Death Drop (16 page)

Otto’s breathing was charged with adrenaline, and his senses were sharp as he prepared for Blink to make a move. Blink stood on the precipice of the crater and glared down at him. Otto stepped slowly backward toward the hole while keeping his keen eyes fixed on the doctor. He knelt down, turned his head slightly, and talked over his shoulder.

“Malo, we can’t move any of these boulders because that might cave in the roof and crush you.”

“What we do?” Malo responded calmly.

“Do you still have
The Guardian
?

Otto saw the hatred burn out of Blink’s eyes and a slight smirk of comprehension crease the corner of his lips.

“Malo has cannon.”

“
Thank god for that,”
Otto sighed under his breath. “Malo, can you get into position to fire at the cave entrance?”

“Yes.”

“Okay, Malo, count down from twenty and then shoot the roof. The cannon will clear most of the rubble from the entrance, and the blast should break the big chunks up so they don’t fall back down and hit you. Got it?”

“Say when Malo start counting.”

“On my mark, Malo. Three, two, one, mark!”

Otto could hear deep grunts issue from the small opening as he jogged to the wall of the crater and Malo began the countdown. Bertie had already turned and was wobbling steadily away from the vent shaft opening. Otto dug his claws into the rocky wall, and he had only hoisted his weight up the incline a few feet when he caught a glimpse of Blink peering inhospitably down at him. He didn’t move and Otto could swear that his face distorted somehow. It flashed from the soft, round features of the doctor to something harder, something more dangerous. He couldn’t be sure, but he thought he saw a subtle, cruel smile flicker on the doctor’s mouth for an instant and then vanish. Before Otto could give it another thought, the portion of the wall that he was holding crumbled in his grip, and he slipped toward the bottom of the crater only to be stopped by a tight pinching feeling around his wrist. His right hand had slid down the crevice he was holding onto and lodged itself into the wall. He was stuck. He could barely hear the rhythmic cadence of Malo counting the seconds until he blasted the rocks into oblivion over the panic pounding in his head.

“Ten.”

“Ten seconds—you should be a hundred yards from here!” he thought.

“Malo!” He cried out to stop the countdown, but Malo couldn’t hear him over the echo of his own voice. The Moxen’s deep intonation continued in the darkness. Otto clawed desperately at the smooth rock with his feet—trying to find enough traction to propel himself to any safe distance, but it was no use. Even if he could break free from the iron grip of the crater wall, releasing and attempting another approach was a death sentence now.

“Seven.” Malo’s words floated up from the chasm and beat into Otto’s heart like a hammer.

“Six.”

“Bertie! Artie! HELP!”

Otto cursed to himself and wondered what he had truly seen in Blink’s last look. He wasn’t sure what Blink would tell Malo about how Otto had died or whether the Moxen would be safe with him. He could certainly trust Bertie, but if Otto died, the medical machine would no doubt revert to taking orders from the deranged doctor.
“What in the hell is going on here?”
he thought, and he was sure it would be the last question he would ever ask himself. But instead of feeling the blistering, explosive force of
The Guardian
blow him to pieces,
he felt a strong hand grip his free arm around the wrist and hoist him from his stationary spot on the crater wall. His pinned arm pulled momentarily against the rest of his body and then broke loose, scraping against the jagged crack.

“Four.”

Otto was running all out from the vent shaft opening. It felt like his heart was pounding in his throat and pumping acid through his veins as he wrung every muscle in his body for maximum output.

“Two. One.”

The blast from
The Guardian
shook the ridge and sent a stream of rock, fire, and billowing smoke arcing across the pale, blue sky. Chunks of boulder and debris, angry at being dislodged from their resting places, rained down and pelted the soft ridge dirt in a violent storm. Otto was half-pulled and half-dove onto his side behind a large mass deposited by their first escape from the jaws of the vent shaft. He cupped his hands over his ears and closed his eyes, half expecting the blast to disintegrate his body and scatter his ashes to the wind. It wasn’t until the shockwave passed and the sounds of falling debris softened from heavy thuds and crashes to light taps that Otto dared to look out onto the ridge again. He expected Bertie’s battered treads and gouged arms to greet him and pull him to his feet. Instead, he found himself almost nose to nose with the jovial, smiling face of Doctor Blink.

“Artie? Where’s Bertie?” said Otto, more confused than ever.

“I didn’t know if he’d have enough power to come back for you
and
hoist Malo out of the cave. I hope you don’t mind, but I sent him away as quickly as possible to minimize the risk of damaging him during the blast.” The soft, round features had returned to Blink’s face and he was talking like a calculating scientist again.

“How on earth did you lift me out of that hole…
and—and—the boulder
?” Otto was stuttering and trying to make sense of the doctor’s odd behavior.

“The body and the mind,” Blink said, waggling his forefinger in the air, “are capable of amazing things in extreme situations. Countless acts of strength and heroism have been attributed to the adrenal response to fear or danger.” Blink was back to his usual educational lecturing style of dialogue, and his renowned enthusiasm for all things scientific danced in his voice once again.

“For a second, I thought you’d gone off the deep end,” Otto said hesitantly, still not ready to completely buy into Blink’s turnaround.

“Yes, I admit that almost being shot, squashed into jelly, crushed by rocks, and the very real possibility of being eaten alive had a negative effect on me. I’m sorry about that. As long as I can remember I’ve dedicated myself to saving lives. I suppose I can get a little carried away about it.” Blink looked away for a second and Otto noticed a look of remorse crinkle the features on his face.

“It’s okay, Artie. Sometimes I forget that not everybody is trained to handle combat.” Otto felt the need to express not only his gratitude for being saved but also an apology for very seriously considering hitting Blink over the head. He didn’t want to admit that he also had considered shooting the doctor, so he brushed that thought aside as complete nonsense and jumped to his feet as Bertie came rolling into view from behind another large stone off to their right. “Thank you for coming back and saving me,” he said, placing his hand on Blink’s shoulder. “Now, let’s get Malo and get out of here!”

Otto bounded back to the rim of the crater and peered down the newly excavated opening. A smile graced his lips as he shook his head from side to side in utter astonishment.

“Lieutenant Schunkari, you never cease to amaze.” He chuckled and shot a wink at Malo. The Moxen was hanging from his enormous battle hammer, which was wedged horizontally between the walls of the collapsed vent shaft. Malo was gripping the handle of the hammer with his left hand, and
The Guardian
, its smoldering barrel pointing down the shaft, was clutched in his right. The soft light of the sun shone on the gray coat of dust that covered Malo and illuminated streams of Banzium particles that swirled around him before drifting into the bottomless black that loomed just below his hooves.

“How’re you doing, big man?” Otto said.

“Malo can’t hold much longer. Like to go now. Promised fish man.”

“I couldn’t agree more,” said Otto as he nervously looked around the ridge.

Bertie pulled up on Otto’s left at the rim of the crater and Blink flanked the medical machine. The doctor let out a squeak of joy, and Bertie wiggled the scraped fingers on his lower right hand in greeting.

“It’s good to see you, Malo!” Blink said happily. “We’ll have you out in a jiffy!”

“Artie, we’re only going to get one shot at this,” Otto said, turning to Blink and speaking in a grave tone. “Malo can’t hold on long enough for us to get the ship to hoist him out, and I’m afraid that if Bertie tries to dislodge the hammer by pulling on both ends, he might waste all of his energy and the hammer may not even budge.”

“What are you suggesting?” Blink questioned intently, rubbing his spectacles on his tattered lab coat and studying Otto through squinted eyes.

“Well, Malo is hanging by his left hand. If Bertie can concentrate on moving one end of the hammer
—
say, the right side—it might move more easily, and he’ll still have enough strength to help Malo out of the hole.”

Blink studied Otto for a second and considered the plan.

“I think you’re right,” Blink said. “It maximizes his chances of getting out of the shaft if they split the work.”

“If Malo can hold on after the hammer is pried loose,” Otto said in his most optimistic voice, “then he’ll swing to the tunnel wall, and he can help Bertie by using his legs to climb.”

Otto wasted no time in telling Malo the plan. The big Moxen grunted in agreement and tightened his grip on the battle hammer. “Okay, Bertie. This is it—we get Malo out of here and then I’ll find you a mechanic and an oil bath. How’s that sound?” Bertie gave a thumbs-up with his right hand and then maneuvered into position as quickly as he could. Both his left arms were too badly damaged to use, so he lined himself up so his right side was directly across from the handle of the battle hammer, just to the left of Malo’s hand. There was a small whine and several loud clanking sounds from Bertie’s chassis as the smoke that was curling from underneath him in small wisps now rolled out in billows.

“On my mark, gentlemen,” Otto said. “Three, two, one—MARK!”

Bertie’s top right hand separated from his forearm with a loud hiss of compressed gas followed by the flutter of greasy, spinning cogs and the metallic jangle of chain links moving against each other. As battered as he was, Bertie’s aim was perfect. His tethered hand sailed into the tunnel and latched onto the handle of the battle hammer right next to the heavy head. He sent power to his cogs and slowly reversed. The chain bounced in time with the wobble of Bertie’s treads until it was stretched taut from the battle hammer to his wrist.

“Okay, Malo, get ready!” Otto shouted. “Now, Bertie—full power!”

Bertie’s power core whined and knocked as his entire frame shook from his treads to the top of his elevated table. Bertie’s tracks clawed at the dirt as the dismal sound coming from his insides deepened, and energy drained from his broken parts like life flowing through open wounds. The others didn’t know it, but his back-up power unit had also been damaged by the cannon blasts from the big Berzerker monster in the shipyard. If Bertie lost primary power, there would be nothing left to keep his memory circuits charged. Bertie was, in effect, dying.

Chapter 17: Sacrifice

T
he hammer head slid stubbornly against the rock wall in jerking movements as the cave tried to hold its quarry in its deadly jaws. But the smooth surface of the metallic head combined with the little power Bertie had left were just enough, and the hammer let loose with a sharp scraping sound. Malo locked the handle in a death grip as the boulders once supported by the hammer fell inward, brushing his flanks in a last attempt to bury him alive. His hooves met the rock with a loud clop, and he let out a small snorting grunt as he tensed his muscles against the momentum of his body and
The Guardian
. Malo let go of the handle of the cannon, caught the big gun by its strap, and hoisted it over his horns so its weight rested on his left shoulder. With both hands now free, Malo began to climb the thirty feet that separated him from the mouth of the tunnel as Bertie tried to assist.

Bertie sent his last remaining reserves to his treads. They groaned and creaked against the ridge and then bit into the cool soil. Malo was ascending at a good pace as the glow of the sun warmed his shoulders and back. His powerful arms burned as he climbed, hand over hand, to freedom and fulfillment of his promise to Talfus. Ten feet to go and Malo felt the pull of the chain slowdown. He compensated by climbing harder, but something had changed.

Bertie’s sensors flickered off for a split second as his systems shut down and then flashed on again. The chain supporting Malo retreated slightly as Bertie’s damaged cogs spun freely under the momentary lack of power. Neither Blink nor Otto saw what had happened. They were both staring hopefully down the tunnel at Malo. Bertie was spending all of his remaining power to save Malo’s life—if he went offline completely, he knew his back-up system didn’t have enough power to keep his memory alive. He could be repaired and restored, but he would never remember his friends. He would never remember the years of service he had given to Blink during the war or the countless number of Blink’s people he had helped to escape the Durax. Bertie wouldn’t remember how he had saved Otto, Blink, and Malo from certain death and how proud he felt when Otto thanked him. He wouldn’t remember anything. Bertie would be gone. His vision blurred and he strained against the urge to fade into the blackness that was sapping his vital life force, but he couldn’t exist outside the boundaries of his physical components. He was a machine, made of cogs and treads, tubes and metal. His strength was gone, his power core groaned and chugged—shaking his chassis as it emptied the last of his life. It was too late. Bertie was gone.

All at once, the chain in Malo’s hands slackened and he plunged back into the darkness.

Otto and Blink spun around to see Bertie’s lifeless shell gaining speed as it rolled toward them. Bertie’s arms all hung limply at his sides, all but the one with the chain protruding from it, which was still dangling a Moxen giant, a cannon, and a battle hammer somewhere on its other end. Bertie’s elevated table tilted backward slightly and hung there for a moment before it slammed down over the top of his treads with a loud crack. Blink let out a dismal shriek as the situation—and hope—sped, foot by foot, into the tunnel and vanished yet again.