Crash (6 page)

I want to run. Instead, barely daring to breathe, I force myself to creep sideways along the wall, checking behind then in front of me, trying not to alert my enemy to my presence. I keep my sword at the ready, my weapon cylinder raised.

Slowly.

Slowly.

More stairs. I squelch the urge to lope down them two at a time and instead inch forward, taking care not to make a sound. A quick glance at my con reveals a swirling yellow screen. Not bad. At least it isn't orange. My health's sort of holding up, which is a definite check in the positive column.

On the negative side is the fact that the Committee isn't feeding me any information: no map of the surroundings and no green triangles to tell me where the rest of my team is.

Jackson and Luka, Tyrone, Lien, Kendra. I choose to believe they're okay. I can't add another layer of worry to the bubbling lasagna cooking in my brain, threatening to ooze over the sides if I loosen the reins of my control even a little. Those emotions won't do a damned thing to help me stay alive, so I lock them up tight and think only of putting one foot in front of the next.

I get to the bottom of the stairs. On the wall directly ahead of me is a massive whiteboard with the words
Problem Solving
centered at the top in bold black print and a grid underneath with about a third of the spaces filled in. A corridor extends to either side.

Without input from the Committee, I have no idea which way to turn in order to find Jackson or Luka and the others. I catch a flicker of light out of the corner of my right eye. Problem solved: That direction's out. I go left, crouching to avoid being seen through the square windows that cut the wall at three-foot intervals.

Already a half dozen steps past a door marked
Security
, I stop dead and backtrack. If the Committee won't help me find my team, I'll just have to come at the puzzle from a different angle and solve it on my own. Holding my breath, I turn the knob and exhale in a rush when the door opens. Perfect. I slide inside and close the door behind me. Lock it.

I examine the inside of the room and almost weep with relief. There are two office chairs, a long desk, and a ton of small security monitors showing various parts of the factory. I set my weapons on the desk and rest my hands on the edge, leaning close, my eyes flitting across the monitors.

At first, all I see are black-and-white images of rooms and corridors and stairs, nothing familiar, and no sign of my team. I look again, taking my time. There—a flash of light that marks a Drau speeding past a camera. And there, more flashes going up a set of stairs.

But no hint of any human movement.

I rub my palms together. They're damp and my hands are shaking.

It takes two more passes before I finally see Kendra and Lien and Luka, pinned in an open waiting room near a set of glass double doors. I wonder if Tyrone is still with them, just offscreen, if he got separated from the others by accident, or if the Committee sent him in a different direction.

Of course, there's one other option, but I don't let myself consider it.

And I try not to let myself think about Jackson. He has
to be okay. I have to believe we'll all respawn once the mission's done.

Luka and Lien turn one of the low chrome-and-cloth couches on its side. There's no sound with these monitors, but I can tell that they're being super careful to move in silence. They hunker down behind the couch, Kendra positioned between them.

It's weird watching the scene on the monitor rather than living in the thick of it, especially when I'm seeing things in black-and-white.

I'm a spectator watching the game unfold.

Powerless. Useless.

I want to tear out of this room and run to them, but I have no idea how to find them. Again, I check my con, hoping for a map.

Nothing.

I mentally give the Committee the finger, my gaze flicking across the screens. Rooms. Wide-open spaces filled with equipment. Robot arms. Catwalks. Stairs. Corridors. A couple of landmarks I think I recognize. I drag open desk drawers until I find a pen and paper. Then I start at the first monitor and try to create a map of the factory, filling in what I remember from the places I've been, rapidly sketching in the rest from the rooms and corridors the cameras reveal.

A small group of Drau, glowing and bright, methodically checks each room they come upon. Any minute, they're going to get to that waiting room and all hell will
break loose. A leaden lump congeals in my throat. I stand there, impotent, fists clenched as the Drau creep closer to three people I care about. Three people I can't do a damned thing to help.

I'm helpless to help them.

All I can do is watch, pulse racing, anxiety gnawing at me as the Drau zip into the waiting room.

UNCORRECTED E-PROOF—NOT FOR SALE

HarperCollins Publishers

..................................................................

LIGHT EXPLODES LIKE A SHOWER OF FALLING STARS. THE DRAU move so fast. I lean close to the monitor, not wanting to look, not wanting to look away.

One word ricochets around my brain again and again.
Please.

Black ooze disgorges from Lien's weapon, like a surge of inky water from the end of a fire hose.

Luka holds back as the Drau come at them. I lean close to the screen, willing him to fire. This is not the moment to let Kendra rack up points. Jackson was pretty clear in that regard; no one is supposed to put himself at risk, but here Luka's doing exactly that, waiting . . . waiting . . .

Finally, when it's practically on top of him, he takes out one of the Drau. Lien hits another. A third bypasses
their defense and lands a direct hit to Lien's chest. I hear the sound of my voice before I realize I've cried out. With a gasp, I slap one hand over my mouth.

Have I given myself away?

I scan the monitors, looking for one that shows the hallway outside the security room. There. On the bottom right. There's nothing on the screen, which means there was no Drau outside to hear me.

I check the map I've drawn. There are too many blank places for me to be sure of the route. But I can't wait any longer. I need to get to them. I grab my sword and my weapon cylinder and take one last look at the screens.

Kendra's face is a mask of anguish as she checks Lien's con. I wish I knew what color her con is. But the screens are black-and-white and all I know is that she isn't dead because I can see her lips moving. She looks right at Kendra as she speaks, then takes her hand and presses a kiss to her palm.

The Drau move to one side of the room, then into the camera's blind spot. I can't see them, but I can see the rain of light from their weapons.

“Fire,” I whisper, my grip tightening on my weapon cylinder as I will Luka to take the shot.

He doesn't.

I get one hell of a surprise as Kendra rises from behind the cover of the couch. She aims and fires, again and again, her expression twisted in rage and pain, her mouth open in a way that tells me she's yelling each time she wills her cylinder to fire.

Then she stops, just stops. They all stop. Luka's frozen in place, his face turned away from the camera toward Kendra. Lien's lying on the floor, propped on one elbow, her expression a motionless mask of surprise.

I figure my face probably looks pretty similar.

On each successive mission, Kendra's terror has escalated to the point that she wasn't just useless as a soldier; she was a danger to herself and the rest of us. But she just beat it, she overcame it. She stepped up.

Didn't expect that one.

Lien gets to her feet, Kendra supporting her elbow, and after a few woozy looking minutes, she straightens and pulls away to walk forward on her own steam. They pass into the camera's blind spot and disappear, leaving the map I've drawn useless to me for the moment.

I check the other monitors, hoping for a glimpse of Jackson and Tyrone. The first sweep reveals nothing, not even Drau teams. The second sweep leaves me sagging against the desk in relief. There's Jackson. He silently dispatches a lone Drau with his knife. I get a clear view of his face, his expression completely blank as he kills it. No pleasure, and in all honesty, I'm glad about that. No regret though, either. It's like he doesn't feel
anything.
Maybe I'll get to that point once I've been in the game for five years.

Five years.

Just the thought of that makes a shudder crawl across my skin.

Jackson continues on his way and I follow him from monitor to monitor, looking for a landmark that I recognize so I can head toward him. He stops and checks his con every once in a while and I realize he's looking for the rest of us, following the map on the tiny screen, moving toward the location of one of the triangles.

A few minutes later, Jackson backs along a hallway, keeping an eye out for a Drau patrol he passed—and evaded—a few minutes ago. I almost laugh when I see Tyrone doing the same, backing up the hall that intersects Jackson's at a ninety-degree angle. It's almost comical when they thump back-to-back, spin, weapons raised, and then grin, teeth flashing in the dimness.

They have a brief conversation. Jackson taps his con, points along the hallway then gestures to the left, the right. Tyrone nods. Then they split up and I'm guessing he's sending Tyrone to find the others while he comes after me.

I track Jackson's progress on the monitors until I see something that makes my heart stutter in my chest. Drau. A group of them, heading my way.

If I sit tight, hoping the Drau don't discover my position, and wait for Jackson, I'll let him walk right into their midst. Which means I can't stay here, locked in and relatively safe. I need to move, to lead Jackson away from here as he follows the little Miki triangle on his con.

I check the screens, plot my best options, and head out. I don't get far. Three Drau, a scouting party, practically bump noses with me as I round a corner. For some reason,
we all freeze. I don't shoot. They don't shoot. We all just stand there.

Then instinct kicks in.

At the same second the lead Drau lifts its weapon, I hack with my
katana
, bringing the honed blade down on its forehead, splitting its head like a coconut. With my other hand, I shoot the next Drau. It makes that terrible high-pitched sound as it's swallowed whole. Something clatters to the floor behind me and I whirl to take out the third Drau, but it's gone, its weapon lying on the floor.

My heart beats too fast. Did it run away? Or did it go for reinforcements? Either way, getting myself out of here right now is a definite plan.

I have no need for its weapon, but I don't want to just leave the thing lying there, so I snatch it up, shove it in my holster, then run in the direction I came from earlier, along the hall, across the open space, staying close to the equipment and the crates, hugging the shadows.

A choice: up a set of metal stairs to the catwalk, across to the far end of the factory floor with the hope that it isn't a dead end, or up the back stairs to the second floor.

I decide on the factory floor, my kendo sword held ready, my weapon cylinder heavy in my hand. At the far end, there are two hallways. I take the one on the left, because based on my sketchy map, I think it'll lead me toward where I saw Jackson.

Bad choice.

There's a lone Drau pressed up against a closed door, staring at me. I tell myself not to look at its eyes, its mercury eyes. I know it can kill me.

It lifts its hand.

I almost shoot, but stop at the last second.

It has no weapon. Its hands are empty. It's lifting them in a gesture of surrender.

It must be the same Drau that ran away, the one that left its weapon on the floor.

Shaking, panting, I hold my weapons before me. I don't move. The Drau doesn't move. My arms start to feel the strain.

Please.

The plea slams through my mind, echoing on itself. It isn't a word. Not exactly. It's an emotion, or, actually, a mélange of emotions. Fear. Desperation. Hope.

Excitement. Because it knows I can hear it.

Please.

My breath comes in frantic little gasps.

It's talking to me. Inside my head. Sort of the way that Jackson and the Committee have talked inside my head, but different. There are no words here. There's just raw thought.

I take a step back, terrified, horrified.

Mercy. Please.

It lifts its hands a little higher. I stare at its fingers, long, elegant, glowing like hundred-watt bulbs. My hands
tremble. My arms shake. But I don't lower my weapon cylinder or my sword.

I don't know what to do. Nothing in my experience of the game has prepared me for this. I've been told that the Drau are my enemy. That they're purely evil. That they want to annihilate mankind. That they want to
eat
us.

And it isn't just what I've been told. It's the bone-deep certainty I've felt since before I even saw one, the sensation of chilling fear that I first experienced outside the warehouse in Vegas right before I battled the Drau for the very first time.