Sarah Zettel - Fool's War

Dobbs tried to claw at herself, to extricate the foreign thoughts her teacher had seeded her with. Too late. Verence was part of her, her thoughts would not go away. Dobbs had to keep every one of them, and they sounded very loud as she tore through the tissue fine layers that were all that was left over from Amelia Verence’s independent self and flew screaming all the way to the transmitter.

Verence and Curran were still wrong. This was not the answer. Dobbs knew it. Sick to her core and scared to death, she still knew it.

As she reset the transmitter, looking desperately for a receiver that still functioned, she wished she could take some comfort in that small, cold fact.

“Dobbs!” Cohen surged up behind her. She felt Brooke with him, and Terrence, and some others. Of course he’d come. He would. He was like that. They were all like that.

She didn’t want to spare the attention to talk. She let him touch her memories and felt him spasm as he learned what happened. She didn’t pause. She had to get down to Earth, she had to do what she could. She had thirteen seconds left. She could do it. She could do something. She had to.

She would not die while Curran still thought he was right.

Al Shei’s clippers snipped through the last of the wires that tethered Asil to the monitor. Asil’s eyes stopped their restless twitching and stared at the ceiling.

She replaced her cutters on her belt hook and reached out a trembling hand. She closed his eyelids. To her relief, they stayed closed.

She pressed her finger-tips against his throat. There was no pulse. She laid her hand against the strong planes of his chest. It was still.

He was dead.

She pulled a bedside drawer open and a clean, white blanket drifted into the air. Her hands shook badly as she worked to cover his nakedness with some semblance of a shroud.

With a soft, trembling voice, she began the salatul janazah , the funeral prayer.

“Oh Allah, Glory and Praise are for You and blessed is Your name, and exalted is Your Majesty and Glorious is Your Praise and there is no god but You.” She folded Asil’s hands across his breast, passing them gently under the free fall strap so they’d stay in place. There was no resistance. His skin was warm and familiar under her palms. She knew if she took off this helmet she would smell his distinct scent. She pulled the blanket the rest of the way over him, tucking it under his head.

“Oh Allah, let Your blessing come upon Muhammad and the family of Muhammad as you blessed Ibrahim and his family. Truly are you praiseworthy and Glorious.”

She retrieved her gloves and swam down the aisle of zombies until she reached the biggest wall locker. She tore it open and found a row of metal tanks strapped inside. She checked the tanks’ tags. Four of them were oxygen.

“Oh Allah, forgive those of us who are still alive…” She dragged two of the tanks out of their racks and swam back to the center of the room. Oh Allah, forgive those of us who are still alive. She jammed the two tanks underneath the nearest monitor bed and opened up the valves. “…and those who have passed away, those present and those absent…” She hauled out two more tanks and jammed them under another bunk. “the males and the females…” She opened their valves. A gentle hiss filled the room. Her mind pictured the gas swirling through the air, increasing its concentration and pressure as it was freed from the confines of the tanks into the confines of the room.

It was enough. It was actually far more than enough to quickly fill this room with enough oxygen for what she had in mind.

She opened another maintenance panel and traced the diagram until she found the fire extinguishers. With a single snip of the wire cutters, she cut their connections.

“Oh Allah, the one whom You wish to keep alive…” she faltered and tears almost choked her. She cleared her throat roughly and grabbed a bulb labeled “alcohol” that floated out of the wall locker. A coil of sterile gauze bobbed along beside it. She opened the bulb and clamped the gauze over it, forcing the gauze into the bulb until the alcohol soaked into it. She yanked a length of the gauze out of the bulb and tied it around the neck, so that the bulb, half-full of the leftover alcohol, dangled like an amulet from the end of her makeshift wick.

“…the one whom You wish to keep alive…” she repeated hoarsely. “…from among us make him live according to Islam…” She wrapped the soaking bandage around the hatchway handle.

Keeping hold of one end of the gauze, Al Shei slipped out of the hatchway. She found the manual release and pulled it. The hatch slammed shut behind her. The gauze wick protruded from the hatch.

She reached for the cutting torch and twisted the handle to adjust the flame. She didn’t want to cut through the hatchway. She wanted to melt it shut.

“And anyone whom You wish to die from among us…” She lit the torch and held it over the wick. The wick vanished and the metal began to burn bright white. Her faceplate darkened. Sparks flew around her. In her mind’s eye, she saw through the walls. She saw the swirls of pure oxygen filling the air. The torch would heat the bulb beyond the hatchway, the wick would burn through and ignite the alcohol in the bulb. Still burning, the bulb would float through the room she had filled with inflammable gas, scattering sparks and flame. The room would burn. It would burn brightly and completely and there would be nothing in there but ash.

She could feel Asil behind her. He laid both strong hands on her shoulders. The suit did not separate them.

“What are you doing!” demanded a voice.

“Securing the hatch.” She didn’t turn around. “She’s might be after her husband. This’ll slow her down but good.”

“There’s a fire in there!”

She whirled around with the cutter and caught the intercom square in the center with the flame. Sparks and smoke poured out of it. She cut the flame and twisted back to the door.

Finish it, Beloved, Asil whispered in her ear. Finish it now.

“Let him die in the state of faith.” She touched the torch to the hatchway, sealing the hatch tight, trapping the fire inside the room of horrors.

“ Allahu Akbar. ” She shut off the torch. God is great.

And so Asil was truly dead. But the monster was still alive. She re-holstered the torch and kicked off the wall toward the stairwell.

A pair of hands grabbed her by the arm and whirled her around. A big, pale man clutched her helmet, trying to get it loose. She shot both hands up, breaking his grip and knocking herself free. She bounced off the railing and kicked back towards him. He swung at her stomach and, even through the suit, the pain doubled Al Shei over. She couldn’t stop herself from drifting upwards.

He launched himself after her, and grabbed at her shoulders, but she twisted part of the way away. They wheeled in the air, grappling with each other. Al Shei got both hands around the man’s waist and pulled him close to her. She shoved her knee into his groin and the both tumbled end-over-end but he was gasping in greater pain than she was and his grip loosened. Al Shei spun him around and wrapped her arm around his throat. “Where’s Curran?” she demanded.

“N-ho. N-o,” he wheezed.

With her free hand, Al Shei fumbled for the patch of fake skin behind the man’s right ear and ripped it open. “Do you feel where my finger is?” She stabbed down hard against the implant. “I’m going to weld that shut. Maybe you won’t survive that, but if you do, you’ll be trapped in this body for the rest of its life. Think about that! You’re going to grow old and die in this injured, Human, shell.”

“Level thirteen,” gasped the stranger. “He’s in his office.”