Calamity by Brandon Sanderson
I tore off a piece of tape and affixed the pouch to the top of the robot, then punctured the bag with my knife. I crossed to where I’d originally entered the room, cracked open the door, and set the machine down outside it. It scuttled off down the white hallway at speed—leaving a wide trail of blood drops behind, as blatant as a sudden tuba solo in the middle of a rap single.
Great. Now hopefully I could fake the getting shot part. I grabbed another pouch of blood and stabbed it with my knife. Taking a deep breath, I ran to the door on the opposite side of the room, where the drones were firing on my Gottschalk.
The robots had made progress, shoving the fallen ones out of the way and advancing. I ducked back as the robots started firing at me, then I screamed and sprayed some of the blood on the wall. From there I dashed to one of the tubs, using the pouch to squirt a different trail toward the exit.
I couldn’t see much of what was inside the tub, now that I wasn’t using my scope, but I pulled it open, gritted my teeth, and climbed in—touching some slippery bits that I was pretty convinced were livers. As I settled into the icy fluid, I was profoundly aware of exactly how gruesome all this was. Fortunately, I was quite accustomed to my plans humiliating me in some way; this time I was merely doing it on purpose. So hey, progress!
I tried to remain still, hoping the tub’s refrigeration unit and icy temperature would hide me from any infrared detection the robots might be using. Unfortunately, to not stand out, I had to close the top of the tub and hold my breath. And so I lay there among the bobbing body parts, watching lights flash above as the robots and their floodlights entered the laboratory. I couldn’t see much through the water and the glass top, but I couldn’t help imagining the robots gathering around the tub, looking in at me, amused at my feeble attempt at a distraction.
I held my breath until I was ready to burst. My face, not covered by my infiltration suit, was freezing. Blessedly, the lights finally vanished. I managed to last a little longer before I pushed open the top and, shivering, looked around the lab. Pitch-black.
The robots had apparently taken the bait. I wiped the liquid from my eyes and climbed out. Sparks. As if this place hadn’t been creepy before I’d decided to crawl into a vat of livers to hide from death robots. I shook my head, crossing over to pick up my radio and gun. I shoved on the headset, but I had gotten blood on it, and it seemed to be on the fritz.
I’d have to use the radio the old way. “I’m back,” I said quietly, pressing send and speaking into it.
“David, you’re crazy,” a voice responded.
I smiled. “Hello, Megan,” I said, slipping into the narrow corridor. I jogged past fallen robots. “Everyone pulling out?”
“Everyone who’s smart.”
“Love you too,” I said. I stopped at the corner where I’d first run into the robot guards and peeked around it. The room beyond was dark, like before. I looped my gun’s strap around my shoulder, then used the scope to look for lingering robots. “I’m almost ready to go. Give me a few more minutes.”
“Roger.”
I clicked the radio to send only, so that their chatter wouldn’t alert any nearby foes. Unfortunately, I didn’t have time to be more careful. My trick with the false trail would soon be discovered. As if in testament to the danger, a distant explosion shook the building.
I felt at the wall and turned on the lights, then crossed the room to one of the large standing freezers. The stainless steel surface reflected my face, which had two weeks’ worth of scrub on it. I thought it looked rugged. Megan tended to snicker at it.
Heart thumping, I unlocked the first of the chests and threw it open, releasing a burst of icy air. Inside were rows and rows of frozen glass vials with colorful caps. Not the motivators I’d been looking for, but most likely Epic DNA samples.
“Well,” I whispered, “at least it’s not a rack of frozen dinners.”
“No,” a voice responded. “I keep those in the other chest.”
I stood very still, a chill rising up my spine. I turned, careful not to make any sudden motions, and found that I had—unfortunately—missed a single robot hidden in the shadowed recesses of the room. That beanpole of a body was hardly intimidating, but the souped-up FAMAS G3 assault rifle mounted to its top was something else entirely.
I considered trying to shoot it, but my body was turned the wrong direction. I’d have to swing my gun around and hope to hit the robot before I got shot myself. My chances did not seem good.
“I actually do have food in the other one,” the voice continued, projected from the robot. A man’s voice, tenor, soft. He had to be one of the enigmatic people who ran the Foundry. Most of these drones seemed autonomous, but their masters would be watching—each gun had a camera on it. “Not frozen dinners, mind you. Steaks. A few choice ribeyes left over from the good old days. I miss those more than anything.”
“Who are you?” I asked.
“The man you’re trying to rob. How did you divert my drones?”
I bit my lip, trying to judge the response time of that gun as I inched to the side and watched it follow me. Sparks. The tracking apparatus was excellent; the gun stayed right on me. The robot’s speakers even made a little cocking noise by way of warning, and I froze in place.
But did it have full range of movement? Maybe not…
“So this is what has become of the mighty Jonathan Phaedrus,” the voice said. “Sending a hit team in to try to steal from me.”
Phaedrus? Of course. The Knighthawk Foundry worker thought we were still with Prof. We hadn’t exactly trumpeted it out that he’d fallen to his powers; most people didn’t even know he was an Epic in the first place.
“We only had to come,” I said, “because you refused to trade with us.”
“Yes, very honorable of you. ‘Trade us what we want, or we’ll take it by force.’ I expected more of one of Jonathan’s special teams. You barely…” The voice trailed off, then continued, fainter. “What do you mean there’s another one? They stole what? How did they even know where those were, dammit?”
Something muffled responded. I tried to step away, but the drone made the cocking sound again, this time louder.
“You,” the voice said, turning his attention back to me. “Call your friends. Tell them to return what the other man stole, or I will kill you. You have three seconds.”
“Uh…”
“Two seconds.”
“Guys!”
The wall to my right melted in a burst of heat, revealing a shadowy form beyond.
I dove and—against my instincts—rolled toward the robot drone. It got off an initial round at me, but—as I’d hoped—when I got too close, its gun couldn’t angle down far enough to hit me.
That meant I only got shot once.
It hit me in the leg as I was rolling. Not sure how that managed to happen, but sparks, it hurt.
The robot tried to back away, but I seized it, ignoring the searing pain in my leg. Last time I’d been shot, I hadn’t felt it at first, but this time I had trouble fighting through the sheer agony. Still, I managed to keep the robot from firing at me again as I reached up and unlocked the device that held the gun to the machine. It dropped free.
Unfortunately, as I’d been struggling, a good two dozen drones had unclipped from the ceiling—where they’d been disguised as panels—and hovered down on propellers. I hadn’t been nearly as safe in here as I’d assumed, though for now their attention was focused on a figure that stepped through the slag of the wall: a man made entirely of flames, his figure the deep red of molten rock. Firefight had arrived. Too bad he wasn’t real.
I grabbed my wounded thigh and scanned the room for Megan. She was hiding near the corner in the corridor leading back to the laboratory. Firefight wasn’t real, not completely, but neither was he an illusion. He was a shadow from another place, another version of our world. It wasn’t that he had actually come to save me; Megan was just overlaying our world with a ripple from that world, making it seem l
It fooled the drones—indeed, I could feel the heat coming from the melted wall, and could smell smoke in the air. As the drones frantically started firing, I reached into the open freezer and grabbed a handful of vials. Then I limped across the room, joining Megan, who came to me as soon as she was aware that I’d been hit.
“Slontze,” she said with a grunt, getting under my arm and hauling me toward cover, then shoved the vials I’d taken into her pocket. “I leave you alone for five minutes, and you go and get shot.”
“At least I got you a present,” I said, pushing my back against the wall inside the curve as she quickly bound my wound.
“Present? The vials?”
“I got you a new gun,” I said, gritting my teeth at the pain as she pulled the bandage tight.
“You mean the FAMAS you left on the floor over there?”
“Yup.”
“You realize that every one of the, like, a hundred drones I fought outside had one of those. We could build a fort out of them at this point.”
“Well, once you finish using all those for a fort, you’ll need one for shooting. So you’re welcome! Even comes…” I winced at the pain. “Even comes with its own room full of death robots. And maybe some steaks. Don’t know if he was lying about those or not.”
Behind her, Firefight looked unconcerned, bullets melting before they reached him. It wasn’t as hot as it should have been—it was as if the fire were distant, and we felt a breeze that blew out from it.
We barely understood how her powers worked. Those drones that Firefight melted weren’t actually dead, and that wall hadn’t actually been opened. The other world’s ability to affect this one was fleeting. For a minute, we were all caught in the warping of reality as the two worlds mixed, but in moments it would all fade back to normal.
“I’m fine,” I said. “We’ve got to move.”
Megan said nothing, getting under my arm again. The fact that she gave no reply—and that she’d stopped us in the middle of a fight to look at the wound—told me what I needed to know. I was hit bad, and bleeding a lot.
We shuffled away down the corridor toward the laboratory. As we did, I glanced over my shoulder to make sure no drones were following. None were, but I did catch an unnerving sight: Firefight was looking at me, again. Through the flames of distortion, two black eyes met my own. Megan swore he couldn’t see our world, and yet he raised a hand toward me.
We were soon out of his sight. The loud pops of gunfire chased us as we staggered into the laboratory room with all the organs. We stepped to the side, anxious, as another group of drones scuttled past. They didn’t even glance at us. There was an Epic to fight.
We crossed the room, then moved into the bright hallway outside. I left a real blood trail on the floor.
“What was that place?” Megan said. “Were those hearts in those jars?”
“Yeah,” I said. “Man, my leg hurts….”
“Cody,” Megan said, sounding alarmed, “is Abraham out?…Okay, good. Prime the jeeps, and have the first-aid kit ready. David’s been shot.”
Silence.
“I don’t know how we’re going to do that, Mizzy. Hopefully we can use the distraction like we planned. Be ready.”
I focused on keeping myself moving through the pain. We turned up the tunnel leading to the hidden entrance I’d used to sneak into the place. Behind us, the shooting suddenly stopped.
Bad sign. Firefight had vanished.
“You couldn’t make him follow us?” I asked.
“I need a breather,” she said, eyes forward, jaw set. “This was hard enough in the old days, when I didn’t care what it did to me.”
“You mean—” I said.
“It’s just a headache,” she replied. “Like yesterday, but worse. It’s as if…well, as if something were pounding on my skull, trying to get in. Creating such a large distortion in reality is pushing me to the edge. So let’s hope that—”
She stopped. A group of drones was gathered in the access tunnel before us, blocking our path to the exit into the forest. That exit teased me; it was several hundred feet away, but I could see that it had been blown open by an explosion, letting in filtered sunlight. It was likely how Megan had entered, but with those drones between it and us, the exit might as well have been in Australia.
Then, without warning, the ceiling caved in. Huge chunks of metal fell around us, and the tunnel shook as if in a blast. I knew enough by now though to recognize something off about the explosion. Perhaps the steel chunks didn’t scrape as loudly as they should have, or perhaps it was the way the corridor shook. Or perhaps it was how those steel chunks fell directly in front of us, blocking the drones—which started firing, but missed hitting both Megan and me with any debris.
This was another dimensional illusion, though it was still violent enough to knock me from my feet. I hit with a grunt, trying to roll to my side to protect my wounded leg. The room spun, and for a moment I felt like a grasshopper stapled to a Frisbee.
When my vision wobbled back to a semblance of stability, I found myself huddled beside one of the fallen hunks of metal. It felt real to me, for the moment. Here, in the blending of two worlds Megan had created, the “illusion” was real.
My blood, which had soaked through the impromptu bandage, stained the floor like someone had wiped it with a dirty cloth. Megan knelt beside me, her head bowed, her breath coming in hisses.
“Megan?” I asked over the sounds of the firing drones. Sparks…they’d be on us soon, blockade or no blockade.
Megan’s eyes were open wide, and her lips parted, exposing clenched teeth. Sweat trickled down her temples.
Whatever she’d been fighting off when using her powers recently, it was coming for her in force.
THIS wasn’t supposed to happen.
We’d found the secret, the way to make Epics immune to the corrupting effects of their powers: if you faced your deepest fears, it caused the darkness to retreat.
It was supposed to be over; Megan had run into a burning building to save me, facing her fears head-on. She should have been free. And yet there was no denying the frantic cast to her expression—her clenched teeth, her tense brow. She turned toward me, not blinking. “I can feel him, David,” she whispered. “He’s trying to get in.”
“Who?”
She didn’t answer, but I knew who she meant. Calamity. Calamity, the red spot in the sky, the new star that had heralded the arrival of the Epics…was itself an Epic. I somehow knew Calamity was supremely angry that in learning that Epics’ fears were connected to their weaknesses, we’d figured out how to overcome its influence on Megan.
The gunfire of the drones stopped.
“That cave-in is an illusion of some sort, isn’t it?” the voice from before called, echoing in the corridor. “Which Epic did you kill to gain this technology? Who told you how to build the motivators?”
At least he was talking instead of shooting.
“Megan,” I said, taking her arm. “Megan, look at me.”
She focused on me, and that seemed to help, though the wildness was still there in her eyes. I was tempted to step back and let her unleash it. Maybe that would save us.
But it would doom her. When Prof had succumbed to the darkness brought by his powers, he’d killed friends without so much as flinching. That man, who had spent his life defending others, was now entirely subject to his powers.
I wouldn’t have the same happen to Megan. I reached to my thigh pocket and—wincing as I shifted my wounded leg—pulled out my lighter. I held it up before Megan and flicked on the flame.
She shied back briefly, then hissed and seized the flame in her fist, burning her hand. The fallen metal chunks we’d been using as cover wavered, then faded out of existence. The ceiling repaired itself. Fire was still Megan’s weakness—and even having faced her fears, the weakness negated her powers. And probably always would.
Fortunately, so long as she remained willing to face that
I smiled wanly and slid my gun away across the ground, then did the same with Megan’s. I raised my hands as the drones surrounded us. Most of them were the tracks-and-assault-rifle type, though there were also a few that flew. I was in luck—they held their fire.
One of the machines rolled closer. It had raised a small screen from its base, which projected a backlit shadowy figure. “That image was of Firefight, from Newcago, right? It fooled my sensors completely,” the voice said. “No ordinary illusion could have done that. What technology are you using?”
“I’ll tell you,” Megan said. “Just don’t shoot. Please.” She stood up, and as she did so, she kicked something backward with her heel.
Her headset. Still lying on my side, I caught it under my hand and rolled onto it, masking the motion by holding my bleeding leg. I didn’t think any drones spotted what we’d done.
“Well?” the voice said. “I’m waiting.”
“Dimensional shadows,” Megan said. “They aren’t illusions, but ripples from another state of reality.” She’d stood to face the robot army, putting herself between the robots and me. Most focused their weapons on her—and if they killed her, she’d reincarnate.
I appreciated her protective gesture, but sparks, reincarnating could do unpredictable things to her—particularly with how her powers had been acting lately. She hadn’t died since we were in Babilar, and I hoped to keep it that way.
I needed to do something. I curled up, still holding my leg. The pain was real. I could only hope the way I trembled and bled would make the drones dismiss me as I laid my head on the headset and covertly whispered into the microphone.