Jeremy Robinson - Blackout

Suvorov had given him the idea. The Russian had observed the effect of bullets on the thing and had sacrificed himself in a futile effort to get explosives close enough to do some real damage. Unfortunately, the basilisk’s touch had altered the chemical nature of the plastique, rendering it completely inert.

But Suvorov’s idea had been a good one. King had gambled on the fact that within the monster’s impenetrable body, the quantum phones were still intact, and that it would add his phone to the collection, along with his ticking time bomb.

Beyond that, he hadn’t known what to expect. He didn’t know if the basilisk could be damaged; maybe it could absorb the energy and shrapnel as effectively as it absorbed bullets. He was hoping that, at the very least, the blast would completely destroy the quantum phones. When the basilisk had gone into the accretion disk, he had dared to hope that it might somehow be enough to destroy the black hole itself. Instead, the energy of the explosion, compressed and amplified by the black hole’s gravity, had liquefied the accretion disk, allowing the entire mass of debris to be instantly consumed by the singularity.

King wondered if he had just made things a hell of a lot worse. He could still feel the black hole’s gravity, stronger now than before. He couldn’t tell what was happening at the center of the pit; it roiled in his vision like convection waves off hot asphalt.

At least the basilisk seemed to be gone. Now it was up to Fiona to save the day. He turned away from the crater and searched for Fiona and the others…

His heart seized in his chest as he tried to comprehend what he was seeing. A massive piece of rubble-a section of wall or ceiling-had crashed down right where they had been seated. Alexander was still there, his head and arms protruding out from beneath the slab and out over the edge of the pit. Fiona and Sara had both been swept over the edge. Alexander had caught them, but it was evident from the strain on his face that he couldn’t hold on much longer.

King started crawling toward them. He didn’t dare try to stand; if he raised his center of gravity, he would surely topple over and fall into the black hole. Even now, pressed flat against the ground, he felt like he was slipping sideways.

King was only about ten feet from Alexander when something slammed into his ribs. As he slid into the pit, King caught a glimpse of a gloating Graham Brown, staring down at him.

Once they’d discovered the black hole inside the Louvre, both King and the Russians had completely lost interest in Brown. He could have slipped away at any time, and several times, he almost did.

But what good would that have done?

This wasn’t the first time he’d lost big; nobody could climb as high as he had, without getting knocked back down a few times. He’d always come back, stronger than ever.

Not this time.

He couldn’t believe how badly he’d misjudged Pradesh. He was an excellent judge of character, and the Indian computer expert had never struck him as anything more than an opportunistic cyber-mercenary. He never would have believed that the man harbored apocalyptic delusions, much less the technical know-how to use the quantum computer to summon a black hole out of thin air.

But that was exactly what Pradesh, with Brown’s unwitting help, had done. Pradesh had started a wildfire that would devour everything, and there wasn’t a thing anyone could do to stop it.

So why bother trying to escape?

His only regret was that he wouldn’t be going out a winner, and when he spied King crawling along the edge of the crater, he saw a chance for one last victory. Again and again, this man had beaten him, thwarting his carefully laid plans. Now, it was time for payback.

His first kick caught King completely unaware, and sent him sliding toward the edge. Brown hugged the ground to avoid being dislodged from his own precarious position, then drew back his foot and kicked again, driving his heel toward King’s face.

He missed. King ducked away from the attack, and then threw one arm around the gambler’s outstretched foot. King’s weight stretched Brown’s leg like a hangman’s rope. The gambler grimaced in unexpected agony as his knee and hip joints hyper-extended with a sucking noise. King felt impossibly heavy. Brown clutched at the ground, but found nothing to grasp. The heels of his palms skidded futilely on the rough ground as he slid toward the crater, with King desperately trying to pull him down…

No, he realized. He’s trying to pull himself back up.

Through his agony, Brown felt a sudden thrill of understanding. Why was he fighting this? They were both dead men anyway; by struggling against his fate, he was really accomplishing nothing more than to give King another chance to beat him.

In fact, the probability was quite high that if he managed to endure this, King would survive-albeit temporarily-and exact his own retribution against Brown. The only way to win this game was to be in control at the very end, and so, with something almost like a smile, he stopped fighting and launched himself toward the pit.

One final time, King defied Brown’s expectations. Perhaps anticipating that Brown would opt for a pyrrhic victory, he had spent those desperate moments securing a handhold, and when Brown let go, so did King.

The black hole’s gravity caught Brown instantly. He slammed against the side of the crater and tumbled uncontrollably down the slope like someone being dragged behind a speeding car.

And then he stopped.

King pressed himself flat against the ground, trying to create as much friction as he could to keep from following Brown into the black hole. His legs and lower torso still dangled out over the precipice. He didn’t know whether the gambler had thrown himself in or simply fallen, but from the moment he’d managed to snare Brown’s leg, he’d known that his survival would depend on finding something else to hold onto.

In his peripheral vision, he’d glimpsed Brown’s arrival at the event horizon of the micro black hole. The gambler’s plunge seemed to slow as he neared the bottom of the crater, coming to an almost complete stop, suspended in mid air right above the roiling distortion that concealed the black hole. Brown’s agonized face gazed up from the pit, an expression of profound disappointment fixed there as if sculpted in bronze. His legs and lower torso, much closer to the center, appeared to stretch, as if made of taffy, and swirled into the nothingness.

King thought about what Pradesh had said earlier. You experience infinity…like being one with the mind of God.

I wonder what Brown’s infinity looks like.

He turned away, knowing that he was one wrong move away from sharing Brown’s fate. Unfortunately, there didn’t seem to be any right moves. Then he felt a hand close on his outstretched arm.

It was Julia. Her face was a twisted mask of fear and exhaustion, but her grip on his wrist was fierce, determined. She certainly wasn’t strong enough to pull him back, nor did she weigh enough to anchor him, but he could see that she wasn’t about to let go. He gave her a nod of encouragement, and then, trusting in her resolve, he took a chance.

On his first try, he managed to scoot forward just an inch, but it was progress. He tried again and succeeded in getting his thighs up onto solid ground, and after that, he was able to extricate himself in short order. As soon as he was moving unaided, Julia shrank back, away from the edge, and pressed herself against a section of stone wall. King realized that he knew nothing about this woman that had just come to his aid; he wondered if he would ever get a chance to change that.

Fiona and Sara still dangled from Alexander’s outstretched arm. How long had they been there? A few seconds? Minutes? Alexander’s strength was literally the stuff of legend, but even demigods had their limitations. And if the mythic Hercules wasn’t strong enough to pull them back from the brink, what could he hope to accomplish? The simple truth was that pulling his loved ones from danger was beyond his ability. So what did that leave?