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FARUQ
The cracked plate glass windows slide past, each one only different from the next in the pattern. My head snaps left and right as I careen down the hallway, which is all polished steel and shimmering glass. Each room offers only glimpses of the chambers beyond, most of which appear to be laboratories of some sort.
“Husniya?” I stop short in the hallway, listening, the hand cannon raised. I crack the cylinder and assure the last round is still aligned in the staging position—ready to fire with one last cock of the hammer.
There’s a muffled cry from somewhere down the hall ahead, the sound lost in the ruckus in the main chamber behind me. I hear a scream high and shrill. It’s Mos. They’re getting killed back there.
“Husniya, where are you?” I shout.
There’s another crash ahead, the sound of instruments falling to the floor. I take off at a sprint. Damnation. Where is she? All these rooms appear the same.
On the floor ahead, a Creed soldier twitches, his head jerking spasmodically, a diamond-shaped hole the shape of a well-sharpened blade in the place where his right eye should be.
“Defend ... the principal ... must ...” Its distorted voice chitters, sparks popping from the gaping hole.
The principal? There’s another groan. Rounding the doorway to the left, I enter a strange room with glowing glass eggs. On the floor another Creed lies still, its head twisted backward. And beside it ...
“Husniya!” I cry, crouching next to the shrunken form of my little sister.
Something shuffles in the dark, knocking metallic trays from the counter. The glass eggs clack together, shining their pink light on the scuffle. It’s a Gracile, bearing down on his prey. A woman. The tall one who was with Mila.
“Hey. Let her go.” I level my weapon at the brute.
My gun bucks upward with a blast of fire.
The Gracile flinches, his right arm dropping to hang limp. He glares at me and starts to come. The female Gracile, wild with fury, erupts from beneath him. Clenching a piece of jagged glass from the counter, she swings upward, jamming it through the floor of the Gracile’s chin and into his brain. He convulses, a spray of blood peppering the nearby wall, before crumpling to the floor.
With the threat gone, I set the empty hand cannon on the floor and reach for the metallic headgear clamped against my sister’s skull.
“Don’t,” the woman gasps, rubbing at her throat. “Sever the connection now and you’ll kill her.”
I press my teeth together. “I cannot leave her like this.”
The woman approaches, kneeling on Husniya’s other side. “No, we take her with us. Once Mila has done what she needs to do, we remove it,” she says, still rubbing her throat. “Thank you, by the way.”
“I’m just here for my sister.”
“Regardless, you didn’t have to help me, but you did.”
“What are you doing back here?”
She swallows and looks over her shoulder toward the strange glass enclosure on the far side of the room. It’s a much larger space than I’d initially thought, the walls extending into the darkness on either side. The little glass light bulbs come into focus. Except they’re not lights. Inside each egg is tiny life.
“It’s an embryo chamber,” the Gracile woman says as though reading my thoughts. “It’s the fuel source for the VME.”
“The what?”
She seems flustered, her hands shaking. “The fiery green bubble out there. If we don’t stop it right now, it’s going to wipe us all out.”
“Okay, so what do we do?” I say.
“We destroy the embryos. All of them,” she says, revealing a small pouch with a brick of putty labeled COMP B. Strapped to the brick is an old windup timer with wires leading to a thin tube shoved into the putty. The wires run from one brick to another and another.
“How many do you have?”
“Enough. But I need your help placing them. They have adhesive backings so we can place them straight on the glass. Then we set the timer and we get the hell out of here.
Another scream from the main chamber, followed by the maniacal laughing of the deranged Gracile we all once called friend. This has to stop. I have to finish it. This is why I suffered. All of it brought me to this critical moment.
Now choose, Faruq.
I lower my sister to the ground and meet the Gracile’s eyes. “I will help you. My name is Faruq, and I am a man of my word.”
“I’m Oksana,” she says. “There isn’t much time, Faruq. Help me with the satchel.”
Standing, I lift the bag and move with her to the far wall, the glass eggs glistening in the pale light. She pulls the primary brick and I lift the second, unravelling the wires as I move away. I watch her peel the glue pad’s cover and slap the brick against the glass. I move to follow suit, stopping when my eyes focus on the tiny form inside the glass globe before me. Though young, it is undoubtedly human. My heart skips a beat.
Is this murder? Is this all that is left of the Graciles? Will I be dammed for committing such genocide? I swallow, hesitation paralyzing me.
Mila cries out, her voice echoing down the empty corridor. She’s pleading. It’s a sound that turns my blood to ice. Stay alive, Mila.
I exhale and slap the charge against the glass. It must be done.
“Good. Remain focused, Faruq,” Oksana says. “Now affix the next. We’ll not make it out of here if we delay.”
I do this for you, Husniya. It’s all for you.
