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VEDMAK
The two-kilometer tunnel is narrow and dark. Dead, overhead glass bulbs no longer light the way. My scythe, crackling and alive, does the trick, bathing the rocky walls in cobalt light. Yet even my weapon’s power source is fading, the white-hot blade sputters as the core nears the end of its reserve. It will need recharging soon.
Alongside, Gil—my pathetic stim-addicted prisoner—scurries with a hollow look in his beady eyes. A real fear of death and the allure of more stims has ensured his compliance. He will show me the way into Vel—the last great secret Etyom has to offer. He said the stockpile was not what we would expect and that it would need to be seen to be believed. On any other day, I would have shed his blood to gain the answer. But, after a string of such tiresome defeats, the lure of a game is too appealing.
The door before us is heavy, solid steel by the looks of it. It may even be hermetically sealed. Embedded in the wall is a key panel. Crude but effective. Depending on the length of the code, it would be impossible to guess. Lucky for me, I won’t have to.
“Open it.”
Gil scurries ahead and hovers around the keypad. “Are—are you sure you want to do this? It’s not safe. Bad things happened in there—”
“Bad things are about to happen out here,” I say, holding the scythe closer to his face. The plasma spits and chokes on the fading battery. “Open it.”
He doesn’t reply, but instead whimpers, tapping in a code. The relentless clicking of the keys begins to grate on my nerves. Just as I’m about to put him out of his misery for taking too long, the door pops open with a clunk—hiss. Through the crack, a stream of light flickers arrhythmically.
Fires? Is everything destroyed?
I click off my scythe and stow it on my belt beneath my cloak, then pull on the thick door.
What the hell?
For once, the peacock and I are aligned.
The passageway opens immediately into a flowing green hill that descends a kilometer or so in a gentle slope before leveling out into the floor of a U-shaped valley. At the gorge’s center is a lake, wide and clear. Scattered throughout the grassy hills are houses and small dwellings akin to those owned by the farmers of old. And in the middle of each cluster of homes, great white struts formed of triangular lattices stretch up and support a huge glass ceiling also comprised of wedge-shaped panels. A fake blue sky, complete with clouds, is projected in each of the ceiling panes—though some flicker on and off, while others have gone black. It’s as if Yahweh himself were controlling the heavens again. Slowly I step inside, inspecting the blades of green beneath these feet.
A hologram? This can’t be real.
“What is this?” I spit.
The gaunt Robust sidles up. “It’s Vel.”
I’ve never seen a lake before. This is incredible. Is it manmade or natural? And the sky is so blue, I’d forgotten how it looked. Been down here so long—
Silence, peacock. Let me think. Everything still aches, and the stump of an arm throbs and burns. Must concentrate. I turn back to the emaciated Robust. “Don’t mock me, runt. All this green is real?”
“Yes, it’s a biome,” he says, shutting the door behind us. It hisses as the seal is once again formed. “It is—was—one of the Gracile projects.”
What is he talking about?
I pluck grass from the soil. On closer inspection, it’s dry and beginning to brown. It doesn’t actually smell like grass. Not how I remember it, anyway. Synthetic. “Start talking, Velian, or lose your tongue.”
Gil rubs his hands together. “When the migration first happened, when the plague first took hold, it was the rich who arrived first. Those who would be Graciles.” His gaze flits from one side of the valley to the next, his brow wet with worry. “We shouldn’t be out here.”
“Spit it out, Kozel.”
Never thought I’d say this, but for the love of Yeos, do as he says.
“The story goes that Etyom as we know it, or knew it, wasn’t planned this way,” the Robust whispers. “The lillipads were never meant to be. The first people here tried to set up a power source and began building a biome, to escape the NBD. Vel was the first enclave built with the beginnings of the biome inside.” Gil licks his cracked lips. “It was never finished. The power source didn’t come online in time. Too many people arrived, mainly the poor. Those infected with the plague already. It’s why the Creed were used in the first place. To defend Vel. But with the biome a failure, the Graciles switched tactics. They began building the lillipads to escape the dying—using the Creed as a security force to ensure they weren’t interfered with. They sealed off Vel from the outside world, hoping one day to return to it. It forced the newcomers to build their own enclaves. The poor, the Robusts, chose to construct them around lillipads because they were promised trade agreements. They were lied to.”
“The biome is working now, or was,” I say, motioning to the flickering fake sky above.
How did no one find this? It’s entirely below ground level? But something overhead would have been able to see.
He can’t hear you, idiot. Let me ask the questions.
“They started with solar power, but eventually someone brought or invented two fusion reactors,” Gil says.
Nikolaj and I worked on those.
“The Graciles ensured they were used for whatever they wanted up in the sky,” the Robust continues. “But once they were done they immediately turned back to Vel to finish the biome. And armed with knowledge of the fusion reactors, were able to complete the power fission source in Vel.” Gil motions to a long, white, squarish building with two stacked chimneys banded in red, sat on the shore of the lake. Nearby is a small, but deep quarry with sizeable steps cut into it where machines have stripped away the precious metals.
It’s not a stockpile—it’s a uranium-refining plant and power station.
“Why a nuclear power plant? Why not use a fusion reactor down here?”
Because the Leader was using them to power the lillipads, as well as my research.
“Oh, you mean the research he used to create a black hole?”
“What?” Gil says.
I grab him by his tattered shirt. “What was this place for?”
“Agriculture, mainly,” he splutters. “Food. Vegetables. For the Graciles. We gave them most of what we grew, and they let us keep our way of life.”
He means haven. Imagine if the other Robusts found out?
I don’t care about any of this. “Is the power plant functional? And where the hell are the Rippers you talked about? How did they even get in here? You better not be lying to me, you little snake.”
“I don’t know,” Gil whimpers. “The Rippers are here, I swear. They killed almost everyone and took over like a bunch of damn squatters. I don’t know how they got in.”
“And the plant?” I ask.
He shakes his head. “There’s some power because the sky is still on. But it looks damaged. No telling if it’s a problem in the grid or the plant.”
“Then let’s find out.” I grab the Robust by the armpit and haul him to his feet with an audible groan. Pain shoots through this body and into my consciousness. “There must be a command center in here. Show it to me.”
He points at the largest abode, which also happens to be the closest.
Do you not think there’ll be Rippers in there? It’s the biggest building besides the plant. It’s suicide.
Suicide? Make up your mind, peacock. First, you want us dead, then you want to live. Your lack of conviction is exhausting.
The weakling is silent and it satisfies me greatly.
***
Keeping low to the ground, we move silently toward the governor’s house. The constant fading and reappearance of parts of the heavens casts Vel into temporary shadow and impedes our progress. The further inside we venture, the more obvious it is that Rippers do inhabit this place. Patches of blood-stained grass and soil punctuate the otherwise picturesque landscape. Dried innards and connective tissue webs across distant shrubs. But no bodies. No attire. No weapons. The victims have been stripped of furnishings and flesh.
Disgusting. I know it’s not possible, but I think I’m going to be sick.
Don’t be so pathetic. It’s called survival. Dog eat dog. The way it’s always been and always will be.
Gil rounds the corner of the low wall surrounding the house. Up close, it’s easy to see it’s been based on the old Soviet gosdachas—mansions for the rich and elite. Stalin himself had one, the filthy dog. This monstrosity was clearly built by new Russians with their new money. The ugly eclectic design in no way representing the grace of the original dachniks. Look at it. Can’t even decide what it is. Two floors, in a shape that makes no sense, built entirely of red brick. The bars across the white-framed windows did little, the glass all but broken and now barricaded with wood.
“There’s a remote, control station in the annex,” Gil says. “Most is controlled from the plant itself, but in case there was a meltdown, this place could perform emergency tasks.”
“How many Rippers are inside?”
“How should I know?”
“Take a guess, you little fool,” I hiss back.
Gil is physically shaking. “Hey, you got those stims like you promised? Maybe some Easy, to take the edge off?”
I wrap the only hand I have left around his feeble throat and squeeze. “How. Many?”
“Maybe thirty?” he chokes out. “Rippers squat, and cram themselves in. But too many and they’ll in-fight. Please ...”
I release him and he tumbles backward, wheezing and clutching at his scrawny neck.
“We go in quietly, through the rear to the annex. If there are Rippers there, you get fed to them first. If not, you get your fix.”
Gil’s eyes are wide, but he knows he cannot refuse. He climbs to his feet, and with the occasional shove in his back, we make it to the annex door.
A light rattle of the old-fashioned handle and the portal clicks open. No security here.
Inside, the décor clashes so much even these pompous Gracile eyes are offended. A mix of Soviet-style wallpaper and marble statues line the walls, while an array of technology is lumped on a table in the middle of the room—monitors and keyboards strewn over it.
“Make it work,” I rasp. “Tell me if the grid or the plant is faulty.”
The Robust does as instructed, all the while glancing up to check for danger.
Vedmak, this doesn’t feel right. Where are the Rippers?
Quiet, kozel. You should be grateful. Without the Rippers, I’ll have to rethink my strategy for dealing with that little suka you’re always crying about.
You only want the power plant. You won’t even need to modify the tokamak. You can move your operation here. Just leave her be.
Don’t try and placate me. You do not wish this to come to fruition. You fight me at every turn. Besides, killing your god-fearing friend is as important to me as the plan itself.
But why?
It’s chess, boy. Everyone needs a suitable opponent. You will never be it. But she, yes, she can present me with a challenge.
“You’re not going to like this,” Gil whispers.
“Spit it from your lips.”
“It’s the reactor,” Gil says, rubbing frantically at his arms. “There’s a breach of some kind. It’s leaking radiation. Slowly, but it’s happening. It won’t melt down, but the emergency shutdown is in process. It takes a while, but it will happen. At least that’s what the readout says.”
Guess you won’t be moving your operation here after all. Or laying a trap for Mila.
You divide the pelt of a bear not yet killed, stupid child. I can still take the fuel, already purified in neat little packages directly from the core. And as for the bitch—
The door at the other end of the room flies open. Gil hits the floor and in the same instant, my scythe is aflame. I coil in readiness. A Ripper child bounds in, hair in knots, clothed in a cut-up fabric likely stolen from the original residents of this gosdacha. It’s a female no more than five. She stands wide-eyed in front of me, staring up. Seconds later, two women rush in after her, gabbling something in a language I don’t understand.
Ripper women and children? Is this a nursery or something? The men roam the Vapid, like hunter-gatherers. They must hide their women somewhere else normally ... but this place. This would have been perfect.
One of the Ripper women grabs the child and drags her back into the fold of clucking females. She barks something at me in what sounds like garbled English.
Need to get the attention of these chickens. “Gil, you have served me well. I believe there is no more you can do for me is there.”
From his knelt position, the Robust stares at me with fearful eyes. “I have done what you asked, right? You’ll give you me my stim and release me?”
“Release. Yes ... Debt is beautiful, but only after it is repaid.”
“Wait—”
Gil’s head leaves his shoulders and bounces across the floor, before coming to a rest at the feet of the savages. They shriek and kick it away. Apparently, they do not share their males’ obsession with bloodlust.
“The greatest stim is the split second between life and death. An eternity in the most infinitesimal moments. Then, the great release. Everything I promised.”
My scythe crackles and spits.
You’re a bastard, Vedmak.
Actually, I knew my father. Unlike you. Now, quiet your mouth.
I wave my scythe in their direction, and then at the child. The horror in their eyes tells me they understand. These animals still fear for their young. They’ll do as they’re told.
You can’t do this, Vedmak. I won’t let you.
“Oh, but I can, and I will,” I say aloud. “I think it’s time we sent my Rat some more instructions, don’t you?”
Giahi. I forgot about Giahi.
“But first, to ensure safe passage to the power station.” I step forward, the overhead lights casting my shadow across the worried face of the grubby child. My scythe’s blade sputters white-hot plasma. The women pull her closer to them.
Vedmak, no ...
