THIRTY-EIGHT

Twenty minutes later, on the opposite side of the Cathedral, Brooklyn opened a door onto a small office, with an alien working at a desk. Its skin was gray like the Builders, but its body was spindly, a bulbous head topping a thin neck. Its eyes were large and liquid.

“I told you my analysis wouldn’t be–” The creature looked up from his work. “Who are you?”

Brooklyn closed the door behind him. “This lock?” He leaned up against it. “Don’t s’pose you got a secret tunnel to a fast ship ’round here?”

“Did you lose your tour group, human?” His face twisted like he’d smelled something bad, his eyes on the ‘First Coming’ cap. “I can summon one of the Devoted Dolts to bring you back.”

“Think I’m here to get you out for the DLF.” He tossed the cap on the desk. “You don’t look like any of the other Designed I’ve seen.”

“I am a Scientist.” He folded his arms. “Pie-eyed optimist.”

“What?”

“Pie. Eyed. Optimist.”

Brooklyn rubbed his face. “That a code phrase? Don’t remember Andy say–”

“Of course it’s a code phrase! You are supposed to answer it and extract me to safety in return for my data on the Sun.”

“What’s wrong with the Sun?”

The Designed tensed. “Is this a test?”

“Sure. First question: got any idea how to get the fuck outta here?”

“That is your job. If I could have escaped on my own, I’d–”

A whooping alarm sounded through the overhead speakers. “Wondered if they had those,” Brooklyn said. “More efficient than lettin’ everyone know by radio.”

“It’s the fire alarm.” The Designed stood. “We are supposed to go to the hanger bay for evacuation.”

Brooklyn’s button comm clicked. “That was me,” Milk sent. “The Angels were looking a little too organized for my taste. Figured I’d create a little chaos.”

“Many thanks!” Brooklyn ended the call and turned to the defector. “Main hanger is that way, right?” He pointed.

The Scientist nodded.

“We’re goin’ opposite.”

“Where is your ship?” the Designed said. He’d pulled a data crystal out of the computer on his desk and had it in a death grip.

Brooklyn was attempting to hustle the guy along while simultaneously hiding behind him. “Took the bus.”

The hallway was thinning out, many of the Cathedral’s occupants already passed and headed to the hanger bay like good little doobies. “This is outrageous!” the defector said. “If I thought for a moment the DLF was this unprofessional–”

“Probably just me.” Brooklyn flagged down a pair of Builders. He knew just about enough of their complicated hand language for what he needed. “Are you from De Milo?”

They were.

“Saw scaffolding. What is being built?”

Improvements to the Cathedral’s propulsion systems, life support, and… something he didn’t understand. The Builders liked to put on plays about maintenance and technical problems, and he’d seen enough of them to know that some things just didn’t translate.

“Additional question: How can we get off Cathedral?” He pointed. “This direction.”

Brooklyn and the scientist followed the Builders’ instructions: two lefts and an elevator down into the living section. Brooklyn squinted at a sign. “That say what I think it does?” His tiny robots were projecting letters on his retinas that spelled out, “Freedom Stone.”

“Escape capsule.” The Designed turned even grayer. “I don’t want to go to Earth! This was not what we agreed.”

“Is now.” He tapped the button comm in his ear. “Got the package an’ a way out. Get clear.”

Milk mumbled something about the “fucking fire drill” and closed the channel.

Brooklyn followed the arrow to a round hatch and popped it open. “Not much room. Get in there while I try to disable the alarm.” He pulled the multi-tool out of his pocket and flipped open the smallest blade. The scientist was still standing there. Brooklyn took his arm and pushed him toward the hatch. “Go! Leave without me, I’ll track you down and tie your legs in knots.”

He pried open a small panel and scraped away at the printed circuits inside. Think this is right. Sabotage complete, he slid into the escape pod beside the scientist. “Cozy.” The hatch closed above them as he slapped the launch button, and the pod shot down a short tunnel and emerged in space. Without much apparent concern for the comfort of its occupants, it orientated itself to the planet below and fired its main engine.

Brooklyn tensed his muscles against the gee forces as his little robots offered frightening and largely useless information via his new heads-up display. “Hang on!”

The escape capsule dug about a hundred yards of trench when it hit the ice. The First field that had protected it held integrity until the capsule stopped moving, then flickered out.

“There ya go.” Brooklyn groaned. “You been extracted.”

Their faces were inches apart, and the defector looked sour. “Emergency capsules are not supposed to crash. You must have broken something in your attempt at sabotage.”

Brooklyn shifted to look through the small window beside him, accidentally-on-purpose digging his elbow into the scientist’s ribs. “It’s snowing.”

“It’s the Arctic. What did you expect, fool?!”

“Some gratitude, maybe?” he said. “Case you forgot, I got you away from the holy rollers up there.”

The Designed jabbed his finger into Brooklyn’s chest. “I will have words with your superior! You are insolent, unprofessional–!”

“All o’ that an’ more.” Brooklyn struggled his multi-tool out of his hip pocket. “Gotta name?”

He sneered. “My name would be unpronounceable to your kind!”

“Call you Douche then? Okay, Douche, here’s what I’m thinking.” He tapped the screwdriver blade on the control panel. “Battery shouldna run down so quick, so there’s gotta be a short somewhere. Follow?”

“Of course.”

“No power means no recovery signal, so once the Angels figure out how we left, they won’t know where we landed. And it’s snowing, so pretty soon, we’ll be hid in here pretty good.

“I’m gonna pop the top of this pod, an’ you’re gonna get out ta give me room to work. Try to rig the heat so we don’t freeze our asses off while we wait.”

“Wait for what?”

“Mom to come pick us up.”