“Sorry!” he shouted over his shoulder, after he narrowly missed a woman who was walking some kind of dog with a spiked tail and tusks. When he turned back around, he was staring at a billboard fixed to the back of a flatbed truck, and he was close enough to reach out and touch it. He managed to jump out of the way, but the scarab didn't have time to react. It burst through the sign and ripped it from the back of the vehicle.
The momentum threw the sign into a storefront across the street, and the truck rolled three times before it crashed into a fire hydrant that burst like a geyser.
Somehow the scarab kept coming.
Colt wondered if the team would get points deducted because of the wreck. He needed to get off the street and away from the crowds to avoid any more collateral damage, but he didn't know where to go.
Thanks to the police barricades, traffic had come to a standstill both on the skyway overhead and in the streets down below. Frustrated drivers blared their horns and shouted out their windows. One driver tried to make a U-turn, but he was sideswiped by a delivery truck.
The Omega Foundation loomed over the cityscape. Smoke poured from a shattered window at least twenty stories overhead, as well as from the gaping hole down near the entrance. Colt hoped that everything inside was going according to plan. He sped toward the building with the scarab right behind him, dodging and weaving through the vehicles.
The only weapons Colt had were the EMP grenades, and from that distance and at that speed, the odds of hitting the scarab weren't very good. Besides, if he missed, there was a chance that he could take out at least one hovercar, if not more.
Then he had an idea.
Colt raced toward the Omega Foundation, knees bent and head forward. The scarab fired again and blasts of energy slammed into random windows, sending a shower of glass to the empty sidewalk below. Jaw clenched and eyes focused, Colt kicked down with his back foot, and the nose of the hoverboard shot straight up. Instead of following the trajectory of the street, he was climbing the building.
The scarab gave chase.
Flames leapt out from a broken window overhead. Colt figured that Intellitron was holed up, but if his plan was going to work, he had to time it just right. He reached for one of the magnetic EMP grenades, set the timer, and let it fall from his fingers where it latched on to the metal frame of his hoverboard. The tiny green light flashed as it counted down to detonation.
Quick as he could, he fished out five more grenades and set them as well. He closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and hit the release button on his bindings. They unlatched, and Colt kicked hard. He dived through the open window as the first grenade detonated. There was a flash and an explosion of light and sound, setting off a chain reaction. The hoverboard sputtered and died, falling as waves of electricity leapt at the last scarab, engulfing it in crackling light. Its back arched and fingers twitched as its body started to convulse.
Air rushed from Colt's lungs as he hit the floor, flipping over backward. He crashed into a desk, sending papers flying like a swirl of confetti before he came to rest against the wall. Groaning, he opened his eyes and saw Intellitron.
I
ntellitron was taller than Oz, with a broad chest, narrow waist, and long arms that ended in four fingers. Its body was wrapped in alloy casing, and its eyes glowed an angry red as metal tentacles shot out from a compartment in its back. They writhed like cobras under a trance. One grabbed Jomtong, who dropped his Sig Sauer P228 as the robot slammed him into a table.
Colt barely had time to react as Intellitron threw an office chair that smashed into the wall over his head. He rolled out of the way, wincing as he landed behind a desk that was flipped over on its side. It wasn't much in the way of cover, but it was better than nothing.
His hand fell to his rib cage, and when he pulled it away, it was covered in blood. It didn't make sense. There wasn't supposed to be any risk of injuryâat least not serious injuryâbut his side felt like it was on fire every time he took a breath. Colt hoped he hadn't broken a rib, but even if he had, he had to focus. The mission wasn't over.
Nearby, Danielle had her computer hardwired into the building's network. Her fingers danced across the keys as she tried to shut down the system before Intellitron launched any of the nuclear missiles. Oz stood over her, holding an M4A1 assault rifle, but the bullets were useless against the robot's armored shell.
“I can't break through,” she said.
“Keep trying!” Oz discarded the rifle and picked up a rocket launcher, firing the FGM-148 Javelin anti-tank missile. It was designed to penetrate armor up to 60 mm thick, and it hissed as it sped toward the robot. Intellitron knocked it aside with one of its mechanical tentacles as though it were batting a fly with a newspaper. The missile exploded, blowing another hole in the building. The floor shook and walls swayed as a heavy wind whipped through the room, sending papers swirling.
“Your attempt to override my primary function is futile,” the robot said, shooting a tentacle toward Oz. It picked him up and threw him against a wall, where he slumped to the floor.
Danielle's eyes were wide as another tentacle crashed down on her computer. Broken components flew in every direction as the same tentacle coiled around her arms, pinning them to her sides. She screamed, kicking her legs as she tried to break free. The robot held her in the air so that her face was mere inches from its glowing eyes. It regarded her for a moment, as though studying her at a molecular level. Then the tentacle moved toward the gaping hole.
Colt felt a wave of panic as instinct took over. More tentacles shot toward him, but time felt like it had slowed. He leapt out of the way of one and then another before wrapping his hands around the tentacle that held Danielle. Sparks flew as he ripped it from the machine's back. It released its grip, sending Danielle rolling across the floor.
Intellitron lashed out at Colt, and tentacles whipped across his face and chest, cutting into his skin. It grabbed him by the shoulders and drove its metal forehead into his nose. Blood splattered across the front of Colt's uniform like crimson raindrops as another tentacle wrapped around his ankles. Before he realized what had happened, he was dangling upside down.
There was a series of sounds like metal hitting metal, and Colt looked up to see five EMP grenades latched on to Intellitron's body. There was an explosion followed by a blinding flash as electricity pulsed across the robot.
Colt fell on his head as the machine staggered to a keyboard, where it started to type faster than Colt could track. “Initiating launch sequence,” it said in a synthesized voice.
Colt rose to his feet, his head swimming as he tried to maintain his balance. The cadets didn't have enough firepower to stop Intellitron. Not knowing what else to do, he launched at the machine. Like a linebacker, he wrapped his arms around its waist and drove with his legs, heading straight for the gap in the wall.
“No!” Danielle cried out, but it was too late. Colt jumped off the ledge.
As it fell, the robot tried to latch on to the wall, but the bricks crumbled. Colt thought about closing his eyes and waiting for the simulation to fade, but he had a nagging suspicion that if he died inside the scenario he was really going to die.
He drove his elbow into Intellitron's chest and pushed off with his hands, trying to create separation so he could get a better view of his surroundings. They were about thirty feet above a crowded skyway filled with hovercraft, and they were closing fast. Traffic was backed up for blocks, and just below a semi tractor-trailer was stuck behind a hovercycle with a sidecar. It rumbled in idle as smoke poured from its exhaust pipes.
Twenty feet.
Colt glanced up and saw the other cadets watching from high above, the wind tousling their hair as they stood in the gap.
Ten feet.
The trailer was close enough that Colt could see the rust spots and scratches. He braced for impact, and with a thud his chest hit the truck. Oxygen exploded from his lungs, and if his ribs weren't broken before, he was fairly certain they were now. His fingernails scraped across the paint as momentum took him over the edge, but somehow he managed to hold on.
As he dangled over the side of the trailer, Colt felt something latch on to his ankle. He looked down to see Intellitron hanging on by one of its mechanical tentacles. The machine was heavy, and Colt's grasp started to slip. He tried to kick free, but a second tentacle grabbed him around the waist as a third took hold of his arm. The robot pulled itself up, trying to climb over him like a spider.
Colt looked down and saw a fire truck speeding toward them, lights flashing as it tore through the sky. He counted to three and let go.
T
he atmosphere shimmered before it disappeared, replaced by the sterile white of the simulation room. The sudden shift back to reality was disorienting, as the frenzied sounds of the city were replaced by the soft hum of air rushing through the vents overhead.
Colt's heart pounded and his hands shook as they ran over his ribs. His side was tender to the touch, and the blood that stained his uniform was warm and sticky. He wondered if Agent O'Keefe had lied to them about the danger, or if there had been some kind of mix-up when the instructor programmed the simulation. Either way, thanks to Colt's fall, the simple act of breathing had become painful.
As he looked up, Colt noticed that the other cadets were staring at him. “What?” he said.
“You're one of them, aren't you?” Pierce asked, stepping forward. It was more of an accusation than a question. “I mean, it's either that or you're some kind of freak mutant. Nobody could do what you did in that simulation.”
Colt's heart raced. “What are you talking about?”
“Don't play stupid,” Pierce said. “My dad warned me that shapeshifters would try and infiltrate this place, and he was right.”
“Whatever.” Colt fought the urge to run. What if the metamorphosis had begun? Had his skin been replaced by green scales? Were his eyes glowing? He was desperate for a mirror, but he stood there unmoving, trying to play it cool.
“Then how did you tear the tentacle off that thing?” Pierce asked. “And how did you survive jumping out of a skyscraper without a parachute?”
Colt relaxed, though just a little. If there had been a physical change, Pierce would have mentioned that first. “It's called luck,” he said. “Or maybe it was adrenaline. How do I know? I just reacted.”
“Liars won't look you in the eye, and they get sarcastic,” Pierce said. “You know, to try and throw you off.”
Colt made a point of looking Pierce directly in the eye. “What, so now you're an interrogation expert too? I'm surprised they haven't given you Lobo's job already.”
Everyone laughed.
“All you're doing is proving my point,” Pierce said as his face flushed red.
“What's wrong with you?” Danielle asked. “Besides the fact that you're obviously jealous.”
“Of him? Yeah, right.”
“Be careful,” Colt said. “You didn't look her in the eye. And you have to admit, it was kind of sarcastic.”
There was more laughter as Pierce clenched his hands. “Don't try and flip this around, McAlister. You're not going to think it's funny when the Depart of Alien Affairs shows up and takes you away in handcuffs.”
Pierce's father was on the Senate Committee on Intelligence, which oversaw the DAA, but Colt doubted that Pierce had that kind of pull. Still, the idea of being led out of the academy in handcuffs was unnerving.
“If Colt was a shapeshifter, then why did he fight against the Thule back in Arizona?” Danielle said. “That doesn't make any sense.”
“How am I supposed to know? Maybe it was a setup.”
“I didn't think it was possible, but maybe you really are as dumb as you look,” Oz said, surprising Colt by coming to his defense.
“Then how do you explain what he did?” Pierce asked. “I mean, there was no way we were going to beat that scenario, and then Colt shows up and takes out Intellitron with his bare hands? Give me a break. He's one of them.”
“Have you actually seen a shapeshifter up close?” Oz asked. “Not a picture, but in the flesh?”
“It doesn't matter.”
“That's what I thought. What color is their blood?”
“Everybody knows that,” Pierce said. “It's green.”
“And what color is his blood?” Oz nodded toward Colt, who had bloodstains all over his uniform.
“That's just some kind of trick,” Pierce said.
The door to the observation deck opened, and Agent O'Keefe came running down the staircase, his round face a deep shade of red as his boots pounded the steps. Agent Graves was nowhere to be seen. “Is everyone okay?” He was breathing heavily and dabbing a handkerchief across his brow. “I'm not sure what happened, but . . .” His voice trailed off when he saw Colt. “Oh my.”
“It looks worse than it feels,” Colt said, though he couldn't help wincing.