Truth Engine (23 page)

Dylan nodded. “It's a level of strength created by an individual's concentration,” he explained. “So long as a warrior remains focused, he or she can assume the incredible properties of our stone savior.”

Kane pulled back, his hand brushing something on Lakesh's desk. Somewhere beneath the stone cladding a
green light flickered on, indicating that the public address system was engaged.

“Don't let it worry you,” Dylan reassured Kane. “They won't crack under pressure.”

“It's not pressure I'm thinking about,” Kane said as he whipped the small cylindrical object from its hiding place beneath his robe. “And I'm not the one who should be worried.”

Then Kane yanked the pull tab from the cylinder in his hand, and for a moment Dylan stared in horror, thinking that the ex-Magistrate was detonating a grenade. But instead of an explosion, the foghorn unleashed a deafening squeal, fiercely loud in the confines of the cavelike ops room. Before Dylan could even begin to react, Kane shoved the horn against the pickup microphone of the public address system, and its angry ululation reverberated down the tunnels and caverns of the redoubt-turned-life-camp.

 

T
WO FLOORS BELOW
, Rosalia smiled as the hideous banshee wail blurted from the speakers lining the redoubt's walls. Many of the speakers had become buried beneath the rock coating, but they still howled with the annoying echo.

At her side, the dog yelped in irritation at the deafening racket, the poor beast especially sensitive to the hideous noise. Rosalia ignored its cries, having already placed the earplugs Kane had given her into her ears, and hurried forward with determination. All around her, hooded guards were looking about in confusion, and one man dropped a tray of food he had been taking to one of the prison caves.

Rosalia brushed her wrist against the hidden sensor
panel of the nearest cell, striding on even as the door began to shudder back on its hidden tracks.

Kane's plan was in action. It was time to release the prisoners.

As Rosalia swept her wrist against the fourth sensor along the wall, one of the guards finally noticed what she was doing.

“Hey,” he shouted, struggling to be heard over the wailing sound of the alarm being piped over the PA system. “You can't do that. The prisoners will—”

Without hesitation, Rosalia struck the man in the face with her fist, knocking him back against the rough rock wall.

“I am stone,” the man growled, clenching his fists.

This was it, Rosalia knew. This was the moment where she would find out if Kane's plan had worked.

She kicked out, sweeping her foot high into the air until it struck the hooded guard a vicious blow to his jaw. He cried out in pain, staggering back against the wall again as one of his teeth flew from his mouth with a bloody spray of torn gum. The guard looked stunned as Rosalia kicked out a second time, striking him in the chest with the ball of her other foot. With a blurt of expelled breath, he sagged backward.

“You're not stone anymore,” Rosalia told the guard as he fell. The sirenlike noise echoing through the tunnels had seen to that.

Up ahead, Rosalia's dog ran toward the next guard, leaping into the air with its teeth bared.

All around, prisoners were emerging from their cells.
Grant's broad-shouldered form staggered out of one doorway, a look of consternation on his face. He grabbed at the robed guard who was just hurrying past the open cell door toward Rosalia, snagging the man's loose-fitting robe and hurling him into the wall. The guard slammed against the wall with a crack of bones, sagging limply to the floor.

Grant looked around him, utterly confused. “What the hell is going on?” he shouted over the whine of the alarm.

Rosalia turned, pushing back the hood of her robe. “No time to explain, Magistrate man,” she said.

Grant's brows furrowed as he took in the figure before him. He had met with Rosalia months ago, out in the open desert around the fishing ville of Hope. He didn't quite know what to make of her appearance here now.

“What?” he spit, bewildered.

“I'm on your side,” Rosalia told him. Then she gestured to the ceiling, indicating the racket that was still playing over the public address system. “This is Kane's doing. We're closing down this shit hole.”

Grant scratched at the close-cropped hair on his scalp as he saw Rosalia part another of the stone walls that hid the cells.

“This is going to take some big explaining when we're done,” he muttered. But for now, he was happy to go with the flow, turning his attention to another of the robed guards even as the man plucked a slingshot from his belt.

 

I
N THE OPERATIONS ROOM
, Kane found himself surrounded by a group of hooded warriors. The horn continued blaring into the microphone, the reverb sounding like some hideous scream in the cavelike space.

“I don't know what the hell you think you're doing,” Dylan spit, “but this is not the right way to welcome the future.”

Kane glared at him. “Oh, this is the only future you're getting,” he snarled. Then his fist struck out, smashing into the jaw of the nearest guard. The man fell, collapsing onto the rocky ledge that had grown over the aisle of desks.

Dylan looked astounded, realizing for the first time that his warriors no longer had their remarkable stonelike abilities of defense. A highly trained Magistrate, Kane worked through the untrained warriors in a matter of seconds, tossing them aside and breaking arms and legs with a succession of well-placed blows. He didn't have long to do this, he knew. It would be only a matter of moments until Dylan shut down the shrieking foghorn and his people could gather their wits once more, turning concentration into physical endurance.

A hooded woman stood before Kane, muttering the mantra he had heard a dozen times before: “I am stone.”

Kane drove his fist into her face, collapsing her nose in a single, bloody strike.

“No, you ain't,” he growled.

Then he grabbed the front of her robe with both hands and threw her aside even as she cried out with the pain of her shattered nose.

Dylan was at the PA system now, and he snatched up the shrieking cylinder, pulling it away from the microphone. The awful wailing noise dwindled from the overhead speakers, but the foghorn kept blurting out its angry song in the first priest's hand.

Kane turned on his heel, knowing full well he would need something more powerful than his fists once the noise abated. He had dispatched nine of the personnel
in the room in those brief instants of respite, leaving just Dylan and two of his hooded guards standing.

As Dylan shut off the irritating horn, Kane sprinted through the archway, hurrying out of the room toward the nearest stairwell. A moment later, Dylan and his people were trotting swiftly down the corridor in pursuit.

 

O
N THE LEVEL
of the redoubt that had once held the living quarters, Rosalia, Grant and a handful of other Cerberus personnel battled valiantly as a second wave of guards tried to retard Rosalia's progress. She was unlocking each cell in turn, swiftly using her hidden stone to tap the sensors and make the doors slide open.

Abruptly, the sound from the public address speakers ceased, accompanied a moment later by cries of relief from several of the prisoners.

“No,” Rosalia hissed, “you don't understand. Without the noise, they'll be able to concentrate again.”

Even as she said it, that eerie battle cry seemed to echo the length of the tunnel they found themselves in:

“I am stone.”

“I am stone.”

“I am stone.”

“I am stone.”

 

“C
OME ON, COME ON
,” Kane muttered to himself as he pressed his wrist to the sensor and heard the armory door unlock.

A short way down the corridor the stairwell door groaned open and First Priest Dylan led his two hooded guards out into the tunnel-like space beyond.

In an instant, Kane had shoved the rock-covered door back on its hidden tracks and ducked inside. Even as he
disappeared into the armory, he heard Dylan calling, identifying him as he rushed out of sight.

“Perfect,” Kane muttered.

Most of the guards were down. Now all he had to do was figure out a way to stop Dylan from broadcasting instructions to Ullikummis's people. Without him, their brainwashing should abate.

As swiftly as possible, Kane reached back, brushing his wrist against the hollow in the wall, commanding the door to seal.

The armory had changed. Where once had stood sleek shelves lit by bright fluorescent overheads, now the ceiling had lowered, and sharp stalactites pointed downward like icicles from its rocky surface. The familiar magma lights were dotted all over, casting their warm orange illumination, leaving much of the armory in shadow. The shelves were still there, and Kane recognized that their pattern remained unchanged. Yet they looked different, covered in a shinglelike skin, as if moss had encroached on the room, clambering up the shelving units with its sticky growths. Whatever Ullikummis's touch had done, it had altered the Cerberus redoubt on a molecular level, changing the fundamental nature of things Kane had previously taken for granted.

Frantically the ex-Mag looked around him, trying to get his bearings in the half-light of the orange magma glow. Shelves of ordnance stretched out across the vast room, ammo clips, gun barrels and cases glinting beneath the soft orange lights. This had been Henny Johnson's domain, Kane recalled. Ex-U.S. Army, Henny had delighted in the storage and cataloging of all this ordnance. Right now, Kane needed to find a weapon that would work against Dylan and his people.

Behind him, Kane heard the stone door trundle open once again: Dylan.

Hurrying down the aisles between the shelves, Kane spotted the unit holding Sin Eater pistols, their familiar wrist holsters stored in a flip-top box on the shelf above. Kane reached into the box, snagged one of the leather holsters with one hand.

“Kane?” Dylan's voice was close to the only door. The sound played over Kane like something warm and friendly, like treacle. “What are you doing in here?”

“Saving the future,” Kane muttered under his breath as he shoved the voluminous right sleeve of his hooded robe back and strapped on the holster, tightening its straps. Then he snatched up one of the Sin Eaters and a plastic bag full of ammunition before running deeper into the storage complex.

“He's down here,” one of the guards was saying. It was a woman's voice, and Kane turned just as a rock hurtled toward him, cutting the air with a familiar whine.

Kane leaped out of the projectile's way, slapping his empty palm against a nearby shelf as he used it for cover. The rock zipped past, continuing its path into the armory before crashing against a display of grenades. Kane winced as one of the shelves fell from its housing, spilling grenades all over the floor. Thankfully, nothing went off.

Swiftly, Kane loaded the Sin Eater, ramming home a clip from the plastic bag and shoving the rest into the pouch at his belt, bag and all. The pistol was still locked in its clamped-shut position, and Kane placed it in the wrist holster, securing it with practiced familiarity. With a flinch of his wrist tendons, the pistol would launch into his hand and he could dispense justice to these infiltrators.

Another flurry of stones hurtled toward where Kane hid, smashing a tray of combat knives on the nearest shelf. Their points cut through the air, missing Kane by just the smallest of margins, like some insane circus act.

“Show yourself, Kane.” Dylan's taunting voice echoed through the armory, the depth of his words feeling like a physical thing. “It's time to stop all this nonsense and finally embrace the future.”

“I'll give you a future you won't forget,” Kane murmured as he searched the armory for something with more firepower.

While it appeared that Dylan himself was not armed, Kane needed to knock those stone throwers out of the picture or he was doomed. The obedience stone inside him would take control and the fight would simply drain out of him. Even now he could feel the weird effect that Dylan's presence seemed to have, his words washing over Kane's senses like waves on the shore.

“Spread out,” Dylan ordered his followers. “Find him and bring him to me.”

Kane heard running feet as the two soldiers came hurrying to find him, both rapidly checking each aisle as they sought their prey. In the next aisle over, Kane spotted a rack of Copperhead subguns. Remembering the damage the Copperhead had caused Ullikummis, Kane dashed across the opening, grabbing for one of the powerful blasters even as another hail of stones hurtled toward him. One of the stones clipped the hem of his robe, and Kane stumbled, correcting his balance automatically. A moment later he was rolling, dodging between another set of shelves before the hooded figures could catch up to him.

Safe for the moment, his back pressed against a shelving unit filled with flares, Kane checked the ammo on
the Copperhead with growing annoyance, knowing full well that Cerberus protocol was to keep weapons unloaded while they were held in storage. He searched his memory, overlaid his mental map of the storage facility with the way it looked now under its new rocky layer. The ammo should be four units over, held in a locked cupboard.

Snatching up one of the flares, Kane primed it and tossed it where he guessed his foes were searching. There was a sudden flash of brilliance as the flare ignited, and Kane heard a grunt of surprise as the guards were momentarily blinded.

“Come on, Kane,” Dylan called. “You're behaving like a child, and Lord Ullikummis has promised we will all be reborn.”

“Rebirth sucks,” Kane muttered to himself.

Something in his mind warned him of danger then, that miraculous point man sense, and he turned just in time to see one of the hooded figures sneaking up on him from the near end of the shelving unit. Kane whipped out with the Copperhead, swinging it like a baton at the guard's legs, sweeping his feet from under him. The man fell to the floor, a handful of small stones dropping from his grip.

Kane was on him instantly, commanding the Sin Eater into his hand and blasting a fierce burst of 9 mm bullets into the guard's face.

A noise from behind him alerted Kane to his second assailant, and he ducked automatically as one of the vicious little stones was fired at him from the sentry's slingshot. It was a woman, Kane saw, and then the realization came. It was Helen Foster, his old colleague, the one he had met with in the redoubt's main artery prior to facing Ullikummis less than three days earlier. Her face
was fixed in a grimace and Kane saw the scarring across its right side, where he had blasted her in their previous meeting. On the one hand, he was pleased she had survived, whatever her altered mental state might be, but on the other it disturbed him to learn that the devotees of Ullikummis seemed to be almost invincible, somehow able to recover from any wound.

Tossing the Copperhead subgun through the gap between shelves, Kane scurried up the unit before him, using its shelves like the rungs of a ladder even as Helen snapped off another rock at his retreating form. The sharp shard of flint clipped the shelf by Kane's right hand, igniting a shower of bright sparks just beside his face.

For a moment Kane was dazzled, and black spots swam before his right eye as he hurried up and over the shelving unit, brushing aside its contents so that they rained down on his opponents. Then he was over the top, leaping across the open aisle to the next unit, easing himself down its side with a swift hand-over-hand movement.

As dropped, Kane saw Dylan walking briskly toward him, his hood pushed back from his face as he searched the aisles for the renegade.

“Come now, Kane,” Dylan said smoothly. “This is madness and you know it. Accept your new master's willing embrace. Accept the future.”

Kane commanded the Sin Eater into his grip, smiling as he felt its familiar weight there. He snapped off a burst of gunfire, sending twelve bullets in quick succession at Dylan as he loomed at the end of the aisle. The man didn't even flinch, merely raised his right hand and swept it through the air, flicking the bullets aside.