The Proving (32 page)

UNIDENTIFIED OBJECT IN REACTOR

LASER A114 OUT OF ALIGNMENT

LASER A249 OUT OF ALIGNMENT

AUTOMATIC COOLDOWN ACTIVATED

In the center of the large room was the reactor, walled off in a circular shape by thick steel lined with spools of wire and coiled metal conduits that ran underneath the console stations. A veritable spider’s web of golden tubes ran along the ceiling, all leading to the reactor core. A ramp led to the door leading into the reactor. The door was closed.

But where’s the security station?

She still hadn’t stopped moving, her feet following the curved aisle to the other side of the reactor. It wasn’t a horseshoe at all . . . it was a circle! And there, just ahead, on the opposite end of the large reactor: the Spartan security station built into the wall between two massive server stations, its glass window cracked and the light inside flickering violently.

Skye looked over her shoulder. The Specter was nowhere in sight.

She stopped at the opposite end of the reactor, looking both ways down either aisle. She sucked in a few deep breaths to stave off the ache in her ribs.
Where are you?
She stomped her foot on the floor a few times. It felt solid enough. Specters expended lots of energy passing through solid materials. This one was already wounded, no longer glowing red. It couldn’t possibly be moving underground. It just couldn’t have that much energy left.

So where are you, then?

Cautiously, Skye walked toward the security station. One of the nearby computer consoles was emitting a low, muted beeping noise. The ceiling lights running between the golden laser tubes were dim; all of the red warning lights cast a bloody glow over the floor. Skye glanced over her shoulder, searching.

Nothing.

Silence.

She drew in a deep breath. She could smell the eerie, sour scent of a dead body. It was further ahead, just past the security station. A Spartan body that had fallen over one of the console chairs. A woman with red hair just like Skye. She was looking over Skye’s shoulder, eyes wide and shriveled; Skye couldn’t help but turn again, sure the gray-skinned corpse was staring at
something
.

Nothing.

Silence.

Another Spartan body was still in the security station, draped over the security console, one wrinkled gray hand still clutching the manual alert system. It wasn’t quite pulled down — the manual alert system hadn’t been activated.

Weak fools. Posing for photographs, eschewing protocol. And look at you now. Your names will die with you.

Skye grabbed the man’s VR rifle, unlatching the battery and swapping out her own. She rebooted the rifle. The battery indicator blinked green to indicate a fresh proton supply. She turned, aiming her rifle out toward the aisle.

Nothing. Blinking red lights. Heart beating in her ears.

She looked first right, then left. Her breath sounded so loud in her ears that she held it, stepping around the female Spartan’s body.

It’s here. Somewhere.

She took two steps, turned and checked the direction she’d come. It was so quiet that she could hear the gentle hum of each computer console’s cooling fans. She wished the damn thing would moan. In primary classes, the instructors always had to remind the kids that Specters weren’t ghosts.
They are enemies
, the instructors would say,
and they have weaknesses that can be exploited. They can be destroyed with proton bullets. It takes energy for them to pass through solid objects. They see, and more importantly they feel. We know this because of Clan Athens’ sanctioned studies. Many Spartans died to learn just this information. Remember them. Remember the fallen.

Her conscience got the best of her. She went back into the cramped security station, grabbing the dead Spartan man’s identification tag. She did the same thing with the woman, trying not to look at her face, worried that the resemblance would be too close. Someone from Skye’s lineage, perhaps. Parents from the Morrison and Holt families. Skylar Morrison, a famous jet pilot. Baylor Holt, the first to infiltrate a Clan Athens base during the final clan war.

And what had their genes gotten these two? Quick, inglorious deaths.

Skye took three steps, then turned, checking her six. Nothing. She did it again, holding her breath until her lungs ached. She exhaled. She was close to the entrance of the reactor room now and still no sign of Specter. Another body was hanging over a seat at one of the console stations to Skye’s right, wearing an Ecosuit. A man with a shaved head and dark, gray skin that clung to his skull like a shriveled grape. Another Spartan. On the right shoulder plate of his Ecosuit was a single red V — a captain.

He’s from the rescue party.

Skye checked both directions again, then reached down and flipped the body. His frightened expression had been frozen as the Specter passed through him. Wide eyes, a mouth hung open mid-scream. It was unbecoming of a Spartan. A bad death.

Why did he come to the reactor room?

There had been other bodies outside, near the rescue Tumbler. Skye hadn’t made a point of counting them, but perhaps only a few had even made it into the facility . . .

Doesn’t matter. Get out of here. Find that cowardly Historian and bug out at first daylight.

She grabbed his identification tag, took another five steps, then turned back. Still nothing. Still empty.

Still so silent that she could hear her heart beating in her ears over the gentle hum of the console fans. Something was missing on her lenses.
Stupid Persians and their buggy tech.

“Chi, shield status,” she said. Her eardrums seemed to flinch at the sound of her voice. A yellow bar reappeared on the edge of her right lens. The battery was at thirty-five percent. If that big Specter’s crocodile jaws caught her, the shield wouldn’t last long. And then those glowing ethereal teeth could pass through Skye’s body, sapping her energy until she was nothing but a lifeless husk just like the captain.

Clear your thoughts. Check your six.

She stopped and turned, aiming the VR rifle back the way she came.

Still nothing.

She moved closer toward the door leading back to the Commons. It slid open when she got near, startling her. The lights in the hall remained off but there was clearly no Specter there, either.

That leaves only the reactor compartment.

She turned around, aiming at the aisles curving around the large reactor. Both directions were empty. Ahead of her was the ramp leading into the reactor room, shut off by the tall steel door. Skye double-checked the hallway, then walked down the ramp, between two of the computer console stations. The hallway door slid shut again, causing her to start.

Check your corners.

She aimed the VR rifle right, then left, peering around the bend in each direction. Still empty. She turned back to the computer console to her left. With one hand, she reached down, tapping on the touchscreen a few times until the red reactor warning disappeared, replaced with more than a dozen program icons. She pressed one at random, hoping maybe luck would be on her side, but the program that opened was a complicated array of numbers and code.

Cleo would know all this. That’s why the Coterie is so useful. I could be watching her back while she does this.

But Cleo wasn’t here. And if the Specter was inside the reactor room, wounded, it had probably expended most of its remaining energy just penetrating the closed door. This would be Skye’s best chance to waste it.

So what do you do whenever your computer at home doesn’t cooperate?

She tapped the voice control button at the bottom of the screen. A little sound wave appeared. “Find door controls,” she said in a low voice.

The computer processed the command. Fifteen different links appeared on the screen, each one featuring a title and a small description of the process. One seemed like a pretty perfect match:
REACTOR DOOR – Unlock.

“Thank you for keeping it simple,” she murmured.

The fine hairs on the back of her neck stood up. Skye turned, pointing her rifle first at the door and then around both corners, sure there would be a Specter silently skulking toward her.

Still clear. Still silent.

She took a deep breath and turned back to the console, pressing the link to the door control. It brought up a more complicated screen filled with boxes of various warnings. But the icon to open the door was clear enough. She pressed it. A command prompt appeared, asking if she was sure. She pressed YES.

A red light above the reactor door began blinking. A new warning appeared on the screen:

LASERS MISALIGNED. SYSTEM MALFUNCTION.

FUSION PROCESS CANNOT RESTART.

“I wasn’t planning on it,” Skye whispered. She stepped onto the ramp, checking her six again and then checking both aisles.

Still empty. The Specter
had
to be inside the reactor.

Her fingers felt tense, clutching the VR Rifle. Her glasses were misreading the dead body of the Spartan captain, giving her a strange blinking error message. She ignored it and turned back to the tall reactor door as it slowly slid open.

Dark orange steam slid out like water rushing through a dam. Skye took another step back, holding in a fresh breath. An error message appeared on the console to her right:

UNIDENTIFIED OBJECT IN REACTOR.

The steam rolled across the floor, bouncing off the computer consoles lining the exterior of the reactor, settling on the console seats like ghosts.

There it was. The Specter, deep inside the reactor, surrounded by what looked like thousands of lasers all aimed right at the center. Through the creature’s translucent body Skye could see the far end of the reactor where a small group of laser guns looked awkwardly bent, aimed in different directions instead of toward the center.

Skye checked her six again, then the corners. Her heart beat in her ears. She slowly knelt down, lining up the Sebecus in her rifle sight. Through her glasses, a red target appeared on the Specter’s torso, right below the diamond-shaped spikes along its spine.

Its color is orange now. It’s not invincible.

It was huge, standing on its hind legs like some hunched-over humanoid. It had half a dozen holes in its body and face where Skye’s proton bullets had hit it. The holes didn’t heal, it seemed. The ghost lowered its long snout, searching the ground like an animal.

Skye held her breath.

Glory.

The creature reached out one hand, grabbing for something sitting on the ground. Skye could have sworn the thing’s scaly face contorted into a look of recognition.
A small orb of Phenocyte? Why would it . . .

The moment the Specter’s humanoid hand touched it, its color changed. The orange glow darkened, changing to the dull red that could sometimes be found in the horizon clouds at sunset. Skye’s finger hesitated. What was happening?

A sound penetrated the silence. Skye’s head snapped left, searching for the source. But the sound was coming
through
the wall. Not a human scream, but some kind of animal-like screech with a high pitch.

Movement!

Skye turned back to the Specter, aiming her rifle. A sudden fear took hold. The creature’s head was turned in the direction of the screech. Its eyes blinked. The muscles over the eyes pulled down, as if it was trying to
frown
.

It recognizes the sound.

The Specter leapt toward the lasers, penetrating the reactor wall and landing silently on the aisle to Skye’s left. She tracked it with her rifle and fired three quick shots, hitting it in the torso and tail and sending globules of yellow ash floating onto the rubber floor.

And then the red glow was gone.

Skye stood cautiously, sure her eyes — and the glasses — were playing tricks on her. The Specter had phased through the far wall as if it had been only millimeters thick. As if it wasn’t made of steel and — beyond that — solid rock. Her instructors’ words bounced around inside her head.

Specters can pass through solid objects, but it requires energy . . .

. . . It requires time . . .

. . . They’re most vulnerable after they’ve expended energy . . .

Apparently, this one isn’t playing by the rules. And if it’s heading toward the labs, then that means Cleo and Ben are in trouble.

She hurried to the door leading to the hallway. It slid open. The hairs on the back of her neck stood up again. She turned back toward the reactor, raising her rifle, searching. Her glasses outlined the dead Spartan, again circling it with a red targeting reticule. This time, Skye saw it: a dull, yellowish glow.

She stepped closer.

The glow intensified.

Skye checked her blind spot, then knelt down, aiming at the body. Her heart thumped in her ears. Something was wrong here. Something was terribly wrong.

Like some bizarre after-image, a glowing yellow ghost of the Spartan stood up. The body remained on the floor but above it, like a bright hologram, was an image of the man. His hands clenched into fists. He turned, looking directly at Skye.

No. This is impossible.

She could make out the outline of his Ecosuit. She could see through his ethereal form. He took a step toward her, his boot silently touching the ground.

A Specter. He’s a Specter!

A sudden anger overwhelmed Skye. No one had ever said this was possible. How could no one know? How could no one know? Someone had to know. Intelligence had been withheld. And now here was the ghost of a Spartan, staring at her with a look of pure hatred. All this time, she’d been told that death in battle offered the greatest glory.

Was this
glorious
?

She aimed the rifle at his chest. He took another step closer. His foot dipped into the floor, disappearing below. He faltered, looking down at the floor in surprise.

Skye pulled the trigger.

Wei was still crying. Although the sobs had stopped, she couldn’t turn off the waterworks fully. She’d dripped snot onto Gabriel’s Ecosuit, which he thought was kind of funny, actually: the suit was designed to protect its user from the elements but snot and tears seemed to stain the spidersilk fiber like salsa on cotton.