LOCATION: KIBO MAGMA CHAMBER (DEPTH: -250 METERS).
OBJECTIVE: BOARD THE ENEMY VESSEL.
STATUS: CRITICAL.
The sky didn't fall. The ceiling did.
I stood on the narrow obsidian ledge, looking up at a nightmare. The Iron Sovereign—the city-sized Land-Carrier of the Foundry—was grinding its way down the throat of the volcano.
It was a feat of engineering that defied physics. The massive ship, four hundred meters long, was wider than the volcanic vent. It wasn't floating down; it was carving its way down.
SCREEEEEECH-GRIND.
The sound was the scream of the planet being flayed. The carrier's hull was lined with diamond-tipped grinding wheels. They chewed into the basalt walls of the crater, showering us with sparks the size of cars and boulders the size of houses.
"Displacement!" I yelled over the roar, pulling Nayla back as a chunk of rock smashed into the ledge where she had been standing.
"What?" Volkov shouted, firing his rifle uselessly at the descending metal hull.
"Archimedes' Principle!" I pointed at the lava lake below. "If you drop a ship that big into a bathtub..."
Volkov looked down.
The magma wasn't just bubbling anymore. It was rising. Rapidly. The immense volume of the ship entering the chamber was pushing the lava level up.
"The lake is rising to meet us!" K-Ray screamed. "We're going to drown in fire!"
I checked my altimeter. The lava was rising at one meter per second. We had maybe thirty seconds before our ledge was submerged.
"We can't climb out!" Nayla cried. "The ship is blocking the exit!"
I looked at the massive black hull of the Iron Sovereign descending above us. It was a wall of steel, bristling with turrets and exhaust ports.
"We don't climb out," I said, grabbing my grappling hook. "We climb on."
"Board it?" Volkov asked, his eyes wide. "In mid-air? While it is crushing the mountain?"
"It's the only life raft in hell, Colonel."
I looked at Juma.
He was leaning against the wall, his skin now a dull, matte grey. His movements were jerky, like a stop-motion animation. The Obsidianosis was spreading. His elbow joints clicked audibly when he moved.
"Juma," I said. "Can you jump?"
Juma looked at the ship. He looked at his petrified hands.
"I am... heavy," Juma said. His voice sounded like gravel rattling in a tin can.
"Good," I said. "Be the anchor."
THE ANCHOR SPIKE
The ship descended another ten meters. The heat from its engines blasted us, smelling of ozone and burning grease.
A massive Stabilizer Spike shot out from the side of the hull. It was a harpoon the size of a telephone pole, fired into the cavern wall to slow the ship's descent.
THOOM.
The spike slammed into the rock ten meters above our heads. It held fast, a steel bridge connecting the wall to the ship.
"That's our ticket!" I yelled. "K-Ray! Shoot the line!"
K-Ray raised his pneumatic line-launcher. He aimed for the spike.
THWIP.
The steel cable wrapped around the spike.
"Go! Go! Go!"
The lava washed over our boots.
Volkov went first. He powered up his exoskeleton and ascended the rope like a machine. Nayla followed, agile and quick. K-Ray scrambled up, terrified.
"Juma! Now!"
Juma grabbed the rope.
He pulled.
SNAP.
The rope broke.
It didn't snap because of the quality. It snapped because Juma's hand had turned into razor-sharp obsidian shards. He sheared right through the steel cable.
Juma fell back onto the ledge. The lava was at his knees.
"Juma!" I screamed, reaching down.
"Go..." Juma rasped. He looked at his hands. "I cannot... hold."
The lava was rising. The rock beneath him was melting.
"I am not leaving you!" I yelled.
I looked at the environment.
Analyze. Adapt. Dismantle.
I looked at the Magma-Wyverns circling above, confused by the massive ship entering their nest.
One of them swooped low, shrieking at the metal intruder.
I grabbed my Bolt-Driver. I didn't load a bolt. I loaded a Grapple-Head.
"Juma! Grab the Wyvern!"
"What?"
"When I shoot it, grab its tail!"
I aimed. I fired.
The grapple hook hit the Magma-Wyvern in its leathery flank. The creature shrieked and thrashed, diving toward the ledge in pain.
As it swooped past, Juma reached out.
His obsidian claws locked onto the Wyvern's tail.
The creature tried to fly up, flapping its wings against the weight of the stone-man. It couldn't lift him high, but it lifted him out of the lava.
"Swing!" I yelled, jumping and grabbing Juma's ankle.
We swung through the air, a pendulum of meat and stone attached to a screaming fire-bat.
We swung toward the Stabilizer Spike.
"Let go!"
Juma released the Wyvern. We crashed onto the steel spike, scrambling for purchase on the vibrating metal.
Below us, the ledge we had been standing on disappeared under the magma.
We were hanging on a metal toothpick, stuck between a crashing ship and a rising volcano.
THE HULL
We crawled along the spike toward the ship.
The hull of the Iron Sovereign was a vertical cliff of black armor plating. We found a maintenance ladder recessed into the metal.
"Up!" Volkov ordered. "Before the next spike fires!"
We climbed. The wind from the ship's descent whipped our clothes. The sound was deafening.
We crested the railing and rolled onto the Flight Deck.
The deck of the Carrier was a battlefield.
It wasn't empty. It was crawling with Foundry Drones.
But they weren't combat units. They were Repair Drones. Spiders made of chrome, welding hull plates, fixing the grinding wheels, and fighting off the Magma-Wyverns that were swarming the ship.
[ENEMY TYPE: WELDER-BOT]
[WEAPON: PLASMA TORCH]
[BEHAVIOR: TERRITORIAL]
"Stay low!" I hissed, ducking behind a crate of ammunition.
The deck was vast—four football fields of black steel. In the center, the command tower rose like a fortress. And all around us, the "Smoke" wasn't smoke. It was Red Dust, being pumped out by the ship's scrubbers.
"We need a heat source," I said to Volkov. "Juma is freezing up."
I looked at Juma. He had collapsed against the crate. His legs were rigid. The grey petrification had reached his chest. His breathing was shallow, a clicking sound in his throat.
"My heart..." Juma whispered. "It's... solidifying."
"The reactor," Volkov pointed to the stern of the ship. "The main engine stack. It will be hot enough to restart the reaction."
"That's 300 meters of open deck," Nayla said. "Through an army of bots."
"We don't fight them," I said, watching a Welder-Bot scorch a Wyvern with its torch. "We blend in."
I pointed to a pile of scrap metal near us.
"Camouflage?" K-Ray asked.
"No," I said. "Bait."
I grabbed a piece of scrap. I threw it toward a group of drones.
CLANG.
The drones turned. Their sensors scanned the noise.
"Run!"
We sprinted.
We moved from cover to cover—crates, parked aircraft, ventilation stacks. The drones were distracted by the Wyverns attacking from above. It was a chaotic three-way war: The Ship vs. The Volcano vs. Us.
We made it halfway to the engine stack.
Then, we stopped.
Blocking our path was a Blast Door.
It was sealed. And standing in front of it was a Centurion.
It wasn't a drone. It was a Glass Suit. Similar to what the Foreman had become, but primitive. A suit of animated, red glass armor, holding a massive energy shield.
[ENEMY: GLASS CENTURION]
[STATUS: GATEKEEPER]
"It sees us," Nayla whispered.
The Centurion turned. Its faceless glass head focused on us. It raised a heavy pulse-rifle.
"Cover!"
We dove behind a fuel tank. Plasma bolts chewed up the metal above our heads.
"We can't flank it," Volkov said, checking his ammo. "I have three rounds left. And that shield is solid energy."
"We need to break the shield," I said.
I looked at Juma. He was sitting on the deck, barely moving. His eyes were half-closed.
"Juma," I shook him. "I need you."
"Can't..." Juma whispered. "Statue... now."
"You're not a statue!" I yelled. "You're a battery! And batteries explode!"
I grabbed my wrench. I looked at the Centurion. I looked at the Fuel Tank we were hiding behind.
Analyze. Adapt. Dismantle.
"Volkov," I said. "Shoot the valve."
"The fuel valve? It will explode!"
"Not the fuel," I pointed to the pipe labeled LIQUID NITROGEN COOLANT. "The coolant line."
"Why?"
"Just do it!"
Volkov aimed. He fired.
PING.
The bullet punctured the pipe. A jet of freezing white fog sprayed out, directly into the path of the Centurion.
The Centurion stepped back, raising its shield to block the cold spray.
"Now!" I grabbed Juma. "Juma, give me your hand!"
I grabbed his petrified, obsidian hand. It was hard as rock.
"Throw it!" I yelled.
I spun Juma around, using his own body weight. I threw his arm forward.
Juma understood. He didn't use muscles. He used momentum.
He detached his hand.
SNAP.
His hand—frozen, crystallized, and heavy as a brick—flew off his wrist.
It sailed through the air. It passed through the liquid nitrogen mist.
The Obsidian Hand hit the Centurion's energy shield.
CRACK.
Physics took over. The super-dense obsidian, cooled by the nitrogen, acted like a kinetic penetrator. It shattered the energy field generator on the Centurion's arm.
The shield flickered and died.
"FIRE!"
Nayla popped up and fired three arrows. Not at the armor, but at the joints.
The arrows jammed the Centurion's knee servos. It stumbled.
Volkov charged. He tackled the Centurion, jamming his rifle barrel into the creature's glass neck.
BLAM.
The Centurion shattered into a thousand red shards.
We stood there, panting.
Juma looked at his wrist. It was a smooth, grey stump. No blood. Just stone.
"You threw my hand," Juma said, sounding distant.
"I'll build you a new one," I promised. "A better one. Now let's get you to the fire."
THE HEART OF THE SOVEREIGN
We blew the blast door and entered the ship.
The interior of the Iron Sovereign was a shock. Outside, it was fire and brimstone. Inside, it was silent, sterile, and cold.
The walls were white. The floor was polished black glass. It looked like a hospital, or a laboratory.
"Where is the engine?" K-Ray whispered, his voice echoing in the hallway.
"Down," I said, checking a wall panel. "Deck 9. The Plasma Core."
We ran. We passed rooms filled with rows of sleeping drones. We passed tanks filled with green Spore Fluid.
"This isn't just a ship," Nayla realized. "It's an incubator. He's growing soldiers."
We reached the Engine Room.
I expected a boiler. I expected a nuclear reactor.
I didn't expect a Garden.
The "Engine Room" was a massive, domed chamber. In the center, suspended in a magnetic field, was a sphere of pure, raging plasma. It was the "Sun" of the ship.
But surrounding the sun... were trees.
Green Glass Trees. Like the ones in Arusha, but perfect. They were growing out of the machinery, their roots tapping into the plasma conduits.
And standing in the garden... was the Foreman.
He wasn't wearing his armor. He was in his Glass Skeleton form, his red circuitry pulsing. He was standing with his back to us, staring into the plasma sun.
"Welcome, Engineer," the Foreman's voice vibrated through the glass floor.
He turned.
He was holding something.
A small, brass cylinder.
The Foundry Command Module I had used on the train. The one I had used to override the safety limits.
"You brought my key back to me," the Foreman smiled. "Thank you."
He crushed the cylinder in his glass hand.
BEEP.
A siren blared.
[SYSTEM ALERT: MAGMA SIPHON ENGAGED]
[CORE TEMP: CRITICAL]
[INITIATING: PLANETARY COOLING PROTOCOL]
The ship groaned. The floor tilted.
"He's not drilling anymore," I realized. "He's sinking the ship."
"What?" Volkov asked.
"He's going to submerge the Carrier into the magma," I said. "He's going to plug the ship directly into the planet's core like a cork."
"And us?"
"We are inside the cork."
The Foreman spread his glass arms.
"The surface is flawed. The future is subterranean. Join me in the glass, or burn in the flesh."
I looked at Juma. He had fallen to his knees. The heat of the Plasma Sun was reaching him.
His grey skin began to crack. A faint golden glow appeared in the fissures.
"Juma?" I whispered.
Juma looked up. His eyes were no longer gold.
They were White.
"The heat..." Juma whispered. "It's too much."
He stood up. The stone shell around his body shattered.
He wasn't turning back into flesh.
He was turning into Light.