The Rig (21 page)

25

Scores Settled

He was halfway back to the freight elevator on the walkway above Elias' laboratory when the first explosion rocked the entire facility and Drake stumbled and dropped his rifle.

Oh, come on.
‘That wasn't even half a minute, Anderson …'

The technicians and lab assistants down below, having discovered Elias and the other unconscious men, reacted with screams and cries of surprise. Drake didn't have the time or the desire to bother with them. He picked up his rifle, slung the strap over his shoulder, and kept on running.
It'll be okay – and Irene and Tristan will already be up top.

Drake slid down the metal handrail on the stairs and ran up the corridor to the freight elevator. Every hurried step forced a shot of agony down his side, but time was short and getting shorter. He dashed past the large windows, paid no attention to the glowing crystal reefs and ridges, rounded the bend near the viewing platform he and Irene had hid in not too many weeks ago, and burst out into the facility's entrance. Another explosion shuddered through the metal and stone, and Drake saw thin cracks spread through the plaster.

Above, walkways snapped under the strain and a great cloud of stone and dust erupted through the high walls, raining down upon Drake.

He's going to bring it down!
That was so absurd that Drake almost laughed.
No, he's going to drown the whole awful place. Best not be here when he does.

He entered the straight arched tunnel that led to the freight elevator, bubbled glass overhead, and saw that spiderwebs of cracks were already splintering through the glass. Drops of freezing water slipped through the cracks and splashed on Drake's head. The tunnel moaned, and Drake's legs almost turned to jelly. He had seconds –
less
than seconds. Drake sprinted for the freight elevator, his bruised ribs on fire, and slammed his fist into the call button.

If the elevator's up top I'm done for.

‘
Drake!'

Drake glanced over his shoulder and saw Mohawk, his shaggy purple hair grown black at the roots and a snarl on his face, running down the tunnel towards him. His palms were ablaze with white light and bright red sparks seemed to be bleeding from his eyes.

With his back against the elevator doors, Drake watched as the glass shattered and an
ocean
gushed into the tunnel, sweeping Mohawk away in less than a heartbeat. The doors
pinged
open and he slipped through the gap. Drake managed to hammer the button for the ride up as freezing water gushed through the open doors and slammed him against the back of the car.

The doors closed against the cascade and the elevator began to rise, dragging a sodden and shivering Drake with it towards the surface. The car rose quickly, the water draining through the holes in the steel floor, but he could hear it churning up through the shaft, chasing him up to the Rig.

Drake stood as the elevator slowed and the doors slid open above the surface in the junkyard at the bottom of the eastern platform.

Alan Grey stood waiting for the elevator, not two metres from Drake. They stared at each other in dumb surprise for a moment, the Arctic Ocean bubbling up just underfoot, then Grey's eyes flashed red and Drake brought his rifle swinging up.

He shot Grey once in the chest and the large bully went down with a grunt, as water began to pool in the car and spill out into the junkyard.
Close one.

Grey sat up and Drake screamed. He shot him again, but the massive boy ripped the dart from his neck and struggled to stand. He fell back, splashing about in the cold water.

The Crystal-X is keeping him awake …

Drake left Grey to it – he needed to reach the
Titan
, find Irene and Tristan, and get the hell away from this place once and for all.

At this point, after all the days in Tubes and all the nights crawling about through vents, Drake knew the eastern platform like the back of his hand. He felt the floor shaking, violent vibrations shuddering through the metal walkways, and knew Anderson was still busy downstairs.
Could he bring down the whole platform?
He raced up towards the roof and the guard's bridge to the southern platform.

Every step was agony, pulling at his side, but there was no time to stop. He flew up stairs, leapt over pipes and through mazes of machinery, relying on his memory in the poor light. The morning was early, stars still sparkled indifferently overhead, but dawn wasn't far away. If he wasn't gone by then, he wouldn't be going. It was as simple as that.

Drake had to pause and catch his breath when he reached the bridged walkway to the southern platform, rifle at the ready. There were no guards this side, no one had been sent to investigate the disturbance below yet – it had only been a few minutes – but that was all about to change.

He had a good view of the southern platform. The Seahawk was on the helipad and the floodlights from Control high above cast plenty of light on the work crew loading crates near the platform's edge. The
Titan
's crane was swinging over from the massive ship.

Drake scanned the platform. It looked like Irene and Tristan's container had already been loaded into the hold of the ship. In a roundabout way, they were exactly where Drake had hoped he'd be by now. Although not locked inside with no chance of escape.

That's no good at all
.

A tremendous shock rattled the eastern platform and Drake was knocked off his feet. Vicious vibrations tore through the steel and pipes beneath him. Drake gripped the railing as the sound of screeching metal sent his world spinning.

A burst of foamy seawater exploded up like a giant geyser from below, enveloping the entire eastern platform. From his view up top, Drake's eyes bulged as the swash was hurled past him, up into the sky, and then began to fall. A deluge of cold water rained down upon the platform and, to his mounting horror, the entire mass of steel, pipes and machinery began to tilt towards the water.

The eastern platform was falling into the sea.

Someone up in the control tower must have noticed, as a piercing emergency siren began to wail across the Rig – the call to evacuate. Red warning lights flared to life along the outside of the tower, signalling distress.

Anderson, what did you do?
Drake struggled to stand, clinging to his rifle and the railing. The walkway to the southern platform was still there, but buckling under the strain of the entire eastern section of the Rig, trying to tear itself free.
He did
exactly what you wanted him to do …

‘
Drake!
' Emerging from the innards of the failing platform, Alan Grey glared at Drake, soaking wet. The twin darts Drake had pumped into him were gone, and the red light shining from his eyes was near blinding.

‘Hello, Alan.'

Drake shot him again – in the leg, this time. Grey fell to one knee, howling. Drake took to his heels and dashed out onto the buckling, screaming walkway to the southern platform. He ran as fast as he could, keeping to the centre of the twisting bridge. One good jerk, if the eastern platform moved another few centimetres, would fling him into the sea. He chanced a look over his shoulder and saw that the eastern half of the bridge had broken away from the platform.

The bolts and rigging holding the walkway to the structure weren't enough to keep it alive. Drake jumped the last two metres, landing just on the edge of the southern platform as the bridge fell away, clattering down towards the sea.

Drake looked back, breathing hard, at Grey, clinging to the handrail as the bridge struck the churning water far below. They were separated by about thirty metres of open air. Smiling, Drake offered him a quick one-fingered salute.

Grey took a large step back and then ran towards the edge of the platform.

He can't be seri—

Drake watched, not quite willing to believe what he was seeing, as Grey leapt off the edge of the eastern platform, arms outstretched, and hurled himself through the air towards Drake and the southern platform. Nothing but red madness shone in his eyes.
Powerful
madness.

Grey's leap was impossible, but he was doing it nonetheless. He flew six metres up into the air and was almost halfway across the gap between platforms before Drake came to a swift and terrible realisation.

Blimey, he's going to make it!

Taking two large steps back, Drake swung his rifle up once again, took careful aim, and fired – which is to say, he sprayed the air in the general direction of Grey and prayed to whatever gods were listening that something struck the magical psychopath.

The eastern platform sunk further towards the sea behind Grey as he flew across the gap, screaming and wailing and gnashing his teeth. His hands opened and closed out in front of him, as if he already had them wrapped around Drake's throat.

Drake kept falling back towards the Seahawk and turned to run as Grey struck the platform. He took two massive lunges forward, then his eyes rolled into the back of his head and he tumbled to the ground. Three darts stuck out of his chest. Grey went down for the count a second time, groaning and foaming at the mouth.
He won't be down for long …

Still, Drake breathed a sigh of relief. He'd bought himself more time, at least five seconds, and there was a lot you could do in five seconds. He looked beyond the Seahawk and saw crew from the
Titan
lashing netting around the crates to be loaded onto the ship. The crane's hook swung in the wind, over the platform, ready for the cargo.

‘Drake? What the
hell
do you think you're doing?'

Drake snapped his head to the right, towards Processing. Marcus Brand stood across the platform, a dumbfounded expression on his face. Drake recovered quickly and reached for his rifle. The tiny dart flew swift and true, striking Brand in the chest. The impact knocked the guard back a step, but that was all it did. The dart bounced off his chest, having failed to pierce his armour.

Brand grinned. ‘Nice shot.'

Drake fired again and was rewarded with an empty click. The clip of darts had finally run dry.

He turned and fled, disappearing behind the bulk of the Seahawk as a spray of darts erupted from Brand's rifle. Drake heard them zipping past his head and pinging off the chopper. He kept the chopper between himself and Brand, as sirens wailed and more of the eastern platform fell into the sea. It was on its last legs now – literally – leaning at an angle that would soon send it crashing over, top heavy.

Drake was out of ideas and ammo. He shivered in the cool night air, his jumpsuit soaked through and clinging to his skin like a suit of ice. Through the open hold in the chopper he glimpsed Brand reloading, a grim smile on his face.

Still enjoying his job …
Drake thought. ‘Hey, Brand, can I ask you a question?'

Brand laughed. ‘Shoot. No, wait,
I'll
shoot.'

High-pressure darts bounced off the floor of the Seahawk's hold, flicking over Drake's head. He laughed himself.

‘Sod you, then!' Drake shouted. ‘I'm checking out of this hotel, mate. The bed was lumpy and the staff incompetent. Not once did I find a mint on my pillow!'

‘I'll have a word with housekeeping,' Brand snarled, and stepped into the hold of the Seahawk.

Drake rolled away and gained his feet. He had only seconds before Brand made it across the hold and levelled his rifle against his back. At a dead sprint, straining against the burning pain in his side which forced tears from his eyes, Drake dashed across the helipad – straight towards the crates just being lifted from the platform by the
Titan
's crane.

More darts whizzed past his head, striking two of the crew that had attached the load to the crane. They slumped, unconscious before they hit the concrete.

The crane swung the crates out over the edge of the platform and Drake knew this was it – his last chance.
Do or die,
he thought.

You can't fly out of here, you know,
Doctor Lambros whispered.

Actually, Drake thought he could.

He put on a final burst of speed and leapt off the edge of the platform, arms outstretched, reaching for the netting securing the crates to the crane's hook. For a split-second he was tethered to nothing but the open air. Dark, unforgiving ocean churned dozens of metres below. Sure death if he missed …

The moment he leapt was the exact moment the final pillars and supports of the eastern platform collapsed and the massive structure plunged into the sea. The platform fell screaming, and a thunderous spray of water was sent shooting into the sky, accompanied by a tremendous and hellish
boom
. Massive waves rippled out from the impact, rocking the
Titan
where it floated and sending the crane swaying.

Drake snatched the webbing surrounding the crates with a triumphant cry and dangled back and forth, his arms burning, a good sixty metres above the water, as the crane swung around over the
Titan
. The burst of air and water from the eastern platform's ultimate collapse rattled the teeth in his head, but he held on grimly. A wave at least five metres high rocked the southern platform as the evacuation sirens wailed. Brand was thrown from his feet, much to Drake's satisfaction.

Once over the ship, the crane operator lowered the load and, two metres above the deck, Drake waved to a very surprised crew as he disappeared into the cargo hold.

26

Titan's Fall

Drake descended into the cargo hold of the
Titan
and leapt back off the crates onto the first walkway he saw. A group of crew down below were pointing and shouting at him, and he didn't want to get swarmed and held down until Brand or any other guards caught up with him.

He hit the walkway hard. Shocking all of his injuries into protest, but with no time to waste, Drake stumbled onto his feet and took off at a quick jog, the best he could manage, through the ship.

The walkway led him to a steel door, an exit out of the hold, and into a narrow, dull-green corridor. Drake grabbed a fire extinguisher from the wall as he ran, looking for a way down and around. Panting hard, he slipped down the handrail on a set of stairs, slamming into a surprised crew member at the bottom and knocking the hardhat from the poor chap's head.

Drake managed to stay on his feet and took the next staircase down and swung left, back towards the cargo hold. Three crewmen raced towards him down the same hallway.

‘There he is!' one of them barked. ‘Grab him!'

Drake didn't slow down. He pulled the pin from the extinguisher, pointed the nozzle at the men, and squeezed the handle.

A cloud of thick, white smothering material burst from the extinguisher and hung in the air. The crew spluttered into the cloud as Drake ran past, holding his breath. He emerged on the other side covered in white powder, but still free, and tossed the extinguisher aside. The hallway led him exactly where he wanted to go – the ground floor of the cargo hold.

The stars were visible overhead, through the open hatch doors of the hold, as Drake disappeared into a maze of shipping containers and small crates, all stamped with the silver Alliance Systems crown.

Which one was it?
For a moment, Drake's mind froze. The number of Irene and Tristan's container wouldn't come to him. He rolled his tongue around his mouth and cursed. ‘I don't wanna be here any more … you little rhyming idiot …
nine-five-four
!'

That was it.

Now where is it?

The hold was at least thirty metres across, dimly lit. Wails from the Rig's evacuation sirens emanated down from above, adding a sense of urgency to the chase. Drake knew time was running out.

Panting from the exertion and the pain in his side, Drake ran in a pattern up and down the long aisles of the containers and crates, looking for the right one. He dismissed most of them straight away, as they were regular-sized shipping containers, far too long.

Towards the centre of the cargo hold, he began to find what he was looking for – the smaller crates and containers, wet from the sea air and fresh off the Rig.

‘Nine-five-four … nine-five-four …' He ran past it twice before he saw the faded black numbers on the side. ‘Blimey, blind as a bat …'

With a grunt, Drake lifted and unlatched the bolt on container
X-954AS
and swung the door open. A pool of soft, ethereal light from the mineral spilled out onto the floor of the cargo hold. From between the rows of glowing tanks, Irene and Tristan poked their heads up, blinking against the brighter light from outside the container.

‘Will?' Tristan whispered. ‘Will!'

They darted out from around the mineral tanks. Irene threw her arms around Drake, smiling. ‘Where are we?'

‘We're on the
Titan
,' Drake said. ‘They loaded you into the cargo hold. We're right where we need to be.'

‘How'd you get off the Rig?'

Drake gave Irene a shaky smile. ‘They're a bit distracted on the Rig at the moment. Come on. We're going this way.'

‘I thought the plan was to hide in a container until we were away from this place and then swipe a speedboat?' Tristan asked.

‘That was a good plan, yeah, but they know I'm here now. So
hurry up
, before we're –'

Something bit Drake in his left shoulder and he stumbled back a step, a tiny frown creasing his brow. Whatever bit him burrowed deep and exploded out of the nook just over his heart and kept flying, smacking into the glowing tank of mineral in the container. He looked down and saw a crimson stain spreading through the green cloth of his jumpsuit.

Irene screamed.

Drake fell forwards into the Crystal-X container, just as Grey emerged from the shadows and closed his colossal arms around Irene and Tristan. They struggled, but were no match for Grey's mineral-enhanced strength. There was no colour left in his eyes save that cruel, insane red.

Marcus Brand stepped out behind Grey, a smoking pistol in his hand, and looked down at Drake on the floor of the container.

I've been shot …
some vague and distant part of Drake's mind realised.

‘Take those two up top and cuff 'em to the deck,' Brand said and handed Grey a pair of steel handcuffs. ‘Storm will need someone to blame for what happened down below the eastern platform. I think these two will do just nicely.'

Grey pulled Drake's allies away. Irene clawed and bit at him, but he just squeezed her until she stopped.

‘Can I ask you a question, Drake?' Brand said and kneeled down, passing his pistol from hand to hand.

Drake licked his lips. ‘Shoot …'

‘Can you name one person that's going to miss you?'

Drops of water splashed against Drake's forehead. He kept his gaze locked on Brand, but out of the corner of his eye he saw a web of cracks spreading through the mineral tank.
Follow the web …
The bullet that had passed clean through him, spraying his blood across the container, had slammed into the reinforced tank – and weakened the glass.

‘My friends would,' Drake said, and found that he believed that.

Brand placed the barrel of his pistol between Drake's eyes, as he had done in the exercise area a few months ago. ‘I mean someone that won't be as dead as you in five minutes.'

Drake did the only thing that made sense. He curled his hand into a fist and punched the splintered glass of the mineral tank just behind his head. The tank shattered and Brand leapt back with a curse as a torrent of sea water and glowing blue mineral washed over Drake, covering him in a deluge of electric-blue light.

A harsh, startled breath was all he managed before the water hit him. Jolts of pure power made Drake arch his back as the glowing blue rock claimed him. Wherever the mineral touched bare skin, it clung and was absorbed into his flesh. Drake
bathed
in the Crystal-X and a rush of incredible energy surged through his body as he absorbed more and more of the light.

And still the mineral flowed, as if he were a sponge mopping up a spill. Hundreds of kilograms of it fell out of the tank and into the nearest source of life – William Drake.

Light.

Everything else faded away – the pain from his injuries, the fear for Irene and Tristan and the hate for Brand, Alan Grey and the immense, merciless Rig itself. In its place Drake felt an absurd calm, a solemn peace at the heart of the storm. He felt
light,
as energy from an impossible source soared through his veins and gave him strength.

Strength unbound.

He found himself on his feet, though he didn't remember standing, and tiny sparks of blue lightning danced across his skin, playing in the blood trickling down his arm from the gunshot wound. Arcs of power struck the walls of the container, scorching them black. Water about a quarter metre deep flowed past his ankles, towards Brand, who turned on his heels and fled after taking one look at Drake's face.

Not so fast
, Drake thought, extending his arm. The same words burst from his throat, bellowing through the cargo hold, and rattling the entire ship.

A lash of pure energy whipped from his palm and wrapped itself around Brand's neck. The guard was jerked back off his feet and hit the floor. Drake stepped out of the container, realised with some surprise that he was actually floating a few centimetres off the ground, and hovered over Brand.

Brand's gun arm came up and he fired three times –
blam, blam, blam
– point blank into Drake's chest.

‘
No …
'

The bullets struck his chest and …
phased
straight through him, as if he wasn't there – nothing but a ghost. The shots pinged off the containers behind him, ricocheting away through the hold.

Brand's eyes widened. ‘Christ, lad, what
are
you?'

Drake considered, then shook his head. ‘Did you kill Doctor Lambros?' he asked quietly. Power thrummed in every syllable, shaking the crates all around him.

‘I …' Brand snarled. ‘Storm ordered it. The bitch was asking too many questions –
ah!
'

Drake clenched his fist and the noose of energy around Brand's neck tightened, cutting him off with a strangled choke. ‘You deserve to die.'

Brand struggled against the bond of light and then slumped. ‘Are you …?' he croaked. ‘Are you going to kill me, Drake?'

As if from across an impossible distance of time and space, a tiny voice whispered in the back of Drake's mind.
No …
‘I honestly don't know,' he said.

A flash of blinding light erupted from the mineral container. Drake hadn't managed to absorb it all, and what was left in the bottom of the shattered tank had finally mixed with the open air. A wave of tremendous heat and power slammed into the two of them with all the fury of a tsunami. The explosion sent both Drake and Brand flying across the cargo hold. Drake slammed into containers, tore through them like tissue paper, and left dents in the ones he merely glanced. Blue light swam across his body, absorbing the impacts, protecting him. He was so full of energy he began to scream.

A white ball of burning fire consumed the cargo hold and began to grow, as Drake came to a ragged stop against the same crate he'd used to flee the Rig not twenty minutes ago. His leg was caught in the netting and he discovered there were limits to his newfound power. A sharp pain tore up through his ankle. Something snapped. Drake felt it go, but the pain was a distant thing, much like his shoulder.

The light flowing through his arms, his entire body, began to fade away. Unsure just how he'd grasped the power in the first place, only that he'd wanted to
hurt
Brand, he now felt like he'd been washed in with the tide, and the tide had receded – leaving him drying under a harsh, painful sun. Drake came crashing back down to earth, the Crystal-X dropping him as quickly as it had energised him. Staggering pain washed over him. He had been thrown clear of the blast range from the container, but that sphere of fire in the heart of the hold was growing.

And there's another tank in there … not to mention the other containers
.

Fear rushed through him as he realised the implications of what was happening. The
Titan
was going to explode – and soon.

Drake clung to the netting and crawled to his feet. His ankle stung when he put weight on it, but he could hobble. Pulsating heat, like the edge of a bonfire, chased him as he turned and fled towards the doorway out of the hold, into the corridors that would take him upstairs.

I won't make it,
he thought, as drops of molten metal began to rain down all around him. The hold was as bright as midday from the ball of fire.
I need the power again …

Drake gritted his teeth and kept limping.
Come on!
A burst of blue light pulsed through his forearm, igniting the web of veins. He felt like he'd crawled back into the shallows of the impossible ocean of light his body had absorbed. The pain in his ankle lessened and Drake managed a slow jog and ducked for cover through the door out of the hold just as another, fatal explosion rocked the
Titan
.

To Drake, it sounded like the end of the world.

There was a mighty all-consuming roar as the remaining Crystal-X mineral, locked away in containers Drake hadn't absorbed, exploded in a geyser of white-hot superheated flame. The entire hull of the
Titan
expanded outwards instantly. The pressure of the deton-ated mineral forced the seams within the ship and along the hull to burst.

Drake was thrown from his feet again and into the wall of the corridor. Rivets from the hold behind him popped out like bullets, shooting every which way. He held his hands over his head and curled up small, praying none of the deadly projectiles struck him. He got lucky, and as the fire began to truly rage in the hold behind him, Drake heard a terrible scream.

He looked back.

Standing in the doorway, wreathed in smoke and flame, Brand was on fire and
screaming
. All the hair had burned from his head and his armour was fused to his flesh. He fell to his knees as a wave of dark, foaming water burst through the hold – the explosions had finally ruptured the
Titan
's hull – and swept him away.

Drake turned and fled through the nearest door, heading away from the cargo hold as fast as his injured ankle could carry him.