flashing lights ringing the walls, he might have found it rather pleasant. He studied the roof overhead and noted no breaks, no machinery, no way to let in natural light. He thought it might be possible to attain the kind of growth he was witnessing inside here with specialized lamps, but he was pretty sure he’d guessed the ironic truth, that the green light, deadly to him, to Viscain, was a boon to other forms of life.

Stoakes approached the generator cautiously, padding softly upon the grass and keeping an eye out for more men in uniform. He was alone, though. Completely alone. He drew the Suicide Knife, thinking, perhaps foolishly, that he would stab through. . . something, but as he raised the blade, nearly close enough now to touch the generator, he watched the Knife melt away like running mercury, right out of his grip.

He stared at his empty hand and understood. He understood why he had been so vulnerable. He had an idea that all Shades would be affected to a different degree, but that he in particular was especially vulnerable, that Hilene Tanser, despite her usual ghostly invulnerability, might be most vulnerable of all. When Stoakes went Dark, it was, in a way, like he was wearing his Artifact inside out. This was true for many Shades, their Artifacts manifesting power as various types of armor. Even if their physiology changed, it was simply a
hard
expression of power. The Suicide Knife, not the actual Artifact, but the construct Stoakes used as a weapon was a hard expression of his Artifact’s power, just as the Kaiser Bones were, or Vays’s Titan Star ensemble. But Stoakes’s “armor” was soft, pliable, not designed to reflect or resist, but to accept and to yield like a tenuous liquid. His defense was, essentially, escape. What he needed to escape, however, was too subtle to register and so he suffered at what he was beginning to realize was an accelerated rate, at least while Dark.

He stood straight, steadied himself, and held his right Secret Sword Fist before his face, focusing his concentration. He leapt back with a sweeping flourish of his right arm which gave immediate birth to a sonic boom. Glass shattered somewhere. The bushes and trees beyond the generator whooshed noticeably, raining down fresh trimmings, but the diagonal he’d cut had left the generator’s base, the glowing green sphere, and the articulated prongs housing it completely unblemished.

Briefly Stoakes entertained the idea of using the glasses one last time to ascertain the density of the materials that made up the generator. He shook his head for no one’s benefit but his own. Never again. He supposed that the fortress surrounding the generator wasn’t the generator’s only defense.

If they could turn the Palace Lightning Guns first on the fortress, then on the generator, they might destroy it before it destroyed them. Then he remembered the blackout. They’d built up power for nearly twenty-four hours and exhausted every last bit to return to a present without a future.

Stoakes couldn’t help laughing, even though it hurt to do so. The sickness he felt inside was spreading, rising so that he thought he might retch. Vomit it right out, he thought sarcastically.

He turned on his heel and walked toward the outer wall, which was pocked with alcoves and heavy doors, seeking an exit. Booms and crashes sounded from outside, but Stoakes didn’t care. If someone got in his way, he would kill them, or not. He was sure he could still beat a hundred normals, but what did it matter?

He pondered what he should do: help the other Shades? That would be the
right
thing to do perhaps, but he’d done his stint as a General, and he was so very tired now. Sleep would be good. Surely sleep would drown the ache in his guts and banish the nausea. Even though Ana Tain wouldn’t be waiting for him there, the thought of his bunk back at the Palace was like a balm, but he wasn’t sure he could make it all the way back.

A chorus of footsteps—another squad of men—sounded from an upper mezzanine level. Stoakes casually glanced over his shoulder, but kept on his way. He moved towards a particularly wide but shallow alcove that opened upon a set of double doors. When he reached the doors, the lights in the alcove blinked twice before coming on. He looked to the right and saw a black screen on the wall, just big enough to accommodate an adult male palm, with a bar of light scanning up from the bottom edge every five seconds.

Stoakes wasn’t sure what was on the other side of the doors, but knew that passing through them would take him at least that much closer to the outside. He held his hand before him and summoned the Suicide Knife, hoping that he was far enough away from the generator—and still well enough—to make it solid. It came and remained. He gripped the handle firmly, reassuring himself that it was real and that he wasn’t dead just yet. With the swift application of his Longsword Knife technique, the doors fell apart, collapsing into a rain of sharp triangles.

He stepped over the threshold and had to navigate some more fallen rubble. He was in a foyer that opened to the outside, but he didn’t have to worry about any more doors. There was a good-sized hole in the external wall, one through which he could walk upright, and which explained all the fallen concrete. He took a moment to orient himself and realized that where he stood now was directly below where he had last seen Jav Holson. The hole was likely from the boot of one of the giant robots. He was sure that one had struck the fortress, maybe trying to crush Holson—a vain effort, Stoakes was equally sure—and had probably stepped too close in its attempt.

Concrete steps led down to a great, sweeping lawn which was bisected by a paved lane. Beyond the lawn was what looked like a public square composed of vast tiles of smooth marble. Gran Mal lay, an inert heap, in the middle of this. There was much more to see up close, though. Three of the giant robots were upon the lawn. One was occupied with Gran Mid, which had wrapped itself up one leg and then the torso. It snapped with great, boney jaws but was held by its vertebral throat at the length of the machine’s one remaining arm. Another of the robots stood still. None of the “life” lights that lit the others shone and Stoakes thought this one had been completely incapacitated somehow. The third appeared to be boxing the empty air, but Stoakes knew better. It was engaged with Holson.

Stoakes glanced quickly to his right, saw the remaining four robots nearly at the Root Palace. With them was the giant reptile. He was only moderately reassured to see Gran Pham charge one of the machines—to some satisfying effect—and Gran Lej moving to bar the way of the others. He uselessly wished again for fully charged Lightning Gun batteries.

When he returned his attention to the skirmish on the lawn, his jaw dropped. He saw the one unimpaired machine reach out with with steely fingers and catch Holson in a spreading globe of green light from its palm. Stoakes knew that light, knew its source and knew its danger. He watched the Kaiser Bones erupt in a wave of bubbles and pour off of Holson’s naked frame. He watched the metal giant move with nearly impossible speed, step forward and catch Holson between the fading globe of its outstretched right hand and the flaring one from its left, imprisoning him in the deadly light before clapping both hands together. The hands came away and Holson was no more.

Stoakes dropped to his knees, violently vomiting both because of the unwitting emotional shock of seeing Jav Holson killed and because of the sudden increase in lethal radiation. Even on his knees, Stoakes was dizzy, unable to remain upright. He collapsed, with his face narrowly missing the mess he’d just made upon the grass.

He couldn’t move. Everything was dim. From where he’d fallen, he could still vaguely make out the giant machine, though the canted angle somehow nauseated him further and made his head hurt. Through this, a single thought banged incessantly in his head: Jav Holson couldn’t be dead; Jav Holson couldn’t be dead; Jav Holson couldn’t be dead. . .

Then dark. Then black. Then nothing.

Jav wordlessly urged Gran Mid forward toward the great structure of concrete, glass, and steel. Hilene followed alongside him.

“Jav,” she said and got no response. “Jav there’s something very important I have to tell you.”

“In a moment, Hilene. Something wonderful is about to happen.”

“Jav—”

Again he gave no response, but cocked his head in an unsettling way, his focus on the building ahead.

“I said it was important,” she said firmly.