The Crucible by Scott Bartlett

Author:Scott Bartlett [Bartlett, Scott]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Mirth Publishing
Published: 2018-12-05T07:00:00+00:00

7

There is fatigue. But I am not the fatigue. Instead, I overcome it.

There is irritation. But I am not the irritation. Instead, I arm myself with it.

There is determination. But I am not the determination. Instead, I cloak myself with it.

Overclocked, my vision sharpens—the ramps, platforms, and stairways of the facility jumping into sharp relief. My mind didn’t feel foggy before, but now it feels clear as a summer’s day. My brain’s ability to analyze the blueprint jumps, and I immediately identify a nearby stairway that climbs the side of the facility, offering poor positioning to anyone lurking above. Any soldiers below might shoot at us, but we’d also have the height advantage on them.

I lead us up two more levels without encountering any more resistance.

Then, ascending a long, gentle ramp up to the next level, I experience another anxiety spike. A heartbeat later, three dark spots appear on my datasphere. Without hesitation, I throw myself forward, laserfire crackling behind me. Whirling, I raise my blaster, loosing three pure-white bolts in quick succession.

Three soldiers are thrown back with holes seared into their faces and necks. A fourth soldier is fiddling with his weapon—clearly, he wasn’t ready for us to appear. Stricken, he drops the weapon and raises his hands.

My finger tightens on the trigger, then loosens.

Restraint.

“Hold your fire,” I subvocalize to the Troubleshooter behind me, who’s coming up the ramp after me with laser rifle raised.

The soldier starts to tremble as I approach him, his blue-lit helmet suddenly not so menacing. I snatch up his weapon, safety it, and eject the charge pack before flinging the rifle off the platform to spin through hundreds of feet to one of the bottom levels.

“Give me your other charge packs,” I bark, and the soldier unclips them from his belt, handing them over. They look compatible with the weaponry the three Troubleshooters with me are carrying, so I distribute them. “Now go get your rifle.” He hesitates, and I yell: “Run!”

He runs, sprinting down the ramp, almost tumbling over the side in his haste.

“Wouldn’t it be easier to just shoot him?” Baker says.

I frown. “Not for me. Not anymore.”

We press onward, with me on point, disabling most of our attackers before they can do any damage. These regular grunts don’t pose much of a threat to me anymore. At least, not when I’m overclocked—which poses its own threat. I can almost feel it wearing out my body, my energy reserves stretched out like jam spread too thin. But we’re tearing through the enemy resistance, getting ever closer to the top, and that’s what matters right now.

At last, we arrive, topping the final ramp leading to the platform that sits just below the master control. My breathing is ragged, and my pulse pounds through my head. It’s almost like the tail end of a caffeine spike, when your body begins to feel hollow and shaky, except it’s like I drank a few gallons of coffee all at once.

Fairfax is ahead, standing arrogantly out in the open while his men crouch at the bottom of the ramp that leads up to the control room.

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