Chương 69: 2.10 Slipping Through the Cracks

In the back of the transport, Hector could feel the rift as they approached. The whole time he'd been in Kessler's Reach, the feeling had lurked in the background. It had been an incessant tug—easy to ignore, like gravity or sunlight. Now, though, the closer the vehicle drew to the rip in dimensional space, the sharper the pull became. The others, with higher-level aura systems than his, would be feeling it too, and he could see it in their faces.

Perry wore his expressions like a neon sign, and at that moment, he looked like he wanted to puke or punch something—maybe a fifty-fifty split. Kristina—Kristy, Hector reminded himself—had her eyes closed, her face serene as she breathed slow, steady breaths. Red acted like everything was fine, fiddling with one of his pistols, flipping the action open and closed as he hummed softly to himself.

As for the two scientists—Bobby and Paige—they were chatting away, obviously trying to avoid thinking about the upcoming rift entry by talking about anything else.

"Quiet down," Mathews growled, perhaps the most on-edge of anyone.

"We're pulling up any minute, and the rift is supposed to shift within the hour. I want us in before a single minute has passed. Bobby? What's the word on the subs?"

"They're onsite, Commander." Mathews grumbled something under her breath, then nodded.

"At least something's going right." Hector leaned back, smiling inwardly. It was nice not to be the one responsible for everything—nice to just take orders for a while. It reminded him of his time in the Guard. A flicker of blue-tinted light brought his eyes toward the front of the transport where Frederick sat, staring into a pair of gold-framed specs. Hector thought maybe he was watching vids, but the way his eyes were darting around, he decided he was playing a game.

The Royal had been remarkably quiet all morning—someone had dropped him off in a sleek black sedan, and the kid had stepped out the instant it pulled up to the curb at the raid compound, slamming the door behind him without a word. Since then he'd avoided Hector's single attempt at eye contact and hadn't spoken to anyone. Maybe his head wasn't in the right place for camaraderie, but he'd certainly come well-equipped.

Just as his practice bodysuit had been several notches above everyone else's, his armor was, too; basically, it was a more compact version of a PK's powered armor—sleek alloys and polymers in matte-black with golden highlights. Hector turned his gaze toward the transport's ceiling before the kid felt him staring. He could understand wanting some space—some quiet.

As the vehicle rumbled down the road, its motors whining as it climbed in elevation, he let his mind drift back to his encounter with the Sparling girl at the restaurant. She was playing a game—or rather, her father was—but he wasn't clear on exactly what sort of game yet. Her acting had been decent, but he was sure she'd been waiting for him. Why the games, though? He'd asked the question of himself a lot since the encounter, and he'd come up with a few scenarios, from innocuous to sinister.

He needed more data, and so he figured he'd play along with her for a while. There was more to Sparling than met the eye; of that he was sure. The mines had made him wealthy, and with money came a certain degree of power. Sparling didn't strike Hector as a satisfied man, though. Was he after more wealth? More power? Hector's money was on both. He just wanted to find out how the man was planning to go about it. What motivated him beyond money and control? Family? Patriotism?

How did Hector and the Tharsis Games fit into everything? He frowned, annoyed that all he had were questions. Focus on the rift — one step at a time. As if on cue, the big transport's motors whined as it descended a steep grade, and the vehicle's AI announced, "Destination reached. Please stand by as I maneuver to the designated unloading area."

"Windows would be nice," Red drawled.

"Wouldn't want us seeing what we're getting into, would they?" Kristy asked, grinning to show off her sharp canines.

"Might run for the hills," Red agreed.

"Stow it," Mathews growled. The vehicle lurched to a sudden stop with a chirp and hiss of air-assisted brakes, and then the rear doors whined on their pneumatics, splitting like a clamshell to reveal a stretch of pre-dawn sky and empty blacktop. Perry was up and jumping down before Mathews could even clear her throat. A moment later, as the rest of them unbuckled, Hector heard the big man retching.

"He always does that," Paige said.

"Poor guy."

"I don't feel sorry for him," Kristy replied.

"Nobody makes him eat enough breakfast for three people!" They filed out, and as soon as Hector emerged from the insulated, shielded transport bay, the hum of the rift vibrated his insides. He turned toward the pull and saw the massive indigo split in the sky towering over the top of the gray and red camo-printed transport. It was maybe two hundred meters away, and at that distance it was impossible to ignore.

Nothing he could think of in nature came close—not an endless sea, nor a towering mountain, nor even a thundering waterfall. It was the light and the void at the center, he supposed. They captured the imagination like nothing else could—a sight the human mind wasn't wired to comprehend.

It was far from the first rift Hector had seen, but, like everyone else, he stood there gawking for a minute or two, watching the purple-tinted waves—wispy, yet roiling like they had substance—rushing in concentric rings toward the black nothingness at the center.

"Thing always seems bigger than I remember," Bobby said, reaching up to run his palm over his bald dome.

"Yeah," Paige agreed. Then added, "Come on, Bobby. Let's go make sure the subs are ready; Commander's glaring at us." Mathews grunted, folding her arms over her armored chest.

"Don't make me the bad guy. We all want to get in there ASAP. Three days ain't enough time to get rich." She turned toward the rest of them.

"Okay, slackers. Get your gear out and form up at the gate. They won't let us through until the color shifts, but I want—""Our asses ready," Kristy finished with a laugh. Hector ignored the jokes and turned back to the transport, where Red was already sliding out the equipment drawers. When Hector walked over, the cowboy glanced at him, nodded, then tossed him a magazine sling. Hector caught it with a grunt, hung it over his armored shoulders, and then took the accompanying rifle.

He'd already practiced with the weapon for a dozen hours over the last week—a modern automatic, seven-millimeter flechette rifle with an aim-assisting, actuated smart-barrel. Really, all he had to do was point it in the general direction of a valid target, and the AI would do the rest. The mags were thick and heavy, loaded down with eighty rounds each, and the sling Red gave him held four. If that didn't get him through the rift, there were more in the cargo mules.

Hector moved away from the vehicle, making room for the others, and took a minute to attach the weapon's actuated mechanical gimbal to the hard-point on his hip armor. Then he slid the ammo sling into place and buckled it to his chest armor, nice and secure. The armor was decent—basically the same bodysuit he'd been practicing in all week with something like eleven armored plates added on. He had a helmet, too, and Hector walked around to the rear door of the transport to collect it from the rack mounted there.

As he was tugging it on, clicking the air-tight gaskets into place on his armor, Kristy joined him, reaching for her own, much more personalized helmet. While Hector's was matte-black with a smoky gray faceplate, the left side of hers held several emblems—two red rifts and five alien-looking skulls—and the base color was pink like her chest armor and gauntlets. Beyond that, her damn helmet had fifteen-centimeter bunny ears that flopped around when she moved, and her faceplate looked like chrome, angular eyes.

"Quit staring," she said, her voice amplified by the helmet.

"Not my fault your gear's boring. You had time to get some mods."

"Could've asked Mathews to pick you up a thing or two," Frederick agreed, breaking his long silence. He reached for his own helmet—golden, naturally, with wings. Of course it has demon-damned wings. If you spot this tale on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation. Kristy, unaware of Hector's internal dialogue, nodded, her bunny ears flopping.

"Ditched us on the shopping excursion." Hector grunted and slapped his visor down, ignoring the bait. Kristy and Frederick weren't the only ones with colorful gear. Perry's armor was green, and his helmet was supposed to look like a dragon, but everyone teased him and called him "Croc." Red's helmet had a wide brim, and he wore an armored black poncho over his regular bodysuit—apparently he wanted to take the cybernetic cowboy image all the way.

Mathews had heavier armor than anyone else, and it looked well-used with scuffs, scrapes, and even burn marks, but other than that it was fairly standard-issued. Then there were the scientists. Hector hoped to hell they knew how to keep themselves out of trouble because their only real armor was on their torsos—and their helmets, of course. Both of them carried needler SMGs, but neither of them was supposed to get into any fights. They were in charge of the drones, scanners, sampling equipment, and the mules.

At the thought, Hector turned to watch as Bobby activated the cargo bots. The mules—a nickname, not an official designation—were mounted to the side of the transport. Their insect-like appendages unfolded, and the two walking cargo containers descended onto the blacktop. They had two heavily armored segments, six legs, and were designed to turtle up under attack.

The fact that they weren't alive was probably their best defense, though; the rift denizens would destroy anything, but they tended to go for living targets first. Another cargo truck was being unloaded by a dozen men and women in red and black uniforms; the subcontractors, Hector assumed. He watched them for a minute, then slowly turned, scanning the area.

There was a garrison on the other side of the lot, near the road, and he saw that the rift was encircled by twenty-meter-tall fencing—enormous concrete poles with steel cables stretched between. Each pole was topped with an AI-driven auto-turret, and the gate was bordered by two more that faced outward. He started toward the gatehouse, watching as the subs drove their tractor-like bots to the staging area. They seemed well-organized, and Mathews said she'd worked with them before.

Considering they'd be responsible for gathering the bulk of the team's prizes inside, Hector hoped they were good. He got caught up watching them, trying to evaluate their gear. They didn't wear heavy armor, but he saw large batt packs on their belts and he saw they all wore the same flexible metallic wristbands—active camo emitters. He nodded, silently approving. Better to disappear when trouble boiled up; let the fighters handle things.

Gear like that would fool something like a reaper for a little while—probably long enough for everyone else to engage.

"All right, gather around," Mathews called, and Hector turned to see she and the others standing around the mules on the pavement leading up to the fence. A man with a polished-silver, armored dermal plate on his skull was standing beside her. Judging by his uniform, he was one of the subcontractors—probably their boss. As Hector came to stand beside Kristy's bunny-eared figure, Mathews gestured to the man.

"This is Gomer Howard"—Kristy snorted softly, and Hector nudged her with his elbow—"He's in charge of the collection team, so talk to him if you have a problem with the way they're working on the other side; don't go shouting at his people." The man nodded, and Mathews stepped forward, handing out little button-sized tabs.

"Congratulations on getting this far, team. I know we've had to hurry, but I'm damn pleased by how you all came together over the last few days. Go on, slap these on your domes—you've earned that red rift badge. I mean, you gotta survive to show it off to anyone, but I'm happy to hand 'em out to you all." Hector looked at the plastic button—no bigger than his thumbnail—and saw that one side had a peel off tab. Kristy nudged him.

"Do mine and I'll do yours."

"The hell is it?" Her giggle echoed out of her helmet's grille.

"Rift badge. Peel it and stick it next to my other ones." Hector nodded and did as she said, tugging off the waxy backing and then sticking the thing to her helmet beside the red rift images. The polymer button hissed, bubbled, and then evaporated in red-tinted smoke. When it was done, she had another red-tinted rift painted on the side of her helmet.

"Thanks. Lean down a little." He complied, and she stuck her tab on his head.

"There goes your mysterious blank armor look." He shrugged.

"First timer." Apparently Red had been listening in, and he laughed, slapping Hector on the shoulder.

"Yeah, right."

"Look," Kristy whispered, nodding her helmet toward Frederick and Perry. The kid was helping the big merc put the sticker on the side of his dragon helmet.

"Ever seen an angel petting a croc before?" Red snorted, and Hector looked away rather than encourage her; the last thing they needed was for Perry to have another meltdown right before they stepped through. He could feel the intensity of the rift's pulsing speeding up, and it seemed he wasn't the only one.

"Look at the rift!" Mathews yelled.

"Get to the gates!" Hector turned to regard the massive, pulsating wound in reality. The purple waves were brightening, tinting toward red on the edges. It was shifting. He glanced at the garrison building and the massive antenna arrays on its roof. Their hardware would be measuring the energy fluctuations in minute detail; if things were run anything like in his day, the gates would open and they'd have just enough time to hot-foot it to the rift before it shifted open. Perfect maximization of their time inside.

"Like we practiced," Mathews yelled as they gathered near the heavy plasteel and concrete gatehouse.

"Hector and Kristina up front, Perry and Red in the back. Freddy and I will roam." One might think a young Royal would take umbrage at a nickname like Freddy, but the kid didn't seem to mind at all when Mathews called him that. Hector walked past the scientists, nodding to Paige when she waved tentatively. Her face was hidden by her tinted visor, but he could imagine she looked nervous. When he passed the subcontractors, he paused, looking at one of their four cargo haulers more closely.

It wasn't as big as a car, but with the treads it was a hell of a lot heavier than the team's mules.

"Those things are pushing the mass limit, aren't they?" His voice echoed harshly out of his helmet's grille. The guy with the literal chrome dome pushed past some of the technicians and approached Hector.

"They're rated at two tons loaded—easily under the threshold." Hector shrugged; he hadn't really thought they'd be dumb enough to send something through the rift that was large enough to cause a ripple—a death sentence to others in transit—but he'd felt he ought to say something. It was why people didn't try bringing tanks or planes or even personal vehicles through—the less gear they hauled in, the less they had to worry about when they made their exit.

In fact, they'd probably ditch the team's mules and any supplies they had left over. In the early days—so people said—explorers had tried all sorts of cheats. For instance, they'd tried sending one heavy object through, waiting for the ripples to subside, and then sending more. The problem was that the ripples didn't just go away. They threw off the rift's rhythm, and when things settled again, the exit point was never quite the same. Sometimes it was off by meters, sometimes by hundreds of klicks.

A klaxon sounded, and a yellow light began to flash atop the gate.

"One minute!" Mathews hollered.

"Hector, get your ass up front." Hector patted the guy—Gomer—on the shoulder and moved to the front of the line beside the bunny-eared figure. Kristy looked at him, her angry-looking, angular chrome eyes flashing in the rift's light.

"Took you long enough." He shrugged, adjusting his gun.

"Why bunny ears?" It was her turn to shrug, but she did it more with her arms, turning her palms out.

"I used to have bunny ear implants. The fox ears are new." She rested her arms on her rifle, using the hip mount to support her weight. She knocked her knuckles against her helmet.

"Gonna have to get this thing modded when we get out." Hector grunted, turning toward the rift. It was almost fully red—just a thin band of purple at the center.

"Here we go." The yellow lights shifted to green, and the heavy gate rolled to the side. Kristy straightened up and lifted her gun to her shoulder, the actuated mechanical sling whirring as it extended.

"Damn. You called it perfectly."

"Move it, move it!" Mathews cried from behind, and Hector started forward. The concrete ramp was straight as an arrow, climbing right toward the center of the rift. He knew from experience that he wouldn't have to jump off the edge into the void-like center; as soon as he was exactly forty-two meters from the thing, the world would shift around him, he'd feel an intense wave of vertigo, and then he'd be standing on the other side. Even with more than a hundred rifts under his belt, he felt butterflies in his guts.

He hated the feeling of the transition, but that was normal; he'd never met anyone who said they liked it. He glanced over his shoulder and saw the others in line, marching onto the ramp behind them. Mathews strode near the middle of the cluster of technicians on one side and Frederick on the other. Jokes aside, the kid looked like serious business in his expensive armor. As if she'd read his mind, Kristy groaned." Angels, I hate this!" Even as she complained, she hurried to keep pace with him.

"Just don't think about it. Keep walking. It'll be over before you know it."

"How many have you done? I mean, really?"

"If I told you—""Come on." She jerked a thumb over her shoulder.

"They're all back there. Comms don't work this close to the opening. Nobody's listening but me." Hector turned his darkly tinted faceplate toward her, seeing himself in the reflection of her pink-tinted chrome eyes. Why not trust someone with something? Might help you stay sane a little longer.

"More than a hundred." She didn't turn away from him for a long, pregnant moment, and then she barked a short, high-pitched laugh, turning back to the rift.

"You know, the crazy thing is I can't tell if you're full of shit or if you're serious." She slapped him on the shoulder.

"Well played." As the potentia in his body roiled, and the sinking, twisting feeling in his guts intensified, Hector picked up his rifle, extending the mechanical gimbal arm as he readied it. //About five more steps. // Evie knew he was already aware of that. Hector smiled; she'd just wanted to remind him she was with him. Thanks, Evie.

"Here we go," he said, his speaker amplifying his voice against the crackling thrum of the rift.

"Oh, Angels!" Kristy cried, and then they were both pulled through, slipping like human-shaped fluid through the cracks in the universe. They saw incomprehensible things, and their minds failed to make an accurate record, leaving behind just blurry streaks of color and feelings of nausea and vertigo. As normal light and solid ground reasserted themselves in Hector's senses, he fought down the urge to puke, lifted his rifle and scanned the nightmare realm he'd been tossed into.

Shapes barreled at him out of the blackness—huge, bulbous, and many-limbed. As Kristy appeared beside him, falling to one knee, he pointed his auto-rifle and pulled the trigger, throwing fiery light and thunderous noise into a world that didn't welcome the intrusion.