56The entire planet quakes as a million tons of water explode over the wreckage. Currents crash and waves fall, water smashing into water with the force of an atomic bomb. Hammered by the sudden onslaught, the river heaves, then swells, spewing over its banks in every direction as oily black liquid pounds down the channel in an ever-swelling tide. Even the Rainforest, with its thick growth and towering trees, can’t halt its inexorable progress. Wherever the water spreads, destruction follows. Branches snap and boles break, bushes are ripped out by the roots, and smaller trees fall like dominoes beneath the surging tide. And still the water comes, rampaging over rocks and drowning debris on its unstoppable journey downriver.

Within minutes, the first building—a small weather station just north of the settlements—goes down, flattened by a veritable tidal wave of sap-infused water. It bursts apart under the pressure, pieces flying out every which way to flutter and flounder in the raging current. Barely has it fallen when the torrent hits the next structure, and then the next, flooding into the unprotected settlements to blow through houses and gush down streets. A roamer flies through a glass storefront, thrown by the sheer force of the water, while other vehicles pitch and roll through the raging deluge.

From my perch up in the trees, I listen to it come, thundering and rumbling relentlessly through the town toward its inevitable target. The entire SkyLift is shuddering around us, vibrating harder and harder as the water closes in. The others squeal and scream, grabbing for the ropes as the lift threatens to shake us right out, but I have eyes only for the platform down below.

Heart pounding, I magnify the drone feed and zero in on the landing pad. Squatters are screaming and running in every direction, going for the shuttles, the buildings, anywhere they might take cover. Whole ships are shuddering now, shaking at the coming apocalypse, while fuel lines bob erratically, crates overturn, and tankers slip and slide over the platform’s smooth surface. The roar intensifies, increasing with every second as water gushes down the river and cascades through town, driven faster and faster by the natural topography of the area. My hands tighten around the railing of the lift, squeezing so hard the bones of my fingers are ready to burst through my skin, and my heart threatens to sprint straight through my rib cage. I lean over the railing, straining to see . . .

Water flashes in the farthest corner of my vision, and suddenly it’s here, bursting from the river, the trees, the town, everywhere! My breath stops, time seeming to slow as I watch the flood pour toward the platform from multiple fronts. It flies straight for the landing pad, the shining metal seemingly unprotected, and then—

TSHHEEOOOOOM!!!

The water hits the enviro-shield like a sledgehammer, smashing across the barrier with a thunderous roar. The entire platform shakes, water flying everywhere as the shield flares to life in a burst of gold, repulsing some of the onslaught even as the rest goes straight through. Sparks fly, and the shield shudders, crackling and popping like a Roman candle, and then—

Baaa-BOOOOM!!

—the shield explodes in a blaze of fireworks! Every light in eyeshot shuts off at once, and now there’s nothing to stop the wall of water as it plunges down over the landing pad like a tidal wave released from the sea. Crates implode and loaders submerge, plowed under by the sheer weight of the water rushing through the port. A cargo carrier flies sky-high, thrown by waves the size of a house, and still the flood comes, tearing through anything and everything in its path. It hits a shuttle docked into the platform dead-on, ripping it from its moorings and sending it skidding across the platform with a watery screech. Within seconds, another ship follows, and then another, wrenched from their docks by the unstoppable tide. A small shuttle—barely more than a hopper—overturns completely, skipping end over end through the waves, while other ships simply careen onto their sides, too heavy to move. Down the pad the flood goes, shattering and smashing everything it touches, and then suddenly—

It’s free!

Tremors rock the earth as massive waves burst over the sides of the platform, storming into the southern settlements directly toward us! The SkyLift rocks violently, thrown back and forth by the furious shaking of the trees, and I barely have time to scream, “Hang on!” before it arrives, pouring through the forest in front of us, no longer a distant vision magnified by my lenses but a force of nature pounding toward us here and now.

I hit the deck, crouching low in the lift as around me the others do the same. The water is directly below us now, thundering over the ground in roiling torrents that snap and slap at the trees with hideous abandon. Sprays of water fly up, tossed high by clashing currents to rain down upon us in drenching showers. Around me, the others are screaming, their mouths a horrified rictus of fear and terror, but if any sound is actually coming out, I can’t hear it over the raging tumult. Soaked to the skin, all any of us can do is hang on for dear life and wait for the end.

Minutes pass, or perhaps it’s only seconds, but at last the flood slows, thinning and then tailing off completely as it disperses off through the trees to the south. Heart flailing like an injured bird, I listen as the roar of the water slowly fades, and then disappears, evanescing into the distance until only an ashen silence remains, hovering around the devastation like a shroud. Only then, with the immediate peril past, do I finally dare lift my head, climb shakily to my feet, and take stock of the damage I’ve wrought.

The flood may have moved on, but the water still remains, pooling in inky ripples across the world as far as I can see. Though much of the floodwaters in my vicinity have already drained away, following the land’s natural slope to the south, the spaceport itself—a round depression within the surrounding land—as well as the area directly around it, stretches out in a perfectly circular lake, dotted throughout with ships lying wing-deep in the still water.

Scanning the ’port feed, I search for any traces of life. Nothing. Not even a hint of movement. If anyone is alive down there, I see no sign of it—yet. Cognizant that any of those ships could yet spring to life, I try to suss out which ones might still fly and which are down for the count. I’m on my third pass through the wreckage when I notice something odd at the edge of the feed. The forested area between the Shoqua and the spaceport, which was completely flooded, is beginning to emerge. Shrubs, roots, and even bare ground now shows where minutes ago there was only water.

The floodwaters are going down.

My heart skips a beat as I watch it drain away, not just a little, but a lot, disappearing before my eyes far more quickly than any body of water this massive should. A warning bell sounds in the back of my mind. What the hell is going on?

I zero in on the strip of forest between the Shoqua and the spaceport. There’s a shallow decline in the terrain from the river to the platform, and it’s not hard to track the final streamlets of water as they follow gravity’s pull straight into the ’port—which now looks distinctly less flooded than it did ten minutes ago. I search the platform, eyes sweeping over the water-ridden plain as I try to figure out just where the water’s going . . .

Oh stars.

Horror fills me as my eyes fall on a strange whirling current at the center of the platform, and my heart stops. I suddenly know exactly where that water is going.

The underground bunker.

Now that I know what to look for, I see them everywhere—swirling eddies of sap-spiked water draining rapidly down through the loading ports and into the bunker below. When the flood knocked the ships from their moorings, it must have exposed the open portals to the rushing tide, and now gravity is doing the rest. But why didn’t the enemy close those entrances? Is it possible they’ve all already cleared out? No, I’ve done the math. There’s no way that many people could fit on those ships. There have to be tens, maybe hundreds of squatters still below! So why didn’t they close those ports the moment the water started coming down?

My eyes scan over the darkened platform to the equally dark town beyond, and my heart stops, the obvious answer suddenly hitting me over the head like a hammer. Great stars. They didn’t fail to close those hatches because they already boarded the ships or moved to another bunker or evacuated completely. They didn’t close them because they can’t. They can’t close the hatches, or raise a shield, or do anything at all.

The power’s out.

A cold sensation spreads through the pit of my stomach. After all this time, all these endless days of war, I’ve finally done it. I’ve finally ended the enemy’s operation for good. Unable to help myself, I queue up my feeds for the underground, watching in silence as the water rises around the helpless people below. They scream and cry and bang on doors that won’t open, climbing up on chairs, tables, machinery, anything to lift themselves above the water, and still it continues to rise, each new gush bringing them closer to their doom . . .

With a twist of my wrist, I shut off the feed. I’ve accomplished what I set out to do. I don’t need to see any more. I don’t need to watch as some five hundred people drown in the depths below.

Instead, I watch from above, my face like iron and my heart like stone, as down and down the water goes. The others are stirring now, in person and through the link, their voices shocked and appalled as they finally start coming to the same conclusion I have.

“Wait, what’s happening to the water?”

“It’s going down!”

“But where—”

“You mean—”

“Sweet stars!”

A pall falls over us all. Minutes pass, piling atop us in horrified silence. To the others, perhaps, it may feel like we’re keeping some terrible vigil for our enemy below—and maybe, in some strange way, we are—but the truth is that we’re trapped in a stalemate, the enemy and us. The Specs can’t lift off with all that water surrounding them; we can’t attack them through it. All we can do is wait.

Not that it’ll be long. The water is draining fast now, its level visibly lowering with every minute that passes. Even the flood in the surrounding settlements and forest is gone but for scattered pools, either drained off into the spaceport or having flowed farther south, leaving thirsty Iolanthe to drink the rest. I hunt for signs that the platform will soon be clear, but it’s hard to see anything through the murky black sap lying across the water’s surface. Instead, I switch my attention to the objects on the platform. Items lost in the flood are suddenly returning, reappearing like magic through the lowering water. A cargo loader, a baggage carrier, a pile of crates—up they come, rising quickly through the waning flood.

The water is only a meter deep now, maybe less. I speak quietly into my chit, telling the others to get ready. Heart beating like a drum, I lean into the side of the SkyLift, tightening my hands on the railing as I wait for that final bit of water to drain.

Just a little more.

I take a breath, readying myself to give the order.

Down on the newly drained platform, the engines of a ship rumble to life.

Slag! No time to wait any longer, I raise my chit hand to my mouth and give the order. “All teams, go!”