The Second Sphere

I craned my neck up and traced the 150 stories of the Laslow Building as they fled into the sky. That we didn’t have enough explosives for every floor didn’t trouble me; the ticking clock did. I worried that our work would be for nothing, and that a decision had already been made about opening the sector doors.

“We’ll know when the sector doors are open,” Malinda said. “We won’t hear little bursts of gunfire. We’ll hear the sounds of war.” Her words didn’t make me feel better.

We toiled in the darkness, our hands fumbling. Soft breaths came from our mouths. There was a succinct order of operations to our work. I would remove the cover to the ventilation shaft and Malinda would take one of the explosives from her bag. Just inside the shaft was a small ledge where she placed the explosive. Then I would stick a fuse in. Finally, Malinda synced the explosive with the trigger. It was mechanical and tedious, but the pressure of this virus was on our shoulders.

I didn’t have a timing device, but guessed it was taking about three minutes per vent. From my count, we had about 25 explosives set. Each time I looked up to see how much farther we had to go, I reminded myself that there was no point in thinking about it. The work would get done soon, and not a second before.

The stairwell had become unusually quiet. Not a single infected seemed to be left there. I couldn’t help but wonder how many were still in the sub-basements, simply unable to figure out how to find an exit, trapped by their shriveling minds and doors with handles that they couldn’t use.

I didn’t know what floor we were on when the door to the stairwell opened. All I knew was that my heart fell into my socks when I heard the whoosh of air and the click of pulse rifle safeties opened. There were three of them, nervous troops with their rifles pointing directly in our faces, flashing back and forth between us.

“Don’t fucking move!” one of them screamed.

They were ready to kill us if we spoke one wrong word. I held my left hand up and pulled the pistol from my waistband. Slowly, I bent down and set it on the floor. Malinda put her pulse pistol on the ground in front of us. But she kept the pulse rifle slung over her back.

“We just came in here from the outside,” Malinda said, trying to strike a conciliatory tone. “We’re with Laslow. We couldn’t get in the front, but we managed to find a way to get into the stairwell here.” It was as good a lie as any.

“You were outside?” the man in the middle asked. He lowered his gun slightly.

“Yeah,” Malinda said. “It’s like a goddamned horror movie out there.”

“I hate those Green Revolution fuckers,” the man on the left said as though he had any idea what he was talking about.

“The door that you came through?” the one on the right asked. “Did you secure it?” Malinda glanced at me as though I should be the one to answer.

“We did the best we could,” I said. “I think we got the door shut. I tried to lock it, but I don’t know.” I thought I was a better liar, but the guns in my face made me nervous.

“So you think that there might be an open door down there? Is there a chance that some of the infected might’ve followed you in?” the one on the left asked. The emergency lighting cast an eerie yellow pallor across his face. He blinked once.

“We’re on your team, man. We’re Laslow! Scan us, if you don’t believe it,” I said.

“This guy is Orion Cox,” Malinda said, as though my tarnished name were somehow still credible.

“Shit,” the one on the right said. “Yeah, you’re Orion Cox. I was supposed to be on the mission this morning, but I got pulled away.” I guessed that the news of my arrest hadn’t made it to him. He lowered his gun, though he didn’t take a step toward us. The man on the left dropped his gun, too.

“Christ, I didn’t know there was even a way to get in from the outside through the stairwell,” the man in the middle said. “We heard your steps and thought you were an infected.”

“I can quite assure you that neither of us has been infected.”

“You’ve got some blood on you,” the man in the middle said, gesturing with his weapon. I looked down.

“Fortunately, it’s not mine,” I said.

“Where are you heading?” the man on the left asked.

“We’re going to the top floor. We’ve got a briefing with Mr. Laslow,” Malinda said. “But the doors are locked and the elevators on the lower floors weren’t working. We thought we’d hoof it.”

“I thought it’s already been decided that the feds are coming in,” the one in the middle said.

“We’re supposed to be giving Mr. Laslow an update on what’s actually going on out there, help to see if we can influence any decision,” I said, hoping I was making sense.

“I see. Well, then, you won’t mind if--”

The troops eyed one another for a moment, and that was when Malinda struck. The pulse rifle was in her hands, and three shots came, striking each of the men right in the neck. They staggered forward and dropped. Their eyes melted, and the smell of burning innards filled the stairwell.

In the grand scheme of things, their deaths hardly seemed to matter.

Malinda glowered at them, her nostrils flaring. I thought she might fire at them again for good measure, but she slung the gun over her back.

“Let’s finish this,” she said.

I was surprised at how calm she was, how utterly focused on the task before her. We continued to labor.

Sounds from outside penetrated the walls. There were large bursts of gunfire, terrified shrieks. I wondered just how many of our troops were infected. Did Quincy Laslow have the fortitude to say no to the governor? Could he tell him that this area was a lost cause? It was one thing to try to save face. It was another thing to try to save millions of lives. I wondered which one Quincy Laslow cared about more.

When there were only a dozen explosives left, the roof was twenty floors away. My legs ached as we jogged up the stairs. At floor 138, we began to hear the mashing of the oxygenator and the gravity machine. The loud, thunderous booms moved closer. My lungs heaved.

Then, we stood at the door to the roof. I put a hand on the hard metal and pushed. It was locked. I stepped back for a moment and pulled the pulse pistol from the waistband of my pants. Malinda grabbed my arm.

“Hold on,” she said. She pointed to a numerical pad next to the door. She punched a few buttons, and the door swung open. We stepped out.

Above the domed roof was a large space cruiser, as large as any that docked at Central Station. It was a rounded structure with curling wings. I could see how artificial all of our lives were now, that the stretching material above was the only thing keeping us alive. Ahead was a massive gravity machine, bulky, twisting metal and plastic, and next to it, the smaller oxygenator. The smell of burning metal permeated the air. We trotted toward them ready to lay the last of the explosives. Underneath our feet was the tinny metal of the roof, which made our footsteps sound like we were an army.

We reached the machines, and Malinda began to rifle through my pack. She had the explosives in her hands, handling them as though they were anything but little destructive balls of fury like they were.

“Stop!” a voice sounded from behind us. We stopped and turned slowly. I didn’t know what to expect, only that whoever it was deserved the wrath of God. They didn’t understand our purpose.

There in front of us, holding a pulse pistol, mouth agape, more scared than I’d ever seen him, was Bryant.