What the hell kind of building had pneumatic people movers? And more importantly, where was it taking me, and why was it still working?

  The tube was dark except for occasional light strips that still somehow functioned. I counted floors, ten, fifteen, twenty, and more. Finally, the acceleration eased. I was slowing.

  Would the robots follow me? I had no idea.

  -18-

  The tube spat me out at what had to be the top of the skyscraper. The floor was sheared off cleanly, like someone had taken a massive blade and sliced through glass and concrete, knocking away what had once been above. The surface under my boots was smooth, almost mirror-like, fused into something between stone and crystal. Nuclear heat must have made this—or else some weapon I couldn’t imagine.

  I hurried to the edge, fighting vertigo as I looked down at the city spread out below.

  It was worse from up here. The city must have held millions once. Now it was a corpse being eaten by its own parasites. Entire districts were underwater, creating lakes of oily black water between the skeletal towers. Fires burned in a dozen places, some in craters that glowed green even in daylight. To the north, a massive gouge ran through the urban landscape like a god had dragged his finger through wet clay—maybe from an orbital strike centuries ago.

  Movement caught my eye. Three blocks down was a pack of tusked mutants scrambling over rubble. Their patchwork armor had caught the sick yellow light and caught my eye.

  Behind me, the tube hummed. Was that the three robots chasing me? Should I destroy the tube and deny them the route? With what, though? My automatic wouldn’t do much to industrial equipment built to last.

  I switched magazines, with a full clip now, but it was still pathetically inadequate. I ran to the far side of the rooftop. There was debris here, the twisted remains of vehicles I couldn’t identify.

  I ducked down behind the wreckage, rubbing against rust and charred metal.

  The tube disgorged my pursuers with a pneumatic hiss. Three robotic killers emerged, their sensor eyes sweeping methodically. Red beams played across the rooftop—infrared, it had to be. They’d find my heat signature in seconds.

  Then I heard a roar like the world’s largest jet engine, getting louder. I looked up to see a missile—a pillar of fire riding a contrail across the yellow sky. It had to be sixty feet long, and it was starting to arc down.

  The robots saw it too. All three sensor eyes tracked upward. Then they crouched low and covered their sensor arrays.

  “Oh shit.”

  I pressed myself flat behind the wreckage, pulling my jacket over my head, knowing it was useless but doing it anyway.

  The explosion came as light first—a blinding flash that burned through my closed eyelids. Then the sound, not a boom but a crack that split reality. The building shook like a living thing, trying to throw us off. Then came the wind.

  Hurricane force winds didn’t describe it. This was the breath of an angry god. The wreckage I was hiding behind started to slide. I grabbed onto a twisted beam, my fingers going white as the wind tried to peel me off the building. Debris flew past—chunks of concrete, sheets of metal, things that might have been bodies once.

  The robots had gone completely flat, their limbs spread wide, clinging to the smooth surface with magnetic grips or something similar.

  The building swayed like a tree in a storm. Any second, it would snap apart, and we’d all ride it down into oblivion.

  A mushroom cloud rose in the distance, beautiful and terrible. The cloud had veins of green lightning running through it. That didn’t seem good.

  Who the hell was still fighting this war anyway? The entire city was already destroyed ten times over. What was left to fight for? This wasn’t warfare; it was madness given form, an atomic tantrum that had been going on for… who knew how long.

  I wanted off this world so badly I could taste it—

  Wait. I could taste it, something metallic. I spat, and the saliva came out tinged pink. Was that radiation? Or something else from that impossible warhead?

  The wind began to die, dropping from apocalyptic to merely terrifying. The robots started to unfold.

  That’s when I noticed that all three were looking up at something above. Their sensors were focused on the same point, and there was… a wavering in the air, like heat distortion but too regular.

  The robots raised their arms in unison. The rifles built into their limbs began firing rapid bursts of blue-white energy that lit up the rooftop like a disco in purgatory. The shots seemed to hit something invisible, sparking and flaring against nothing.

  Then the nothing became something.

  A sphere materialized in the air, maybe thirty feet across—its cloaking field failing in waves. I’d seen this before in the Chaunt System. That was an Institute observation platform.

  The robots kept firing, their shots punching through the sphere’s hull. Atmosphere vented, debris scattered, and the whole thing cracked like an egg. It listed sideways and began to fall.

  Figures in environmental suits burst from the rupturing sphere. They had anti-grav belts, floating away from their dying ship like rats from the Titanic. Even from here, I could see they were about the size of Homo habilis.

  The robots tracked them, firing. One suited figure exploded in a burst of red mist. Another’s anti-grav failed, and he plummeted, possibly screaming. The sealed helmet made it hard to hear.

  Then the tube behind the robots hummed again.

  Three tusked mutants emerged, already firing. They had pulse rifles too—possibly scavenged from the machines. Their first volley caught the nearest robot in the back, blowing through its armor in a shower of sparks.

  The remaining robots spun, returning fire. The rooftop became a killing ground. Robots and mutants murdered each other with desperate efficiency. One mutant’s head vaporized. A robot lost an arm, then its sensor array. Another mutant took three shots in the chest, but kept firing as he died.

  In seconds, they were all down.

  That had been… wild, crazy, showing the murderous frenzy of one against the other. This was war to the death, man.

  Then more movement above caught my eye. One Homo habilis survivor was still floating, his anti-grav belt sparking. He was trying to control his descent, but the belt wasn’t cooperating enough. The figure was wearing a bulky environmental suit that made identification impossible.

  Better the devil you know, right? If that guy was one of the Homo habilis, one of the First Folk from the Institute, maybe I could make a deal with him. I had to get off this world one way or another.

  So I stood up and fired two shots into the air. The figure’s helmet turned toward me. For a moment, we just stared at each other across the distance. Then I waved, beckoning him to come to me.

  He did nothing for a long moment, then began to turn, heading toward my tower.

  -19-

  Instead of just watching the Homo habilis in his EVA suit, I rushed to the shattered turbolift where the tusked mutants lay dead. I needed to upgrade my weaponry while I had a chance.

  Up close, I could see the mutants must have been human once. Two arms, two legs, and heads that were recognizably human despite the deformities. Their skulls were enlarged and misshapen, covered in patchy hair. The tusks jutted from their lower jaws like one might imagine orcs do. And just like Tolkien’s orcs, their skin was leathery and scarred.

  Is this what centuries of nuclear war had done to the people? All those post-apocalyptic novels I’d read as a kid had gotten it wrong. The survivors didn’t rebuild civilization. They just became something else, something that could live in a hellish place like this.

  Most of their weapons were fused, slag-like remnants from the firefight, but I found treasures. There was a serrated blade that was almost a short sword in size. It was sharp despite the rust. I unbuckled the corpse’s scabbard and strapped it around my waist, sliding the knife into it. Then I found the real prize: what could only be a pulse rifle. The thing was heavy, like a light machine gun—the kind that took a two- or three-man team. But there was a strap. I slung it around my neck, feeling the weight pull at my shoulders.

  I found extra power packs, fumbled with the mechanism until I figured out how to reload. I aimed at a chunk of debris and squeezed the trigger. The pulse blast vaporized the concrete with definitely more punch than a .50-caliber round. This thing could put holes in robot armor. It would tire me out carrying it, but it beat my automatic against the machines.

  By this time, the suited Homo habilis had crash-landed on the rooftop, his anti-grav belt dying in a shower of sparks. He collapsed, not moving.

  I ran over to him and worked the latches on his helmet. It came off with a hiss, and there he was—a hairy little Homo habilis face, looking exactly like every Philip I’d met. They all looked the same to me, these cunning little bastards.

  He’d been in the camouflaged sphere, watching. That was just like the Chaunt System where they had been testing—observing and collecting data on the Draconians, among other things.

  I dragged his hundred-pound body to the turbolift entrance, then lightly slapped his face. His eyes fluttered open, focusing on me.

  A second later, he sat bolt upright. “My helmet—quick! Put it on me!”

  The helmet was back near the ledge where I’d removed it. He made gasping noises, clutching at his throat as if he couldn’t breathe. I raced over, grabbed the helmet, and brought it back. He took it and jammed it on, twisted it into place, and started breathing normally. He made the faceplate go clear so I could see his face.

  “Why did you take my helmet off? You may have killed me.”

  “What are you talking about?” I said.

  “The air, you dolt!” he shouted. “Don’t you realize the air is poisonous?”

  I stared at him. “I’m breathing it just fine.”

  “But we’re not like you. We have a more delicate constitution. We don’t go hither and yon breathing whatever air we find on these planets. Do you realize I could have died?”

  “What about me?” I asked.

  “What about you?” he said, looking genuinely confused.

  “I just saved your ass,” I said, already annoyed with him.

  “How did you do that?”

  I gave him a quick lie, as I wanted his cooperation to get off this world, “I shot the robots that were going to kill you.”

  The Homo habilis blinked several times. “Oh.” He looked at the pulse rifle in my hands. “I appreciate that. Yes, that was most noble, most noble. I will reward you immensely if you now take me to the portal and send me on my way to the homeworld.”

  “Uh-huh. First of all, do I know you?”

  “Of course you do. I’m Philip. Surely you remember Philip from the Neanderthal planet?”

  “You’re the same Philip?” I asked suspiciously. I didn’t think so.

  The little Homo habilis stared at me through the faceplate. “Well, not the very same. He, of course, was lower-ranked and a bit of a scoundrel. I’m higher-ranked and known to deal strictly in an honorable manner, especially with those who do me a good deed as you have done. You will be well rewarded, Jake Bayard. Well rewarded indeed.”

  “All right, cut the crap.” Listening to him reminded me of his former ways. He’d always lied up a storm, although he had proven helpful at times. “You’re a schemer. What were you doing here, anyway? How is it that you happen to be here and to have memories of a Philip that I’ve dealt with before?”

  “That is the purest coincidence, I assure you,” he said.

  “You know, your assurances don’t mean shit to me. I know you lie on the spot for any advantage.”

  “You wound me talking like that,” he said.

  “Yeah, yeah,” I said. “You’re so helpful; tell me how I get off this planet.”

  “How do you get off any planet? You use the obelisk.”

  He did have a point. “So where is it?” I said.

  “Well, let me see, let me see…” Philip tapped his helmet and looked around. “You know, I’m not certain.”

  “You’re a liar.” I stood up and aimed the pulse rifle at his helmet. “I’m gonna kill you on general principle for having screwed with me so much in the past.”

  “That would be a dreadful mistake for many reasons. Besides—why did you wave me over? Surely you know I can help you.”

  I studied him. “I want to know why you’re here. It seems far too coincidental. Did you know that Omilcar sabotaged my obelisk on Mu?”

  “I did not,” Philip said. “Frankly, that strikes me as astounding and amazing. From what I’ve heard, you killed Omilcar.”

  “Where’d you hear that?”

  Philip blinked several times. “You know, I’m not sure. I can’t quite remember, but—” He noticed the dead mutants. “Togs are here.”

  Philip scrambled up, pulling a little phasor from a hidden side holster I hadn’t seen.

  I turned to look at the mutants, then turned back to find Philip aiming the phasor at the middle of my chest.

  “You will drop the pulse rifle, Bayard,” he said crisply. “And you will divest yourself of all other weapons. Otherwise, I will be forced to drill several phasor holes through you. As much as I admire you, I refuse to die because of your mulish mistrust of me.”

  I stared at the treacherous little hominid. I couldn’t believe this was happening.

  “I will not repeat myself,” he said.

  The little bastard probably would shoot me. I set down the pulse rifle and unbuckled the belt to the scabbard. I wrapped the belt around the scabbard (knife in it) and moved fast. He’d dropped his guard just a little. I thrust the hilt with all my might into Philip’s helmet faceplate.

  It cracked and shattered, with fragments hitting Philip’s face. He screamed—a high-pitched, hominid shriek—and fell back.

  Before he could recover, I was on him, wrenching the phasor away.

  Philip screamed again, yelling, “My hand, my hand, you broke my hand!”

  I felt bad doing that, but I twisted off the helmet. He’d been ready to murder me. A surge of anger welled in my chest because of that. I hurled the helmet. It sailed over the edge, plummeting into the city.

  Philip looked at me in shock and dismay. “You have just killed me, you big ape.”

  “Not yet. But I will if you don’t do what I say.”

  He cradled his hand, rocking back and forth. “You broke it, Bayard. Why did you do that? I would’ve given you the phasor.”

  I may have used too much force against him, but he had been aiming a phasor at me. I shook my head, steeling myself against his whining. He shouldn’t have threatened to kill me.

  “You’re going to show me where that obelisk is,” I said. “And you’re going to do it now.”

  Philip continued to cradle his supposedly broken hand. I realized he could be faking that. His breathing was becoming labored, though, and it wasn’t the dramatic gasping from before.

  “You’re insane,” he wheezed. “Even if I knew where the obelisk was—which I don’t—I’ll be dead before we get there.”

  I wasn’t buying it. I’d been doing okay. A Homo habilis would be too—with or without an EVA suit.

  “Then you’d better help me find the obelisk fast.” I grabbed him by the collar of his environmental suit and dragged him to the edge of the building. “Look at the city. Do you see anything familiar, any landmarks?”

  He said nothing, merely hunched his shoulders as if I were the world’s worst bully.

  That made me angry.

  “Because if you’re useless to me…” I shouted.

  “Wait! Wait!” His good hand clutched at my arm. “There’s another way. I’m not talking about the obelisk, but a better method than the obelisk.”

  I pulled him back from the edge but kept my grip on his collar. “So talk. Tell me about it.”

  He nodded, giving me one of his false smiles.

  “The Institute has emergency portals. One-way exits for observers like me. There’s one here, in the city.”

  “Bullshit.”

  “No. No, I swear. How do you think we were supposed to get home if something went wrong? The observation sphere had coordinates; I memorized them—professional habit, you understand.”

  I stared at him, trying to read the alien face. All the Philips I’d known were liars, but they were also survivors. Right now, his survival depended on being useful to me.

  If he believed that, he might help me enough so I could get home.

  “Where is this portal?” I said.

  “Sub-level bunker, sector twelve,” he said. “It’s about four miles from here. But…” He coughed. I couldn’t tell if it was faked or not. “But I’ll need treatment soon, Bayard. The radiation, the atmosphere—my biology can’t handle it like yours can.”

  I hauled him to his feet. He swayed and steadied himself against a wall. That struck me as more fakery, but I wasn’t completely sure.

  “You’re going to get us both killed,” he said.

  “Maybe,” I said. “But if I’m going down, you’re coming with me.”

  I looked at the turbolift.

  “Can you fix that?” I asked.

  “You mean it’s broken?”

  I pointed at some smoking parts, a gift from the recent firefight.

  “I’ll have to study it first,” Philip said.

  “Go ahead,” I said. “Get started.”

  -20-

  Philip worked on the busted turbolift, his suited fingers fumbling with the controls.

  I kept watching, getting ready to rip off his gloves so he could actually do something. My frustration level was climbing.

  “There’s no way we can get out of here, Bayard,” he said suddenly, not looking up.

  I glared at him, about to tell him to take off his damn gloves then and do it right.

  “We’re stuck,” he added. “We’re stuck unless… well, I could use my anti-gravity belt and get help.”

  I laughed harshly. This was getting ridiculous. I’d already cinched the anti-grav around my waist so he couldn’t grab it, race away, and try to escape by jumping off the building. It had sparked and supposedly died, but you never really knew with Philip.