A fog thick as cream formed around the breach as hundreds of thousands of cubic meters of atmosphere blew out into space. For several seconds, Benson froze up as he stared blankly at the all-consuming horror unfolding before him.
It took Hernandez to shake him back into the present.
“Chief, we can’t stay here!”
He couldn’t argue the point. Benson’s other men were already running full tilt for the lifts at the far end, but no matter which way they ran, the closest exit was a kilometer away. Even with the stadium filling up, north of twenty thousand people were still in Shangri-La, with only a few dozen lifts, that could only carry twenty people at a time.
<Everybody stop,> Benson said into their mutual link. <The lifts will be swarmed by the time we reach them. We need another way out.>
<What about the civilians?> Hernandez asked.
<There’s too many of them and too few lifts. They can’t be evacuated in time. We’ll just get trampled if we try.>
<What’s your play, chief?>
Benson looked back at the water plant when the solution struck him.
<Follow me.>
He led his team back down the stairs until they were three levels down. From there, the team ran as straight and fast as they could towards the aft bulkhead. It was the longest kilometer of Benson’s life. The breach left from the lake tearing its way out of Shangri-La was over a hundred meters across, and nearly as many wide, but over six billion cubic meters of atmosphere were trying to force their way out of it. Benson didn’t know the equations to figure the rate of escaping gasses. He hoped there was enough time for what he’d planned before they all suffocated.
The air around them cooled as the pressure dropped, but no one noticed. Their legs burned from the strain of sustained sprinting. Benson thanked his past self for refusing to skimp on his morning run around the habitat. Still, if they got out alive, he promised to do more interval training.
Finally, they reached the aft end of the module. As he’d hoped, they were completely alone. Sweating and huffing for air both from exertion and dwindling oxygen, Benson jogged the last few steps up to the lift. The queue for a lift car already stretched over an hour from everyone above trying to flee, but that wasn’t his plan. Instead, Benson moved around to the maintenance hatch. For a terrifying moment, he couldn’t remember the override code. He punched in numbers, trying to remember the pattern. The panel turned red.
“Dammit.” He tried again.
Red.
“C’mon!” Benson frantically jabbed his fingers at the keypad. On the third try, the panel turned green.
“Oh, thank God.”
Benson looked up the shaft’s infinity with relief. It was clear. Either out of panic or lack of access, no one else had managed to get inside. They still had a fighting chance for survival. And, Benson thought darkly, to avenge Vikram. He wasn’t sure how a Sikh would feel about revenge, but he knew they were big on justice. That would do.
He waved his men inside. “Everybody up the ladder. Double time.”
Hernandez looked up the shaft and turned about as white as he could. “You’ve got to be kidding.”
Benson’s patience worn thin. “Then stay here.”
“But it’s a kilometer straight up!”
“And? I climbed it a couple days ago. Unless the old man is in better shape than you?”
Hernandez scoffed, but took hold of a rung and started the long climb. Benson let the other two go next. He’d take up the rear. With the hatch sealed behind them, he used his security clearance to put a permanent lockout on the hatch that could only be overridden from Command. The hatch was airtight, and with it locked down, they didn’t have to worry about somebody opening it in desperation and getting sucked back down hundreds of meters of shaft. That would be a bad day.
Another hatch gleamed three floors above. Ground level. The desperate screams of thousands of people blended together and echoed through the shaft. Fists on the other side pounded frantically against hatch. Benson’s men glanced down at him, deep lines of guilt etched into their faces.
“We can save a few of them, at least,” his lead man said. It was said almost in a whisper. Benson understood the sentiment, he felt a powerful pull to do just that, a pull his rational mind had to fight against with all its might.
“Twenty thousand people are on the other side of that hatch. If we open it to let even one person through, we’ll never get it closed again. And there’s no way anyone will make it to the top before the air escapes.”
Everyone nodded understanding, but it was obvious none of them were happy about the grim reality. Benson wasn’t a big fan of it either. As he locked out the hatch and continued up the ladder, he knew he’d be hearing the sounds of fists banging and people screaming for the rest of his life.
The climb was dramatically worse than he remembered. Then again, starting off with burned out legs and reduced oxygen levels didn’t help. Three different times on the way up, Benson tried to get command on the link and update them of the situation, but each time he was met with error messages. The network was either down from the explosion and decompression, or the network’s bandwidth had been overwhelmed in the aftermath.
When Benson and his exhausted team finally reemerged from the top of the maintenance shaft almost a full hour after the explosion, they were walking blind into the chaos inside the hub. The hatch swung open and Benson floated out into the micrograv. The lift terminal was to his right, but it was locked down. The hub itself was crammed with refugees from the decompression with nowhere else to go.
The match had been cancelled, obviously, and Benson picked out several players from both the Mustangs and the Yuoguai floating about, trying to help what was left of Shangri-La’s constables keep order.
Someone in the crowd spotted Benson and pointed.
“That’s him!” she shouted. “That’s Bryan Benson, he’s still alive!”
Every head in the corridor turned and shot daggers right at him. If looks could kill, Benson would have been lit on fire.
<What’s going on, chief?> one of his constables asked tentatively.
<No idea.> The crowd floated menacingly close to his team. <Stun-sticks out, hold your ground. But don’t zap unless you’re sure of the threat.>
“Sorry, chief,” Hernandez said from behind him. “But you’re the threat.”
Benson turned his head around only to see all three of the men he’d just led to safety pointing their stun-sticks at his head.
He threw out his hands to calm down the brewing situation. “Whoa, everybody, what’s the deal?”
“Orders just came in through our plants. You’ve been suspended by the Council. We were just sent the warrant for your arrest.”
“On what fucking charge?”
“Aiding and abetting the terrorist David Kimura.”
Benson didn’t bother to hide his rage at the betrayal. “You’d all be bright blue right now if not for me!”
Hernandez shrugged. “And maybe a lot of other people wouldn’t be. Now, are you going to comply, or do you intend to resist?”
Benson felt his leg and arm muscles tensing involuntarily. His lower brain was itching for a fight, but he forced himself to remain calm and assess. Hernandez had already floated too close in a sophomoric attempt to intimidate. Benson could get a hand on the overconfident young man and break his arm before he could hope to react. Worse, he was stupidly blocking a clean shot line for his partner behind him.
But that still left one stun-stick pointing at him, along with several hundred refugees who had also heard the news already. And who told them that, I wonder?
He could probably take out Hernandez, could probably get a shot off at Flowers before she hit him, and could probably stay behind Hernandez long enough to hit the last man before he could get a decent angle. Aside from the other Zero players in the tube, nobody had his hours flying in micro, and few had his size and strength. He could probably stun thirty or forty refugees before they overwhelmed him, maybe even enough to get them to back off.
But even if everything went right, there was nowhere to go. Command was surely monitoring and would lock down the exits at the first hint of trouble. Then he’d just be the guy who attacked his own people while resisting arrest.
Benson was no lawyer, but he suspected that wouldn’t look good at trial.
All of those thoughts passed between his ears in less than two seconds. By then, two of the late Chief Bahadur’s people had floated in behind him and trained their stun-sticks on his back, cutting off any chance of even short term victory.
Growling like a cornered bear, Benson flicked his stick at Hernandez’s face hard enough to make him flinch, then put his hands on his head.
Like hunters returning from safari, Benson’s captors paraded him down the boulevard on the way to formal booking at the stationhouse. Word spread fast as hundreds, if not thousands, of people lined the street to jeer and harass Benson as he sulked by in humiliation. Soon, the assembled rabble grew bolder, throwing the traditional lettuce and occasional tomato.
Some of them had good arms.
“Ow!” Benson said as a tuber struck him in the calf. “That was a potato!”
“Quiet,” Hernandez said.
“I’m a suspect under your protection, constable. You’re not doing much protecting.”
“You’re lucky I don’t turn you over to them right here.”
“Forgetting your oaths now? You’re sure not doing anything to enforce the Codes. I’ve never seen so much food wasted.”
Hernandez shoved him, hard enough that Benson had to take two big steps to keep from stumbling. The crowd roared in approval.
“Well, we have twenty thousand fewer mouths to feed, don’t we, chief? Another word out of you and I’ll stun your ass and drag you the rest of the way by your feet, face down. Now, walk.”
Benson strained against the plastic cuffs zipped too tightly against his wrists, itching for the chance to even up with the hothead, but this wasn’t the time. Instead, he locked eyes straight ahead and did his best to dodge the occasional ballistic onion until they reached the end of the path.
The inside of the stationhouse offered a measure of calm compared to the mob outside, at least. But the price was seeing the angry, devastated faces of the men and women he’d led for the last five years. Theresa sat at the duty officer’s desk, weeping softly into her hands. He frowned sympathetically at her as he was roughly led past. She didn’t look up.
Hernandez shoved Benson into his office, where a familiar face sat behind his desk.
Chao Feng looked up and nodded to Hernandez. “Wait outside.”
Hernandez obeyed and shut the door behind him.
“Feng,” Benson muttered. “You’re in my chair.”
“Not anymore. Sit, detective.” Feng motioned for the guest chair behind him. Benson caught a glimpse of an evidence bag in Feng’s lap as he sat down, but he couldn’t see what was in it.
“Should I be surprised you’re behind this little witch-hunt? Because I’m not.”
“Witch-hunt?” Feng snorted. “That’s an ironic charge, coming from you, detective.”
“We don’t have time for your vendetta, commander.”
“Vendetta?” Feng leapt up from the chair and punched Benson in the gut as hard as he could, which admittedly, wasn’t very hard. Benson anticipated the blow and tensed his abs. When he failed to double over, Feng stepped back, rubbing his wrist.
“So you brought me down here to work me over a little, is that it? You might want to bring Hernandez back in here. At least he can throw a punch.”
“This is funny to you? Two-fifths of the human race is dead. Including my wife, you bastard!” The fury returned to Feng’s face, fueled by the anguish of another fresh loss. The admission hit Benson harder than Feng’s fists ever could have.
“What about your boy? Is he safe?”
“Why do you care, butcher? You had Edmond killed, too, then set me up. Don’t deny it!”
“I do deny it, categorically,” Benson said flatly.
“Oh really? Then explain this.” Feng reached back and grabbed the small evidence bag from the floor where it had fallen, then held it up to Benson’s face. Through the clear plastic, Benson saw a crumpled slip of paper that had been smoothed out, with a handwritten note on it.
Benson’s heart sank as he recognized it:
Detective Benson,
I apologize for our hasty departure, but my people voted to go into deeper hiding. We are aware the habitats will be stopped and are taking precautions. Our arrangement is still in place. We will be in touch soon.
Sincerely,
David Kimura
“We found this down in the sub-basement not long after the power failure. I wanted to have you arrested right then, but the Council disagreed. They chose to put you under surveillance instead. I couldn’t believe it. It was bad enough you and your little harlot had spent almost every night of the last week contaminating a crime scene, but this?” He shook the letter furiously. “You’re a disgrace, even to your own sullied name!”
Benson locked eyes with Feng. “Chao, I know how this must look, but it’s not what you think.”
“Save it for the jury. I just want to know where he is. What’s his plan?”
Benson shook his head. “I don’t know.”
“Bullshit. We sent men down to the lake in Avalon and found the same stolen mining explosives that caused the breach in Shangri-La. But we got there before the terrorists finished rigging them up. Guess where that was? Less than a hundred yards past the point where you called off the search. You knew they were making preparations and stopped the search to protect them.”
“That’s absurd!” Benson shouted.
“Is it really?” Feng slammed his hands down on the desk. “You led Chief Bahadur’s people into an ambush, knowing they’d be blown to hell, while you were safely several clicks away. You even had an escape route planned out.”
“You think that was a plan? Vikram was my friend, Feng. And we almost died too. The only reason we got out was the maintenance hatch code you gave me.”
Feng ignored him. “Less than a thousand people got out in time, but here you are. You didn’t even bother to save anyone but yourself.”
“Don’t you think I wanted to? There wasn’t any way. Don’t you see? Kimura lied to me. He set me up. I know it looks bad, but everything you have is just circumstantial.”
Feng shook his head. “Bravo, detective, you’re a hell of an actor. I might almost believe it if you hadn’t tried the same thing on me.”
Benson tried to deflect Feng’s growing anger. “Look, I’m sorry. I was wrong about you and Edmond. Totally wrong. But you have to see it from my perspective. You were acting very suspiciously. I understand why, now, but none of that would have happened if you’d just been honest with me from the start. I’m being honest with you now. Kimura used me. We have to stop him.”
“We will. Without your ‘help’. I don’t know what caused you to turn on your own people, but I’m giving you one chance at some sliver of redemption. Where is Kimura?”
Benson recognized a lost cause when he saw one. Slowly, he stood up from the guest chair and looked down at Feng.
“I invoke my right to remain silent. I’m formally requesting legal counsel to be appointed to represent my interests in this case.”
Feng leaned back in Benson’s chair. “You’re really not going to give him up?”
“I can’t give you what I don’t have, Chao.”
“Fine, we’ll do it your way. Constable!” The door opened and Hernandez reappeared. “The prisoner has decided not to comply. Please escort him to his apartment, where he is to remain under house arrest until he is arraigned for trial.”
Hernandez grabbed Benson by the upper arm and dragged him for the door, but Benson twisted sharply out of his grip and shoved him back with a chest bump.
“I know the way, constable.”