Earth Thirst (The Arcadian Conflict) - By Mark Teppo Page 0,129

and he goes limp beneath me.

I thrust the pistol back at her. “You keep it,” she says.

“Take it,” I reply. “I can't be two places at once.”

“Where are you going?”

“Down there,” I nod toward the terraces. “You're in charge of data collection. See what you can find that we can take with us.”

She hesitates, and I stand up, grabbing her arm and physically putting the gun in her hand. She recoils, but I won't let her go. “There's no time, Mere. If we don't get the data, Secutores will. At the very least, we have to make sure no one gets it.”

“You're going after Phoebe?”

“I'm not leaving her, and Escobar is down there. He has to be dealt with.”

Her hand closes around the grip of the pistol. “Okay,” she says in a quiet voice as if she is trying to convince herself.

“We're getting out of here on that helicopter. That's where you're heading.”

“You know how to fly a helicopter?” she asks. “I thought you hated flying.”

“It's the falling part that I don't like, which is why I learned how to fly those things that can keep me up in the air.”

More gunfire sounds, and not all of it is coming from the entrance. Bullets kick up the dirt around us.

Men are coming out of the building shell on the other side of the terraces. I guess Escobar had more men on site than I thought, though these guys are moving slowly enough they've got to be human mercenaries.

She still hesitates and I feel like I'm missing something, but there's no time to suss it out. “Go,” I insist, pushing her toward the lab. As soon as she starts running, I turn and dash to the edge of the terrace. As pairs of Secutores mercenaries come out of the tunnel, firing wildly at both me and Escobar's approaching security forces, I jump off the edge of the first ring.

* * *

The fronds on the fifth level are agitated. Ripples move back and forth among the sea of purple strands, and the pods are nearly hidden beneath the layers of plant life that are holding them. The motion of the fronds is synchronized enough to appear driven by some sort of awareness, and I don't like the idea that the process that Escobar has built is somehow accelerating in reaction to the assault on the facility. As if the plants know they are in danger.

Would Mother react in the same way? Or are we, her children, that reactive system?

I hit the ground on the level with the citrus trees, take three steps, and jump again. As I reach the second terrace, the bees start to swarm. I see Escobar running the circuit of the third terrace, a heavy stick in his hand. He's beating on each hive as he runs past, rapping the same staccato pattern on the wood. In his wake, the bees pour out of their hives, forming sizzling clouds over each hut. They're drifting up, and I slide to a halt near the edge of the second terrace. Bee stings individually aren't fatal, but in sufficient number, they can be debilitating.

A swarm floats past the edge of the second terrace, and I remain still, trying to control my breathing. The swarm extends tendrils of bees, scouts to test whether I am a friend or foe. I close my eyes and lay a hand over my mouth and nose, just to keep the inquisitive ones from getting too curious. They buzz in my ears and land on my face, exploring me.

But they don't sting me. I must taste right. They buzz over me, moving through my hair and across my skin, and then the swarm is gone, rising more quickly now toward the surface level. The other clouds follow. Escobar's defense system is keyed to non-Arcadian flesh, which is fine with me. Anything that will help keep Secutores busy is fine with me.

Having finished rousing his bees, Escobar leaps down to the fifth level, wading through the fronds. He's trying to reach the pods. I launch myself off the second terrace. As soon as I hit the ground on the third, I run along the circuit, flashing past the empty hives, until I'm directly overhead. Escobar is trying to free the pod from the grip of the fronds, and he's tearing chunks out of the white shell in his haste. I take a running long jump, windmilling my arms as I fly through the air.

He senses me coming, and gets

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