Amy Foster - The Rift Uprising

“Hey, man,” he says, extending his hand. “I’m Boone and this is Violet, Henry, and of course you’ve already met Katniss.”

Vi stifles a giggle.

“Your name is Katniss? Seriously?”

“No, it’s not. That’s Boone’s idea of a joke. My name is Ryn.” I hold my hand out and he shakes it and smiles genuinely.

“Ezra.”

“Ezra, great!” Boone says. “Okay, we’re all friends now and we’re gonna get outta here ’cause, I’m not gonna lie, this particular spot is very not safe. All I need to do before we leave is use this little machine,” he says, holding up a small silver box about the size of a phone, “to make sure you aren’t radioactive. It’s cool, right?”

Ezra gulps, and his eyes widen in alarm. “Why would I be radioactive?” Boone doesn’t answer his question, nor does he wait for permission; he just waves the machine up and down over Ezra’s body. He looks at me, wondering if Boone is kidding again. I mouth the word sorry to him and then crane my neck and look at the interface. It’s blue. Ezra is fine, which I pretty much knew, but in our line of work you can’t take anything at face value.

Even a face as gorgeous as Ezra’s.

I suppose I was distracted by what I had just done, and that being so close to Ezra threw my senses totally out of whack, because I’m a bit surprised when he points at The Rift and says, “Why is it doing that?”

I glance over, and my eyes widen: The Rift has escalated to Stage 3. We all look at each other for a moment. This is how quickly things can go wrong here. This is how stupid mistakes can get people killed. I enable my audio right away, report to Command, and I’m instantly treated to an onslaught of expletives from Applebaum.

“We need to get to cover,” Henry says calmly, but I can hear the strain in his voice. He’s pissed. I feel a pang of guilt that my rash decision to come out and meet Ezra alone has now put us all at risk. I sweep it away. I can’t afford to feel anything right now. I have to let my training take over and go back to being a soldier. The Rift doesn’t usually open up again so quickly, but of course, this would be the day it does.

“There’s no time, everyone, just hold your positions. It could be a dog for all we know. Just calm down and keep your hand on your weapon. Do not draw, though. Repeat: Do not draw your weapons,” I say with authority. “The Nests have eyes on our situation and can provide ample backup if we need it.” My team listens to me, and Ezra to his credit is also standing perfectly still. A lot of other people would have run, so his staying says something about him.

Of course, he could be doing the whole deer-trapped-in-headlights routine. That happens sometimes, too.

The Rift turns to deadly black and seven men come tumbling out. They aren’t Karekins, so at least there’s that. But they are very large. They have fair skin and long beards, and long hair, though some have pulled it back in rows of braids. They are wearing leathers and pelts. They are armed with an assortment of weapons, some axes, some broadswords. Each is holding a wooden shield with enough decoration and symbology to give me a clue. Apparently Ezra has the same idea as I do.

“Are those Vikings ?” he says incredulously.

“Yes, it seems like … yes, those look like, uhh, Vikings.” I take a step forward, but I do not reach out my arms. If they are anything like the Vikings we had on our Earth, they will not respect passivity.

I put my hands on my hips and give the newest Immigrants what I can only describe as a Peter Pan stance. “ Legg ned våpnene. Jeg gir deg kun en advarsel. Legg ned våpnene nå! ” Which roughly translates into: Put down your weapons. I’m not going to give you another warning.

“You speak Viking?” Ezra asks, noticeably shocked. I would argue that the fact that I speak Norwegian is far less fantastic than the fact that real-life Vikings have just tumbled through a Rift of time and space, but bantering seems inappropriate. The warriors shout and shake their weapons.

“Vi har visst dødd og er kommet til Valhalla. Det er vår rett til å ta våre våpen til Odin selv, for å bevise at vi er krigere. Vike trollkvinne!”

Boone can’t stop the laugh that escapes full throttle out of his mouth.

“What did he say?” whispers Ezra.

“They think they’ve died and have arrived at Valhalla. They need their weapons to prove what hard-asses they are to Odin. They also say I’m a witch or demon.” I wonder if Ezra thinks that we’ll just shoot them. I know that would probably be my initial thought if murderous warriors just popped out in front of me. As easy as shooting them would be, though, things don’t work that way. We don’t kill people without prejudice. It was our scientists who created this Rift, and the thirteen others around the world, albeit accidentally. I mean, I think it was an accident. That’s what we were told. ARC has never fully explained the experiment, and even though we all have advanced intellects capable of understanding the complexities of the exact cause, we’ve never been given the full debrief. It’s been deemed top secret, above our security clearance. I guess they don’t want us Citadels blaming any one scientist specifically. Which is ridiculous. As members of ARC, we collectively shoulder the responsibility for what happens with The Rift. We are way past finger-pointing.

Again, though, how or why this happened doesn’t matter. It’s our fault these men are here. It’s our fault that their communities will be broken and their children will grow up without fathers. You can’t point a gun at someone and pull the trigger to solve this kind of problem, especially when they can’t even wrap their minds around what a gun is, let alone the circumstances that led them to be here. We could tranquilize them—in fact, that’s exactly what we used to do. But then we figured out (through trial and error and the input of many anthropologists) that, in cases like this, these men must be defeated on their own terms. They have to be given a fighting chance so that their surrender will be lasting. I don’t love combat, but I am good at it, especially hand to hand. Everyone gets a boost when they do something they are really good at. I’m no exception. And these guys … it’s pretty clear they like a good throw down. Their body language is defiant, tensed. They are ready to bring it.

So am I.

“Vi, stay here with Ezra. Make sure he’s covered.”

Violet nods and stands in front of him, her hands on her rifle, but as ordered does not draw it. The three of us who remain walk just a few steps forward, and I see out of the corner of my eye Violet backing up, taking Ezra farther away from where the action is bound to happen. We don’t run at the men, because we want them to come to us, away from The Rift. The men are screaming in Norwegian and pounding their swords against their shields. As annoying as it is, it’s better than getting an earful from the colonel. Applebaum is blessedly silent. He knows well enough not to try to talk to me with the threat right in front of us, though I know he’ll go ballistic on me once we return to the base. Now we just have to make sure we make it back to the base.

The Vikings begin to move forward, and I take a deep breath. Good. They are gaining distance from The Rift. When we are about twenty feet apart, one of the men throws his ax and it hurtles toward me. I catch it easily with one hand and for a moment the seven men are silent. I turn around and throw the ax in the opposite direction, much farther than he could have thrown it, right into a tree trunk. The Vikings charge anyway.

I have to give them bravery points for that.

The whole encounter lasts less than two minutes. I leap ten feet into the air and use a tree as leverage to make another jump down onto two of the men. I land squarely on the chest of one and kick out hard into the groin of the other. The one on the ground is unconscious. I have just enough time to turn him over and make sure there is no blood, that he hasn’t hit a rock. Nope. Just your basic traumatic head injury. The one I kicked has recovered somewhat and lunges toward me. I see both Henry and Boone a few feet away. Henry actually picks up one of the men by the throat and lifts him high enough to throw a few feet. Boone blocks and parries the weapons easily. We all move so much faster than them, it’s hardly a contest.