Something alive and frantic kicked in Scotty’s chest, struggling to win freedom. Not pain. Not yet. But pain was on its way. And soon after pain, panic. Then blackness, and death.
Hewn from bedrock, the underwater tunnel seemed to go on forever, little rows of blinking yellow lights lining the sides like reflective speedbumps on an endless desert road. Fifty meters? Seemed more like five hundred. The more they swam, the farther away that door seemed. Had to be an oxygen-debt hallucination, but still he wondered: Could Kendra have been wrong? Was it possible she had misread the specs, sending him and Darla to their deaths?
Then he saw the end of the tunnel, blessedly close at hand.
Darla scanned it briefly, then punched in a code.
Every disastrous scenario imaginable flashed through his mind in those seconds. She had the wrong code. The pirates had sabotaged the door, McCauley had lied about their intentions. He would drown here in this tunnel, his lungs exploding as he The door slid open. They entered, and the door slid shut behind them. The world spun, darkness and blood pounding at his vision. When the water began to drain from the chamber he braced his arms and legs against the walls, lifted his head up above the level of the water, sucked, spat, and gulped air.
Damn, that tasted good. If he’d been the first man to drown on the Moon, Saint Peter might have laughed him out of heaven.
As the water was pumped out through the floor grill, Darla was already crouched at the inner door, studying a package composed of a bundle of red clay-like bricks bound with wire and anchored to the door with some kind of clear, hard resinous substance. A dial the size and appearance of a wristwatch was set into it, anchored with wires and covered with more of that clear resin. Darla’s expression was glum indeed.
“Well?” Scotty asked.
“With the right tools… maybe. But I’m not sure at all. This isn’t makeshift, like I’d hoped. McCauley said they’d smuggled up some kind of fancy timer, and he’d spliced it into a bundle of mining explosive.” Darla had spoken with McCauley for almost a minute, and one tense, terse conversation it had been. “Someone knew exactly what they were planning to do, and smuggled a piece of equipment up from Earth. This”-she pointed at the watch-“started life as a wristwatch. The display is wonky. It’s been seriously reprogrammed. They turned it into a movement sensor. I’m guessing that it’s also sensitive to a range of other stimuli. Pure pro.”
“Can you beat it?”
“Maybe,” she said. She felt around her belt pod, extracted her multitool. “I’m not sure. Judging from this readout… I’d say it’s not very forgiving.”
“What can I do?” Scotty asked. “Is there anything I can do?” He was feeling useless, and there was no worse feeling in a crisis.
“Yes. Get the hell out of here,” she said.
Scotty pressed his face against the fist-sized viewport. Through inches of composition plastic, he waved at the room on the other side.
A flurry of movement, and Max Piering appeared on the window’s far side. Despite the tension, Scotty smiled, recognizing Professor Cavor’s face shorn of facial hair. Piering motioned down to the communications link on the inner door.
Scotty felt nervous about triggering it. “Darla?”
“Go for it. I think McCauley told the truth about this whole setup.”
He turned it on.
“How are you doing in there?” Piering asked. Scotty hadn’t seen the man in years, not since shortly after the accident that had stolen his Moon legs.
“Not bad. Could be a lot better.”
“Can you see the device?”
Darla nodded. “Looks like it’s synched into the door. Mechanics, electronics-try anything, and it will go off. Boom.”
“Can you deactivate it?”
“Same question, same answer. Maybe. With the right tools. All I have is my multi. I’m really not sure. But I’ll try.”
“What can we do out here?”
“Get back. Way back,” she said. “In case I’m wrong.” She turned and looked at Scotty. “You, too, cowboy. I think they have more use for you up top.”
Scotty nodded. He would have backed away from her, but the chamber was too small for any effective backing. “If you’re sure.”
“I don’t think I’m sending you to a picnic, mister. Go on.”
Scotty extended his hand, and Darla shook it, hard. Was she saying good-bye? “Good gaming with you,” he said.
“Good gaming with you, too,” she replied. “Take a deep breath.”
37
1841 hours
Scotty emerged from the pool, water thick as syrup sliding slowly from his face. The cool air bristled with magic. Angelique danced five feet above the ground, levitated by a pillar of light flowing from Sharmela’s palms. He had to look very closely indeed to detect the tiny blur of the “real” Angelique, concealed in radiance.
Ali held both hands in front of him, projecting a wall of shimmering crystal. “I speak to the Gods of my fathers,” he said, “who peopled the Earth in the First Days. Children of Air and Water and Earth. I call upon Zarabanda, God of iron, God of my fathers long ago, to give me strength! I throw off the colonial shackles, and step into my true power as a warrior of my people!” He held his arms up, waiting…
And waiting…
Nothing.
Scotty shivered, wiping himself dry with his shirt, and then slipping his pants back on. Soggy. “What… was that?”
Ali shrugged. “If this is to be my last stand,” he said, “I want to die as a hero of my people, not just another African soldier loyal to one European crown or another.”
“A little late to get political, isn’t it? And… this isn’t a game, Ali-”
The boy laughed at him, but the tone was bitter. “Oh, it’s a game. This entire thing is a game designed to trap my father. He escaped their grasp, but I have been caught. You have been caught. All of you-”
The gamers ceased their practice to listen. Ali seemed to have grown somehow, easily commanding their attention. “All of you!” he said. “Whatever happens here today, know that Prince Ali knows what you have done for him. Know that I will not forget, and that I will not forget you, any of you.”
Sharmela slapped his shoulder, hard. “Nor I you, young mage. You may have concealed secrets, but you have carried yourself with honor.”
She extended her hand to him, and he took it. Wayne placed his hand atop hers. “All of us. We all came from distant lands, at the call of our Queen. And the adventure we have shared went beyond our dreams.”
Scotty still couldn’t quite believe what he was seeing. This wasn’t a game! It was…
Oh, what the hell. Some games are played for very high stakes. This time they were betting every marble they had. If there was a right more sacred than the ability to choose the manner of one’s own death, he didn’t know what it could be. He watched as, one at a time, they clapped their hands down one upon the other in a vow of fealty. “We stand together,” Mickey said, and put his hands down. Followed by Maud. And Angelique. They were a clan of a kind, making the very best of the very worst. Something dark and magical glittered in their eyes. For the first time he thought he grasped the logic of it all.
Angelique turned and extended her hand to Scotty. “Come on, big guy. Get in here.”
Scotty hesitated, and then felt the voice inside him say: Oh, why not.
And he put his hand onto the pile. Win, lose or draw, this had been one hell of a game.
“And I,” he said, impressed by the timbre of his voice. “A mere thief, pledge my all in this mortal combat. We stand together!”
The others nodded, a circle of power, well pleased with what they had wrought.
Xavier, a floating bald god, smiled down upon them. “I will help where I can,” he said. His expression grew more serious. “And get ready. Griffin and Gibson, you are both thieves. Your power is stealth. You would have found something right out of Wells, given the right path-” Xavier jerked. “I hear them. Take your places. The pirates are coming.”