Horvath checked a device and looked up. “That’s it, the amplifier—”

  Before he could say more, much of the floor dissolved. Then a Chirr Queen rose from below. She was absolutely massive, terrifyingly ugly and dripping with mucus. I’d say the movie Aliens must have channeled this place and her. It was uncanny.

  Her first strike took three privates. A Vomag tried to retreat but her tail punched through his back and out his chest. Poor, limping Lavern didn’t even have time to scream before her mandibles removed his head.

  “Use suppressing fire!” I shouted.

  We unloaded everything: plasma bolts, armor-piercing rounds, incendiary grenades. The Queen’s chitin took it all as she scuttled forward and grabbed a plasma cannon, crushing it. Its power cell detonated, killing several more Vomags.

  “Get the amplifier!” Horvath shouted, pulling something from his pack.

  The Queen was murdering my regiment. It was sick. The High Polarions should have given us weapons to deal with the monstrosity.

  I ran for the platform while Horvath and his drones provided covering fire. I grabbed both the amplifier and the power cell, surprised by the weight—maybe twenty-five kilograms combined.

  Meanwhile, Horvath held up a cylinder marked with radiation warnings. Malik’s memories supplied me with the data. What the—! Horvath held an antimatter demolition charge, the kind used to delete entire city blocks.

  What was he thinking? Did he mean this to be a suicide mission?

  “Sixty seconds,” Horvath said, activating it with his thumb.

  I wondered if the Queen understood him. She lunged for Horvath, claws punching through his armor. But even as she killed him, he managed to mag-lock the charge to her chest, its magnetic seal locking in place with a solid clunk.

  That was interesting. Some of her chitin was metal.

  The remains of the regiment ran. We all ran, and ran harder, some of the Vomags sobbing as they ran, surely knowing what was coming.

  I ran with them, lugging the prizes, lagging behind because of the extra weight. Did I feel anything unusual then? I don’t think I did. I sucked down air and tried to make my legs churn faster. It wasn’t helping as the regiment left me behind.

  It was so unfair, but I didn’t realize what was going on yet. They were the poor bastards, not me.

  At some point, the antimatter charge detonated.

  Reality seemed to shatter apart.

  The blast wave caught up with us fast, hurling me like a bullet through a gun barrel. Every warning system in my armor screamed at once—radiation, temperature, structural integrity all failing. I bounced off walls, ceiling, floor, the amplifier and power cell somehow still clutched against my chest.

  That might have given me a clue, but this was too terrifying.

  I came to a stop in what seemed like a ventilation junction, my armor smoking, most of the systems dead. Through the ringing in my ears, I could hear the tunnels crashing down. That meant I had to move or die.

  I didn’t see anyone else walking. The rest of the regiment was dead, dead, dead. Could I have at least asked myself why I was alive? No, I was too busy crawling, climbing upward as subterranean chambers behind collapsed.

  What had Horvath been thinking? Ah, an idea formed. Maybe the High Polarions had given him the antimatter bomb. Was he supposed to use it on the items I’d gotten? Maybe Horvath had been given post-hypnotic commands. He’d been a lab rat just like the rest of us. That meant these things were supposed to be destroyed and never brought back.

  I kept going. I didn’t hear any radio chatter. I couldn’t be the only one to survive that—could I?

  I thought about that as I kept moving. The antimatter blast had almost certainly wiped out my regiment.

  Why would I have survived? I should have realized then, but I didn’t.

  It hurt to think. It hurt to move, but I did anyway. I should be dead. The only reason I wasn’t dead…

  Wait a minute. Hadn’t Horvath said earlier that the amplifier would allow a human to defeat or kill a High Polarion? Perhaps that was the answer. The case I carried—the amplifier, perhaps even a lens-like component inside it—gave me greater strength. It had given me whatever I needed to survive a killing blast.

  Could I be the only one left alive then?

  I swallowed hard, looking around, hating these tunnels. The blast might have killed my entire regiment, but it wouldn’t have killed all the Chirr down here, or some of the outlying Vomag regiments.

  I nodded. I had to keep what I’d found and get back to the T-suit. Yet I was sure Vomags and High Polarions were even now hunting for me, hunting for what I carried.

  This fight was far from over, and I was a wreck.

  -63-

  I climbed through the wreckage for what felt like hours, dragging the amplifier case and power cell with me. The combined weight was maybe twenty-five kilograms, not impossible at all, but brutal when you were already beat up from an antimatter explosion.

  My armor’s systems flickered between dysfunctional and dead. The heads-up display kept cutting out, leaving me navigating using Malik’s memory and dim emergency lighting pods. We dropped these on our way down as breadcrumbs for the return journey. Every few minutes, another section of tunnel would groan and shift, reminding me that this whole place could come down at any moment.

  The amplifier’s black surface was unmarked despite everything we’d been through. The power cell hummed softly, its energy readings still off the charts according to my armor’s stuttering sensors. Whatever this thing was, I had the feeling that it had kept me alive when that antimatter charge went off. That had to mean something.

  After a long time, I reached a junction where three passages met. Two were blocked by debris, but the third showed dim light filtering down from above. That was the way I’d come down, or close enough. Malik’s memories were fuzzy after the blast, but the muscle memory was still there.

  I started climbing again.

  Twenty minutes later, I heard voices echoing from above.

  I paused, listening. There were three men, maybe four, speaking in the clipped military dialect that all Vomag units used. They were maybe fifty meters up, which meant I was getting close to the first checkpoint.

  That meant the Vomags had secured some of the Chirr tunnel system we’d come through earlier.

  I checked my gear. The case and power cell were secured to my chest with emergency straps, leaving my hands free for weapons. My assault rifle had taken a beating, but still showed green on the diagnostics.

  It was time to see if I could bullshit my way past Vomags who’d been conditioned to follow orders without question.

  The voices got clearer as I climbed. Two were discussing evacuation procedures. A third was complaining about being stuck on guard duty while “the real action” was happening in the deep tunnels. He must be green. No veteran would talk like that. Well, it could be his drugs were speaking.

  I reached the checkpoint: a reinforced area carved into the tunnel wall. Three Vomag soldiers in full combat gear stood behind a portable barrier, their weapons trained in my direction.

  “Contact!” one shouted. “Identify yourself!”

  “Colonel Malik, 2051st Regiment,” I said, keeping my hands visible. “Stand down, soldiers.”

  The lead Vomag—a sergeant from his stripes—lowered his weapon but didn’t relax. His eyes took in my damaged armor, the equipment strapped to my chest, and the general state of someone who’d survived hell.

  “Sir,” he said, saluting. “Sergeant Rik, 44th Combat Engineers. We thought everyone from the 2051st was KIA in the deep tunnels.”

  “Not everyone,” I said. “What’s the evacuation status?”

  “All surviving units have been pulled back to Level Seven,” Rik said. “Orders are to maintain defensive positions until High Command decides on the next step.”

  I nodded, trying to look like I knew what that meant.

  “What’s in the case, sir?” one of the other soldiers asked.

  I turned to look at him. He was young, maybe nineteen, with the kind of face that screamed “new replacement.” His eyes were fixed on the amplifier case with obvious curiosity.

  “Classified salvage from the deep chamber,” I said. “High Command wants it secured before we complete the evacuation.”

  That was vague enough to be believable while official-sounding enough to shut down questions. The sergeant nodded, but I could see him processing the implications. That was a colonel carrying classified material out of a zone where an antimatter charge had just detonated. That was either very important or very suspicious.

  “Sir,” Rik said carefully, “shouldn’t you have an escort for classified materials?”

  I looked him in the eye, drawing on every memory Malik had of dealing with subordinates who asked too many questions.

  “Sergeant,” I said, “my escort died getting this material out of the blast zone. The Chirr Queen killed my entire fire team, and Commissar Horvath detonated an antimatter charge to stop her from overrunning our position. I am the sole survivor of that engagement, and I am carrying out my last orders from the Commissar himself.”

  The mention of Horvath’s name and the antimatter charge had the desired effect. All three soldiers straightened, their expressions shifting from suspicion to something approaching awe. In their minds, I wasn’t just a survivor. I was a witness to one of the most significant battles in the tunnel campaign.

  “Understood, sir,” Rik said. “Do you need medical assistance? Supplies?”

  I almost said no, then remembered I was supposed to be exhausted and injured.

  “Water,” I said. “And if you have any combat stims, I could use them. I have a long climb still.”

  One of the soldiers handed me a water bottle and two stim injectors. The water was warm and tasted like recycled air, but it helped clear the dust from my throat. The stims would help with the climb, though Malik’s memories warned about using too many—the crash afterward could be fatal.

  I injected one stim, feeling the familiar burn as the combat drugs hit my system. My vision sharpened, my muscles felt stronger, and the weight of the equipment seemed more manageable.

  “Thank you, Sergeant,” I said.

  Rik nodded.

  I passed them, leaving the checkpoint behind. The stim was working, making the ascent easier than it should have been. But I could feel it in my chest: the artificial energy that would fade in a few hours, leaving me worse off than before.

  The tunnel continued upward, though twice I had to detour around collapsed sections.

  Too soon, I hit another checkpoint.

  Four soldiers in heavy combat armor manned the position, their weapons trained on the approaches. Behind them, I could see wounded Vomags on stretchers, waiting for evacuation to higher levels.

  The sergeant in charge here was older, a veteran with scars across half his face and the kind of eyes that said he’d seen everything the tunnels could throw at him.

  “Colonel,” he said when I approached, his tone neutral. “Sergeant Les, 1004th Heavy Assault. We weren’t expecting any more survivors from the deep levels.”

  I could hear the question in his voice. Unlike the young soldiers at the first checkpoint, this man was experienced enough to be suspicious of lone officers carrying mysterious equipment.

  “The situation changed rapidly after the antimatter detonation,” I said. “I was tasked with securing critical materials before the final evacuation.”

  Les’s eyes flicked to the case on my chest, then to my damaged armor, then to my faceplate. He was reading me the way a professional soldier reads potential threats.

  “Sir,” he said, “I’m going to need to see your authorization for removing classified materials from a combat zone.”

  My stomach dropped. Malik’s memories told me that this was exactly the kind of thing that got people shot as deserters or spies. But they also told me how to handle it.

  I stepped closer to Les, lowering my voice so the other soldiers couldn’t hear.

  “Sergeant,” I said, “what I’m carrying came from the chamber where High Polarion Zorion himself ordered the final assault. The Commissar gave me direct orders to get it out before anyone else could compromise it. Are you going to be the one who explains to a High Polarion why those orders weren’t followed?”

  The mention of Zorion’s name had the same effect here as Horvath’s name had below. Les’s scarred face went pale behind his faceplate, and he stepped back.

  “No, sir,” he said. “Absolutely not, sir.”

  “Then I suggest you expedite my passage,” I said.

  Les nodded, gesturing to his men to clear the way. But as I passed through the checkpoint, I heard him speaking quietly into his comm unit, probably reporting my passage to higher levels.

  That was going to be a problem. By the time I reached the upper levels, they’d be expecting me. And expecting meant questions I couldn’t answer.

  I climbed faster, burning through the stim’s artificial energy. The tunnel seemed to stretch forever above me, each level bringing new challenges. I had to crawl through a ventilation shaft when the main route was blocked by a medical station. Later, I bluffed my way past a Bo Taw Police checkpoint by claiming I was delivering critical intelligence about Chirr defensive capabilities.

  By the time I reached the Vomag tunnels where we’d started, I was running on fumes and borrowed time. The stim was wearing off, leaving me shaky and nauseous. The equipment on my chest felt like it weighed twice as much as when I’d started.

  Then I heard the whine of antigravity engines. They didn’t give those to the Vomags. I was sure this was bad, bad news—and just when I’d almost made it back to my T-suit.

  -64-

  The antigrav engines grew louder as I hid behind a storage shed. Lying flat on my belly and peering around the corner, I could see the distinctive blue glow of a High Polarion sled settling near the surface.

  I eased back, and soon the engine hummed at idle, the sled out of sight. But I could hear voices. There was one human, speaking in the servile tones reserved for High Polarions, and another that made me extremely nervous.

  The second voice was cultured, with the casual authority that came from never being questioned. It spoke about human casualties the way someone might discuss weather patterns.

  Through Malik’s memories, I knew that voice. I’d heard it during briefings, issuing orders that sent thousands of Vomags to their deaths. But this was the first time I’d been close enough to see the speaker in person.

  I eased back to look.

  The grav sled hovered two feet off the ground, very close to me. The hull was mirror-bright, reflecting tunnel lights.

  Standing beside the sled was a human in the black and red uniform of the Bo Taw Police. He was tall, thin, with the kind of pale complexion that came from spending too much time underground.

  Facing him was Zorion. I recognized him from my dreams and seeing him in the Polarion game system aboard the Dreadstar when he worked on his Null Equation.

  Here, he looked young, maybe mid-thirties. His skin had that perfect pearl-like quality, and his features were devilishly handsome. He wore dark pants and a white shirt that seemed more regal than any king’s.

  “The antimatter detonation exceeded parameters,” Zorion was saying, his voice carrying easily to me. “Preliminary scans indicate the target chamber was vaporized.”

  “Yes, Divine One,” the Bo Taw said. “Commissar Horvath’s final report indicated the classified materials were in the blast zone before the charges were detonated.”

  Zorion’s head tilted. “Be specific.”

  “P-Pre-Polarion artifacts, Divine One,” the Bo Taw stammered.

  Zorion was quiet for a moment, and I could see him processing the information.

  “Show me Horvath’s final transmission,” he said.

  The Bo Taw activated a portable display unit and lifted it for Zorion to see. I’d like to know what it was.

  “Freeze the image,” Zorion said.

  The Bo Taw pressed the display.

  “This soldier,” Zorion said. “He survived the detonation?”

  “We don’t know yet, Divine One. But he was carrying the classified materials when the charge detonated. That might have changed the parameters, but it seemed highly doubtful given the strength of the antimatter material.”

  The Bo Taw must have been talking about me, as I was the only one who’d carried the classified materials.

  Zorion studied the raised unit with the intensity of a scientist examining an interesting specimen.

  “This is curious,” he said. “If the human survived an antimatter explosion at such close range… that would require either extraordinary luck or…” He paused. “Or protection from technology that could theoretically allow such survival.”

  I licked my lips, wondering what I should do now.

  “Search for survivors,” Zorion ordered. “Any human found carrying unaccounted-for equipment is to be brought to me immediately. Alive.”

  The Bo Taw began speaking into his comm unit, issuing search directives throughout the tunnels to bring me in.

  I eased behind the storage unit and crept away from them, using Malik’s knowledge of the layout to avoid the main corridors. The amplifier case scraped against my chest with each step, a constant reminder of what I was carrying.

  Storage Room C-7 was three corridors away, past the water reclamation unit and the emergency atmosphere processor. I could see the entrance.

  I was ten meters from the door when the lights went out everywhere.

  Emergency power kicked in a second later, bathing everything in red light. But in that moment of darkness, I heard the soft whisper of displaced air that meant someone had—

  “This is quite remarkable,” Zorion said behind me. “I was correct. The amplifier is protecting you.”