The Proving (16 page)

“I don’t,” Skye answered. “What do you need to fix the solar array?”

“Wiring and a circuit transfer box,” Cleo answered. She moved closer to Skye, resting a hand on her shoulder plate. Cleo pointed toward the fifth row; the shelves didn’t go all the way to the other end of the massive room. “That’s the lift over there. The wiring should be collected in spools, probably locked up but seriously did you see those repair bots? You have no idea what I could do with one of those. They’re
fantastic
.”

“If they were fantastic, they’d still be in service. Come on.” Skye led her between the rows. The faint echo of her voice made her uneasy.

Are you scared, perhaps?

Yes. But she could control it. That was what made a Spartan strong: recognizing fear, then dominating it.

“They were decommissioned because they got stuck,” Cleo said. “And by the time that happened, Clan Persia was already at work on the smaller machines that could do more specialized stuff. But I’m telling you, one of those repair bots would be so awesome to have. See, they’re made of these smaller pieces, right? And depending on what needs to be done, those pieces can break down and rearrange themselves into a new form. So the bot can slip through tight spaces, rearrange its mechanical arms, move its battery cells, you name it!”

“Wonderful.” Skye stopped at the end of the row. There was indeed a lift built into the floor, with a single control panel sticking up from the steel floor square. A red light was blinking very faintly on the panel. Skye wiped away a layer of dust. “Can you hack this?”

“Natch.” Cleo flicked her wrist and aimed her VRacelet at the panel. She studied the readout on the touchscreen, then tapped a few buttons.

The control panel’s light turned green.

“Hop aboard,” Cleo said with a smile.

Skye stepped onto the steel floor of the lift, tapping her boot a few times. It was reinforced, which meant that there most likely was heavy equipment in the lower level as well as wiring. Which meant there could be ample spaces for Specters to hide inside.

“Check your shields,” she told Cleo.

Cleo didn’t look at her VRacelet. “Ninety-five percent. You’re at ninety-two percent, if you’re curious.”

“I know.” She could see her shield monitor in the corner of her right lens. She’d already checked it half a dozen times. It was hard
not
to check it.

The lift began lowering, kicking up dust in the process. Cleo was staring at Skye’s rifle.

“OK, I’ve gotta ask: how many times have you fired that big gun?”

“Thousands,” Skye answered, keeping her voice barely above the electronic whirr of the lift’s motor.

The Persian shook her head. “Boy, it’s all work, work, work at Clan Sparta, isn’t it?”

Skye ignored her, crouching down. They’d descended past the concrete floor of the first level. Skye flashed her light, scanning the lower level as they continued their slow descent. Her camera used its night vision ability to adjust to the darkness. The Tumbler pinged an approximate floor plan, outlining the walls in bright green.

From high up, she could get a good look at all of it: large equipment to the left, an old motorized forklift in the center, a yellow cage full of spooled wires to the right. No Specter glow.

Yet. Now is not the time to relax. Or lose hope.

As if on cue, Skye felt the soft hairs on the back of her neck stand up.

“There’s probably keys hidden around here,” Cleo said, hopping off the lift before it reached the floor. “Of course, if this an emergency supply depot, why lock anything up? Anyone who ends up here is already stressed out and —”

Skye reached out and grabbed her ponytail before she could saunter off. She pulled Cleo back. The lift dipped into the space in the floor, clicking securely into place. “Draw your weapon. Point it like you’ve been trained.”

Cleo drew her pistol, aiming it toward the forklift near the center of the room. Its twin steel forks were raised waist-high, pointing at the girls like two monstrous fangs. The forklift wasn’t alone. Behind the forklift was another big machine with multiple arms, and behind that another machine with a single drill-like appendage.

“What is it?” Cleo asked.

“Look down at your VRacelet,” Skye whispered.

Cleo did so. Her eyes widened. “Oh. No. Electron spike.”

“Shhhhhh.” Skye crouched, shining her flashlight on the machines. They cast long, heavy shadows over the walls. The dark green outlines flickered. “What’s happening to our night vision?”

“The foundation is too thick to send a reliable signal to the Tumbler’s computer,” Cleo whispered. “We can use my VRacelet, but it’ll drain my battery. Where’s the Specter? Do you see it?”

“No.” Skye could feel her heart racing. She took a deep breath, inhaling through her nose. Petrol. There was an emergency-emergency generator somewhere . . .

There! To their left, near the opposite wall! A generator and an engine and a transistor. The generator sat on a pair of wooden risers. The engine and transistor hung from metal hooks attached to the ceiling.

Then, through the rubber soles of her boots, Skye felt the unmistakable vibration of something moaning underground.

“Reza. Reza!” Cleo’s frantic, squeaky voice came through the speakers above the twin computer consoles.

“I’m here,” the boy said, shifting in his seat. “I don’t know what to do!”

Gabriel reached over and slid his finger over the holo-screen, deleting the Athenian’s and the Historian’s video feeds. Now, it was just the video feeds coming from Cleo’s glasses and Skye’s glasses floating over the holo-bulb. With fewer screens, Cleo’s and Skye’s video feeds grew twice as large, making it easier to see the inside of the depot basement.

“Can you give us a little detail down here, bro-bro?” Cleo asked.

“No,” Reza said. The boy looked almost bored, as if he didn’t realize the danger the two were in. But Gabriel knew.

“What he means is that it’s processing,” Gabriel said, taking a seat at Cleo’s console. He turned on the holoscreen and pulled up Skye’s and Cleo’s video feeds. Skye’s was coming from the camera on her glasses. Cleo’s was coming from the little camera on her earpiece. “The data is coming in too slow. Skye, can you pan your flashlight slowly from left to right?”

Skye’s rifle turned. The light panned slowly across the larger equipment. Vehicle parts hung from chains. Ion batteries sat stacked on old charging units, each one wrapped in plastic. Farming machines stood in a row like silent sentries. One had a dozen arms with tiny pincers for weeding; the one behind it had just a single soil tiller, the arm hanging downward like an elephant’s trunk.

“Cleo?” It was Ben’s voice. “What kind of reading are you getting?”

“A . . . big one.” The feed from Cleo’s camera was shaky, cutting in and out as her head darted left and right. Gabriel wiped sweat off his forehead. The other kids huddled around him, watching. He wanted to tell them to go sit down, but maybe that would be worse. They would ask what’s happening and get distracting and then who knew? They were kids. They were mostly clan kids but they were still
kids
.

“Keep panning, Skye,” Gabriel said. He tried to sound calm. He took a deep breath. The last thing they needed was some frantic citizen screaming in their ears.

Skye’s flashlight reached the forklift, then panned to the long cage filled with spools of wire.

“There,” Gabriel said, double-checking the wireless data readout. The connection to Cleo’s VRacelet was weak, sending packets of data so slow that a warning was actually flashing on the console touchscreen below the holo-bulb. “The Tumbler’s computer is compiling the images. You should get a better visual enhancement in a moment.”

On both of the floating video screens, green outlines of the objects in the darkness appeared. As Skye’s eyes turned to the forklift, the glasses followed the path of her retinas and provided some details:

AX-27 FORKLIFT

2300 KGS.

LOAD CAPACITY: 8000 KGS.

The video feeds flickered again.

A crash crackled through the Tumbler’s speakers, followed by what Gabriel assumed was a scream by Cleo. Skye wouldn’t scream in terror. Spartans didn’t scream, period.

“What was that?” Gabriel asked, leaning in. He felt Wei’s hand wrap around his shoulder and pull. He pulled her off but kept hold of her hand.

Skye’s camera panned left. She shined her flashlight on the large contraptions lined up along the concrete wall. The engine lay upon the ground beside the bulky-looking generator. The chains that had been holding up the engine swung left and right, their shadows dancing on the wall. Two of the rusted hooks bumped against each other, clinging. The sound came through the speakers with a static frizzle — the wireless data feed was breaking up again.

“Ben,” Gabriel said. . . .“The solid concrete walls of the basement . . . a Specter would have a hard time phasing through them, right?”

“To some extent,” Ben answered. “Specters are still composed of atoms, so it takes energy for them to pass through solid objects. They most likely prefer soft soil because it’s easier for them to complete the phasing process. We don’t know for sure —”

“Skye.” Gabriel licked his lips, thinking. “Is there anything softer that the Specter might be hiding in nearby? A crate or something like that?”

The VR rifle panned back to the forklift, then to the cage of wires. She stepped forward. To her right, the cage was illuminated with a softer light. Skye’s camera turned to Cleo. The Persian had her VRacelet held out, shining a dim light on the wire cage.

“I made a few modifications,” she said in a low voice.

“Just watch your battery life,” Skye told her.

Cleo scoffed. “I made a few modifications to that, too. You just worry about the super scary ghost, mmmkay?”

“Skye . . .” Cassidy, the Spartan boy, was beside Gabriel now. “Be careful.”

Skye didn’t answer. She moved closer to the forklift, her boot crunching on the floor. The shadow of the forklift appeared on the ground behind it, the forks like long black arms that seemed to be reaching out for a hug. Gabriel’s heart raced. 

“Skye . . .” Cassidy whispered. “The ground . . .”

Skye looked down, flashing her light on the gravel. Gravel. No concrete flooring.

“
Sacrebleu
,” Cleo whispered. Her VRacelet light’s little beam cut across the floor. It was gravel everywhere. No solid concrete. Gabriel may not have gone through the same Specter training as the clan kids did, but he understood the basics that Ben had laid out: the gravel was loose, which made it easier for the Specters to phase through.

The Specter was under their feet.

“Get out of there,” Gabriel urged. A trickle of sweat ran down his temple. Curse the people who’d designed the building. “Regroup on the surface! I’ll . . . I’ll get a pistol and we’ll do this together.”

Both of their cameras began turning left and right, the lights flashing across the gravel basement floor. With each step, their boots crunched.

A low, haunting moan came through the circular speakers above the touchscreen. Gabriel’s heart slammed against his ribcage.

“Skye,” Cleo whispered. “I’m freaking out. Let’s go back up.”

The cameras shook. Through Cleo’s camera, Gabriel could see Skye’s calm face, her left eye just slightly crossed. “Hold out your hand,” she ordered. “Aim your VRacelet toward the fallen engine in the corner.”

Cleo held out her arm. On the data feed, Cleo’s VRacelet sensor pinged a warning. The Tumbler grabbed the ping and popped up a warning message in a new holoscreen:

ENERGY SPIKE DETECTED

“Get out!” Gabriel shouted.

Cleo turned, staring into Skye’s camera with wide, frightened eyes. Skye’s hand reached out, steadying her. “Remember how slow the lift went down? It’s going to go just as slow on its way up.”

One Skye’s screen, Cleo’s panicked face seemed to pucker; her right eye squeezed out a tear. On the other screen, Skye’s eyes were dark. Calm.

“You don’t know for sure that it’s there,” Gabriel said. “You could . . .”

“Just shut up, Parliament.” Both cameras went shaky as they ran behind the forklift. Skye’s VR rifle swung over the steel forks, aimed right at the space where the engine had been hanging. The rusted steel chains were still gently swinging back and forth, counting the measures of Gabriel’s heartbeat.

The chains began to glow. First, it was a dark orange, barely visible on the screens. Then the orange grew brighter, like a fire that had just been fed a fresh gallon of petrol. Orange, transparent claws emerged from the ground beside the fallen engine.

The moaning grew louder.

Wei screamed.

“Reza, take her,” Gabriel ordered. “Go sit her down.”

Reza did as he was told, slipping out of the other chair. He took Wei’s hand and pulled her away from the screens.

“What is it?” Ben asked. “Skye, give me an idea so I can help.”

“Claws. Sharp tail. Diamond-shaped spikes along the spine. Bright orange effervescence. Snout.”

“Open snout,” Cleo corrected. “With long teeth.”

“Definitely a Sebecus Specter,” Ben said. “If it comes in close, it will try to use its jaws. Your shields won’t last long if it gets a hold of you. Turn off your lights — you won’t need them now and we don’t fully know how the Specters see.”

The lights clicked off. Now the creature’s glow was brighter. It looked like a fiery ghost, some kind of afterimage of a malfunctioning hologram. It was pulling itself out of the ground, behind the engine, but Gabriel could see enough to know that even his worst nightmares about the Specters didn’t do them justice. None of the videos or holo-movies did them justice.

The moans grew louder, rumbling the Tumbler’s speakers.

Gabriel felt dizzy. His mouth, dry, tried to form some kind of word but all that came out was a raspy croak. The Specter looked as if Clan Athens had merged the genes of a human and a crocodile in some mad science experiment; one long arm reached out, grabbing onto the engine, its effervescent claws slipping through the hardened steel. The entire corner of the basement seemed to be burning.