The Proving (31 page)

Cleo jumped, her posterior just barely reaching the edge of the desk. Ben reached under her legs, lifting her up and feeling the muscles in his back tweak in the process. He turned back to the orange glow just in time to see it move underneath his feet. Its small, insect-like head phased through the grate, snapping silently at his toes. His shield system prevented its finger-sized mandibles from touching his boots but still the creature tried, nudging him backward. Ben lost his balance, nearly dropping his pistol. He reached out, grabbing for the edge of the nearby lab desk. His hand lost its grip, sliding across a stack of documents and sending them scattering to the floor.

Cleo screamed and drew her pistol, firing it at the Manteidos as it emerged from the floor. It was the size of a big dog, more vicious-looking and faster than a full-grown adult, jumping backward on its four legs before Cleo could even aim straight. Ben got up, weaving his way around the next row of lab tables. He pointed his pistol with one shaking hand and fired, hitting the creature in its belly. It turned, mandibles spread wide.

And screeched.

Ben fell to his knees, one hand protectively clutching his left ear. It
hurt
. The Specter moved closer to him, still screeching. It was protecting itself. It was . . .

No. Not a protective mechanism. It was a
call
.

He pointed his pistol and fired. Two more proton bullets cut through the Specter’s body. It broke apart, disintegrating. The screeching stopped but the ringing continued in Ben’s right ear. He shook his head, hurrying back to Cleo. “We need to go. Did you get everything?”

“Thirty percent,” she said. “Dude, your hand.”

He looked at his left hand. The palm of his glove was cut, and blood was streaming out. He moved his fingers, feeling a stinging sensation on his palm. “It’s just a scratch. Let’s move. We need to get out of here.”

She unplugged the wire, checking her VRacelet. “All this excitement is draining my obsolete VRacelet’s battery. I’m at ten percent power. Not enough for my shields. Ugh . . . I hate to admit this, but now I’m really, really scared.”

They hurried back to the lab entrance. Ben looked back over his shoulder. From somewhere deeper in the facility came another screech, then a crash of glass. “I’m afraid, too,” he said.

“Come on.” Cleo pulled him through the entrance the moment the doors whooshed open. She pushed a button on her VRacelet and the doors closed.

“Please wait,” came the female voice from the computer system. “Decontamination engaged.”

They held out their arms, watching the door. Waiting. Ben held out his left hand, looking at it. His palm was
tingling
. The bleeding had stopped, though. Minimal pain. Might need stitches.

“I’m gonna punch someone in the nose,” Cleo said. “If we don’t die, I swear I’m going to walk right up to my clan elder and punch her right in the nose.”

“Please lower your arms,” the female voice commanded.

“Let’s just make leaving this place a first priority,” Ben said. “Can you send anything to my glasses?”

“Totally.” Cleo tapped on her VRacelet. A blue holographic mesh appeared around her VRacelet, then disappeared. “I’m at emergency reserve power now. I’ll just send you the most high-level data I grabbed.”

A line of text appeared at the bottom of Ben’s glasses, scrolling slowly. The text brought a fresh chill down his spine. “This can’t be right.”

“What can’t? What? Helloooo? Talk to me, professor.”

The text scrolled again. Ben read it aloud: “Breach in research lab . . . Test subject H-seven . . . missing . . . Test subject H-three . . . euthanized . . . Test subject H-four . . . euthanized . . . Breach in Phenocyte reactor . . . Test subject H-five . . . euthanized . . . Breach in living quarters . . . Test subject H-nine . . . euthanized . . . unknown Specter activity in research lab . . . and then the log ends.”

“Decontamination complete,” said the female voice.

“What does all that mean?” Cleo asked.

There was a knocking on the lab door. Ben pointed his pistol. Another of the juvenile Specters, close enough to the door that its energy was reacting to the steel. Ben’s mind frantically ran through everything he’d learned about Specters, then threw it all out in favor of firsthand experience. The juvenile in the lab had screeched for a
reason
. Its energy field reacted with metal objects. A few shots from Ben’s pistol had been enough to destroy it. These were the only facts he could trust.

A glowing yellow Manteidos claw penetrated the door, reaching out. Ben pulled the trigger. The proton bullet singed the steel, leaving a black mark. Another claw appeared. Ben fired again, this time hitting it. The claw burst apart.

“They were performing tests on Specters,” Ben said, firing again and again. The other claw was still there, maybe stuck, maybe just taunting him. Maybe it wasn’t trying to kill him at all. Maybe it was just a child, curious or afraid. It didn’t matter. He fired three more shots, hitting the other claw and then continuing, just firing at the space where the creature
might
emerge, hoping it would reveal its horrible insect-like head.

“Hey. Hey!” Cleo lowered his arm. “Just talk to me. What. Does. It. Mean.”

“A Specter infiltrated the Phenocyte reactor.” Ben looked down, shaking his head. He was ashamed. He’d lost his temper and now his pistol battery was nearly drained. Firing at the door had been an illogical, childish move. “Another one infiltrated the labs. I don’t know how. Maybe if we can . . . uh . . . maybe if we can pinpoint the source of the infiltration we could be certain.”

“How about this?” Cleo brought up a video feed, filling the left lens of Ben’s glasses.

Ben watched it through. “No. No, that can’t be right. Play it again.”

The door behind them opened, revealing the long passage that led back to the loading bay. Beyond the passage, Ben could see two little flashlights moving back and forth. The lights swirled up and down, left and right.

The video feed in his left lens played again. Ben closed his right eye, searching for any irregularities. Some kind of rational explanation.

The lab.

Specter specimens in glass tubes.

Scientists at their stations, walking from specimen to specimen.

A Specter, trapped inside the large containment cell.

The lights, flickering.

Another Specter, pushing its way through the far wall, between two electrical coils. It was a Sebecus, so blood-red and glowing so brightly that it seemed to overpower the halogen lights overhead.

Sparks. People panicking. Equipment knocked over.

Death.

“That wall is solid rock,” Ben said. “We’re inside a
mountain
. The-the-the Specter Rubrics we learned in school taught us that Specters expend energy passing through objects. That’s why they can’t move underground.”

“Yeah, awesome,” Cleo said. “Except the same people who taught us that weren’t exactly sharing all the answers, were they?”

Ben laughed at the insanity of it all. So many secrets kept, and for how long? For what purpose? “Why didn’t they just tell us the truth, Cleo? There’s . . . there’s no logical purpose in keeping so many secrets from one another!”

Another metallic ping on the other side of the door. Ben turned, aiming his pistol, ready to fire the last few rounds of proton bullets right between the little Manteidos juvenile’s eyes. He would kill every single one of those little yellow critters even if they were the last of their kind. To Hades with studying them. To Hades with all of the adults and their secrets.

A pair of red, reptilian jaws appeared. Then one massive arm, claws extended out. Each claw disappeared into the grated floor, as if digging into soft dirt. Ben dropped his gun in terror.

Cleo pointed her pistol and fired, again and again and again. The proton bullets hit the steel door, hit the Specter’s long red snout and its arm. Its head emerged, turning so that one glowing bright red translucent eye could peer at both of them. It had a bubbling hole in its neck and two more on the crest of its scaly head, just above the right eye — as good a kill shot as an experienced Spartan could make.

And it was still alive. Still glowing bright red. Skye . . . she
had
to have fired those other shots.

“Run,” Ben croaked. “As fast as you can.”

The worst part was she couldn’t hear it. If it was a lion or a tiger or some other animal she had to read about in her awful secondary school zoology class, at least she would be able to hear the padding of its feet on the tile floor, chasing after her.

The least you could do is moan so I know you’re behind me.

The creature didn’t oblige, but Skye had an idea: ahead, just past the Common Room’s lounging couches, was the little bar area, and behind the bottles of liquor was the narrow mirror. That would be when she made her final decision.

Run or fight.

Fight. You have maybe two shots left. Either you kill it, or you die a good Spartan death and you can rest in peace knowing you’ll be honored for having done so much. Father will finally be proud.

She drew in a quick breath, hopping over the first couch, tripping over a dead body, bounding over the second couch and feeling the rubber soles of her boots absorb the shock.

Run. You already ran once. The Historian will recount how you ran from the Specter instead of standing your ground. That’s all anyone will remember. Not your heroics. Not the other Specters you killed. You’re disgraced already anyway. Might as well keep your miserable life. There will be other opportunities for glory.

She reached the mirror. A squeak of surprise escaped her mouth. The monstrous Specter was just a few meters behind her, moving so fluidly across one of the lounging couches that it seemed to capture her consciousness, freezing her muscles. By the gods, it was large. Its tail alone was as long as her. She could see the hole in its head where her proton bullet had hit — still, it glowed a bloody red. She could see
through
its ghostly body. She could see the door leading to the corridor. Closed. And no Seamus in sight.

Turn away.

She turned toward where the giant room curved like the spout of a tea kettle. Her glasses automatically identified each of the rooms based on her last visit: bedroom, bedroom, bedroom, hallway.

In other words: death, death, death, maybe-not-death.

No bone in her body wanted death. She didn’t want to die yet.

Her legs took her to the hallway. It was wide, decorated like the walls in the Commons room with stripes of clan colors. Somewhere, there was a Phenocyte reactor. There was no telling what was there, but the space would need to be big. A reactor surrounded by lasers. An observation deck lined with monitors. A control station full of plenty of Clan Persia gadgets.

And a Clan Sparta security station.

Skye forced her legs to carry her faster, slowing only a fraction for the hallway door to slide open. The overhead lights automatically turned on, tripped by motion sensors. Skye tried to keep pace with the lights, ignoring the pain in her gluteal muscles. Her Ecosuit absorbed her sweat. Her glasses bounced on the bridge of her nose.

Faster faster faster faster faster . . .

All along the wall were pictures. Real, material pictures that someone had printed and then framed and hung along the sterile gray walls. Big pictures of scientists, watching a Specter enclosed in some kind of device. Big pictures of Persian techies standing in front of a holographic DNA sequence, their faces glowing blue. Big pictures of Spartan soldiers scowling for the camera, rifles cradled lazily in their arms while the monitors behind them showed the inside of the Phenocyte reactor.

The weirdness of it all was almost enough to make her slow down.

But then she was at the end of the hall, and the door was sliding open, and as she stepped inside she cocked her head just enough to glance over her shoulder. The Specter was still just meters away but this door was thicker, and as it shut the Specter’s massive crocodile jaws slipped through with greater effort, followed by the rest of the head and then the thick, humanoid arms, phasing through the thick steel more slowly than it had phased through the thin door that led to the Commons.

Still it was red. As if it had so much stored-up energy that it might pass through the mountain itself.

Skye pointed her rifle, firing twice at its head. The proton bullets ruptured its ghost-like form in two places: once in the neck and another above its right eye. The vibrant red glow dimmed to a burning orange, and the creature opened its long mouth, releasing a ribcage-vibrating moan. Skye pulled the trigger again; the red light on the side of the rifle flashed.

The Specter pulled its torso through, turning its head and centering one eye right on Skye. Daring her to fire again.

Stupid girl. You knew you only had two shots left!

She was wasting time. She turned, taking in the facility as quickly as she could. It was shaped like a horseshoe, wide, the floor covered with black rubber floor tiles. The outer walls were lined with tall computer panels full of blinking red lights. On the inside of the walkway were rows of computer consoles, each one dipping down into a little ditch and complemented with a comfortable-looking chair, the kind useful for sitting in an entire shift. On each of the console touchscreens were warnings written in bold, red letters: