Chapter 13: Ten Minutes, Many People to Save. Part 3

  04:06 — 60.91% | Teleporter

  We didn’t have time for simulations or rehearsals. There were too many people to save.

  So the first tests would be done with humans.

  Even though I had plenty of experience with teleportation machines, I usually built them under more controlled circumstances.

  Right now, I was in one of the city’s many hangars—one we’d converted into an improvised lab for space launches.

  A group of robots, operated by one of my countless AIs, was monitoring the transfer of the population toward the machine so we could begin teleporting.

  The device itself was crude, improvised, and poorly designed—but functional.

  I watched in silence, thinking about the theory of space-time travel.

  There are many ways to break the “fabric” of reality and cross the cosmos.

  The most common—and also the most practical—was simply to take point B, the place you wanted to go, pull it to your position (point A), move toward B, and then stop the anchoring.

  A simple way to travel, used by most Rank 10s or 9s.

  But also, very obvious.

  Anyone with even a little spatial skill could detect it.

  On top of that, the energy cost increased with distance. And Dinamo had already blocked that option.

  Most methods were blocked.

  We would do something different.

  One of the countless other methods was this:

  At a quantum level, the universe behaves like a circuit board, with channels through which information can flow.

  Teleportation consisted of breaking individuals down into energy and sending them through one of these “cables” to the other side.

  We would use a marginal channel—one that, for some reason, Dinamo hadn’t blocked.

  It wasn’t a brilliant plan. But it was the best we had.

  This method consumed very little energy compared to the others, was viable in the short term, and relatively safe.

  “Why does this smell like a trap?”

  That thought crossed my mind as I watched the robots do the final touches and position people for the first trip.

  “Proceed,” I ordered.

  The machine vibrated briefly, humming with power.

  Reality cracked as the people turned into energy.

  And, in a flash, the hundred astronomical units were covered.

  “Teleportation successful,” reported the computer in charge of reception, confirming the transfer.

  “Next group.”

  The best part of this process was that we could launch people continuously, without needing rest.

  “Seriously? This is what it’s come to?”

  I couldn’t stop that melancholy thought.

  Having to use such extreme methods to “rescue” civilians.

  “Most of them will probably end up hating these actions, or complain that they never asked for any of this.”

  But I had no time to waste here. There would be room later for damage control.

  “Now I have to deal with those two.”

  With all the checks done, I moved to put an end to that annoying argument.

  04:07 — 61.08% | Argument

  The air felt off.

  Despite the chaos in the city and the apparent calm in the central dome,

  the inside of the office felt suffocating.

  Not because of the heat.

  Because of them.

  “Are you going to keep using that tone with me, old woman?” León said, smiling with the confidence only an undefeated man could afford. “You don’t have authority over me. You don’t even have the level.”

  Dánica didn’t even blink.

  Her fingers gently stroked the golden handle of her umbrella, as if she were weighing it.

  “I don’t need authority to identify trash. The stench gives you away on its own.”

  León let out a laugh—bright, loud, without a hint of moderation.

  He adjusted his hair, which floated with that dramatic effect he himself programmed into his aura.

  “Really? Sounds like you’re jealous. Want me to teach you how to shine again? We could have some fun—though it’d be unfair to you. I was born perfect.”

  “I’m tired.”

  My thoughts leaked out unchecked.

  “That would explain why your brain seems to be stuck in beta phase,” Dánica murmured, tilting her head with funeral-like delicacy. “Perfection tends to be an unfinished product. Like your maturity. Or your attitude.”

  Eida tensed at my side.

  She didn’t say anything, but she was already building a mental list of insults and comebacks.

  I knew her well.

  She didn’t like wasting time.

  As much as I did.

  León moved closer to Dánica’s projection, pacing in circles like a predator with an oversized ego.

  It was impressive they still had fuel for this.

  I mean, they’d been locked in this verbal back-and-forth for almost three minutes.

  “Want me to show you what it’d look like if I actually took this seriously?”

  “And what would you do?” Dánica replied, lowering her eyelids slightly. “Open a social network and cry for attention?”

  But I couldn’t let them continue. León was becoming dangerous.

  “Enough!” So I decided to end it.

  My voice wasn’t loud, but every syllable carried more energy than I could justify.

  Both of them went quiet—though only for an instant.

  “Are you listening to yourselves? Do you realize what’s happening? We just lost a dome, and you two are acting like we’re at a badly organized birthday party.”

  Eida stepped forward without waiting for my approval.

  “Both of you have work to do. If you’re not capable of respecting the situation, you can leave this conversation right now. Ms. Katherine has a city to save. Your egos have no place in this moment.”

  León raised an eyebrow, amused.

  “So tough all of a sudden, Eida. Is that how you treat all the heartthrobs? Or is it just me?”

  “Only the ones who confuse a mirror for an altar,” she replied without blinking.

  Dánica let out a short laugh, hollow like an empty cathedral.

  “You should listen to her more often, León. Maybe she’ll manage to squeeze a little self-criticism into that empty head of yours.”

  “Look who’s talking.”

  I closed my eyes.

  For an instant.

  Just one.

  “And Dánica, your dome is the closest. I want you to send squads of Rank 8s and 7s to rescue the evacuees.”

  “Director Katherine! Director Katherine! I can send squads too. I can even go in person to provide support.”

  The three of us decided to ignore León’s comment, arm still waving like he couldn’t stop himself.

  “Rank 8 and 7? Wouldn’t it be better if I sent higher Ranks, Director Katherine?”

  “I understand what you’re thinking. But even though Dinamo promised not to interfere, his forces will respond with a similar force to the one we use.

  I hope you haven’t forgotten what happened last time.

  If we send only Rank 8s and 7s, the casualties will be lower than if we send higher Ranks.”

  That was what we expected.

  Dinamo would never respond with a greater force than his enemy’s—at least not for something as mundane as this.

  Unless he was particularly bored.

  “Understood, Director Katherine.”

  “And as for you, León, I don’t want you intervening. Is that clear?”

  “As you say. Remember you can come find me when you need me. I’m in the usual place, Katherine.”

  León didn’t look very happy, but at least he was reasonable—for once. It was always hard to tell what he was thinking.

  “Leave. I’ll contact you if I need anything else.”

  I wanted to keep insisting that León come to the central dome, but it wouldn’t be wise to tempt fate with his mood.

  León made a mocking bow.

  Dánica vanished without another word.

  And finally, there was silence.

  04:23 — 63.28% | Calm

  The city was still.

  The calm began to settle in.

  Ever since that scuffle started, I knew this was real calm.

  Not like the previous one.

  Only the orderly hum of the system and the operators.

  The steady rhythm of the digitization capsules.

  The miraculous proper functioning of the teleporter.

  A moment of artificial peace—but peace, at last.

  I allowed myself to breathe.

  This narrative has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. If you see it on Amazon, please report it.

  “We’re still within the realm of possible.”

  My secondary nodes confirmed that the evacuation rate was stabilizing again after the sabotage.

  Technical staff morale was climbing.

  Even the speed was starting to recover.

  If we kept this pace, we could do it.

  The numbers were still cruel.

  But they weren’t catastrophic.

  “Thank you.”

  I didn’t say it out loud. But I thought it. For them. For everyone.

  And for myself.

  One of my AIs blinked softly before projecting a small communication bubble.

  “Director Katherine, all my sections are completed. All civilians have been evacuated successfully, including priority ones. There’s no top-priority equipment left either.”

  Ramiro’s voice was unmistakable.

  Deep, warm, with that strong accent that dragged the vowels as if every word were part of a street song.

  Through the visual channel, his face appeared with a carefree smile.

  Sun-tanned skin, square jaw, lively dark eyes.

  Curly hair, a bit messy, with the kind of expression that suggested he’d just told a joke—and didn’t need you to get it to laugh anyway.

  His military uniform hung open to the chest. A sturdy man, like an old-time pirate. The kind that only survives in ink records.

  “I also took care of a couple of smart ones,” he added, in a casual tone. “They took advantage of the situation to steal and break things. A bunch of vermin. They’re not in circulation anymore.”

  He shrugged, as if what he’d just said didn’t include authorized killings.

  “I understand. Good work,” I replied. “They were expendable.”

  “Don’t tell me that, boss. You’ll make me feel special,” he joked—though his eyes never stopped scanning the environment around him.

  Ramiro Campillo.

  One of my best soldiers in this city.

  Extroverted. Teasing.

  But among the most reliable I had. At least in this expendable dome.

  His bubble ability was extremely versatile for tactical support, both in and out of combat.

  And he knew it.

  But he didn’t brag.

  He was never drawn to showing off his strengths.

  “I need you to head out and support Irina and Rajiv.

  Most sections are already completed.

  All that’s left is to monitor digitization and teleportation. There are almost no civilians left outside the waiting area.”

  “Oh—and Ramiro…”

  “Yes, boss?”

  “This time, don’t improvise. I want efficiency, not a show.

  Follow those two’s orders.”

  He winked.

  “Sure, sure. Just good Cuban efficiency. No magic, I promise.”

  And he cut the connection with a crooked smile.

  He didn’t wait for more instructions.

  Typical.

  Still, I knew he’d behave—for now.

  And for a few more seconds, everything stayed calm.

  04:54 — 69.31% | The Calm Continues

  Everything was still in order.

  We were almost at five minutes.

  And everything was still calm.

  The capsules digitized in bulk.

  The technicians worked with the precision of a well-calibrated machine.

  And the teleporter, miraculously, remained stable.

  Staff motivation was at its highest point.

  An artificial calm.

  But not unstable.

  I checked every corner of the city, connected to hundreds of cameras, nodes, and artificial minds.

  I knew what was happening everywhere.

  I couldn’t afford to miss a single detail.

  And then I saw her.

  An empty waiting room.

  Reclining chairs.

  Dim lights.

  And at the center, as if she were a queen on her throne: Freya von Edelstein.

  She sat with one leg crossed, leaning back with a triumphant air, filing her nails with a golden tool that reflected the light as if it had a will of its own.

  Her white coat with courtly cuts hung over the chairback.

  Her blonde hair fell perfectly styled over one shoulder.

  Skin white as marble, green eyes shining with satisfaction at herself.

  She wore a tight suit—glittering and stupidly decorated.

  She looked more ready for a gala than for a war.

  Bringing a drone closer to her was a formality.

  “Freya?” I asked through the drone’s speaker.

  She didn’t even turn her head.

  She simply raised a hand lazily, like she were waving me away with an invisible fan.

  “Ah, bonjour, madame Katherine~,” she sang in a sweet, cloying voice, exaggeratedly polite. “Everything okay in your chaotic little busy head?”

  I closed my eyes. Just for a moment.

  I was used to it.

  “What are you doing?”

  “Doing my nails, obviously~.

  “And making myself pretty for the next show. You know how I am. One must look perfect before killing.”

  She turned toward the drone camera with a smile that could sell perfume—or poison.

  A magazine-cover smile.

  Her eyes sparkled with that effect she loved to show off.

  As if every glance were a cover flash.

  “You finished your sector… how long ago?”

  “Mmmm… a minute, maybe.

  All evacuated, all controlled. A genius, I know.”

  I sighed.

  “Next time, tell me. At least then I know you’re not dead, slowing us down, or just pretending to be a diva.”

  “Ugh, don’t be so dramatic, Katherine. That’s my job. Notifying would only affect our trust.”

  Another sigh. A long one.

  “Rest, Freya. I’m going to need you for what comes next.”

  “Of course~. Always willing when I’m not busy being fabulous. Bye-bye.”

  I cut the transmission without saying anything else.

  I kept watching the evacuation data.

  Everything was still in order.

  At least for now.

  I sighed again.

  04:55 — 69.53% | The Calm Continues

  I stopped getting annoyed with Freya.

  I could still smell the digital perfume she left lingering in the voice channel.

  There were only a couple of Rank 10s left inside the dome that I hadn’t personally checked.

  The last ones.

  It took me exactly 0.74 seconds to locate them.

  They were in a bar.

  Yes.

  In a damn bar.

  They’d reconfigured it as a resting point for security staff, though that excuse barely held together.

  It was just a bar they’d picked at random.

  The ambient music was soft, the lights warm, and the walls had those vibrating panels designed to relax the nervous system.

  Inside, seated at a metal counter, were the two of them.

  I activated a nearby drone and moved it closer.

  “Enjoying the end of the world?” I asked the moment the channel came online.

  “Director Katherine!” boomed a voice like a war drum. “Want a drink? It’s amazing!”

  Eoin Faolán.

  Huge.

  Bare from the waist up, except for a short pelt cape hanging over one shoulder.

  His chest was a wall of muscle and scars, and his arms were decorated with tribal tattoos that glowed faintly under the climate system.

  His pants were wide—thick linen—cinched by a dark leather belt carved with runes.

  His boots, reinforced with metal, made noise even while standing still.

  He looked like an ancient druid ripped out of a legend and forced to live inside a modern dome.

  And he was smiling like nothing could kill him.

  “We’re hydrating the way the gods intended,” he said, raising his mug. “If we’re going to die, let it be after a good beer.”

  He laughed with unnecessary force.

  The counter vibrated.

  Beside him, unmoving, was Hassan Barakat.

  A serene man.

  Brown skin, marked by years of sun and work.

  He wore a fitted golden tunic—ancient in design—with linear embroidery and perfect symmetry.

  His hands, covered in equally golden gloves, held with delicate care a shining cup in the same hue.

  His eyes were covered by golden cloth, thin as silk.

  His hair—also golden—fell straight to his shoulders.

  Everything about him looked sacred.

  But his voice was simple, calm.

  “He’s right. It’s good beer.”

  “What are you doing there?” I asked, already knowing the answer.

  “Recovering energy,” Eoin said, taking another drink. “We already finished our sections. Everything evacuated. Even the rats.”

  “There’s nothing left in our zone,” Hassan added. “Only traces.”

  I drew a breath through my nose.

  “Next time, let me know. At least so I’m not guessing which bar you’re celebrating in.”

  “Celebrating? No!” Eoin laughed. “Waiting with style—that sounds better.”

  “And besides,” Hassan added softly, “if someone is going to die, let them do it with a calm heart.”

  “And a mug in their hand!” Eoin finished, toasting the drone.

  The two of them looked at each other for a moment.

  Then Eoin clinked his mug against Hassan’s cup; Hassan barely tilted his head in approval.

  I sighed.

  It was the only thing I’d been doing lately.

  “Rest a little. I’m going to need you.”

  “Of course, Director!” Eoin said. “The moment the bell rings, we dive in headfirst!”

  “As always,” Hassan added.

  “And please,” I said as the drone began to pull away, “no more surprises and no more bars. Yes?”

  “I’ll do my best,” Hassan replied.

  “I promise nothing,” Eoin laughed.

  I cut the transmission before they could keep toasting.

  I sank back into the data.

  Into the numbers.

  Into the latent alerts.

  Into the compressed tension.

  Everything was still in order.

  For the moment.

  05:43 — 78.39% | Everything’s Still Fine

  Everything was still fine.

  Too fine.

  In my opinion.

  For some reason, I couldn’t shake the idea that something was wrong.

  But I didn’t know what.

  The capsules were running without issues. Digitization was holding a miraculous efficiency. The teleporter remained stable.

  And the Rank 10s rested, watched, or did their jobs as if we weren’t on the brink of collapse.

  The death rate hovered between three and four percent—a number any simulation would call “acceptable” at this scale.

  No sabotage reported. No more anomalies.

  The evacuees were, for the most part, already waiting.

  Like I said—everything was going well.

  For an instant, I allowed myself to relax.

  Not because I needed it, but a little rest didn’t hurt.

  Especially with what was coming next.

  “Less than five minutes left. If we keep this pace, it’ll be a complete miracle.”

  We’d already used half the time, and I was hoping we’d finish a full minute early.

  At least for a brief breath.

  Since I didn’t have much to do, I decided to look at the monster and see what he was doing.

  I slid my attention to his location at the center of the city.

  There—still, in the same place where I’d last seen him—was Dinamo.

  Sitting with that posture that was impossible to read: relaxed and perfect.

  Beside him, the commentator robot he’d built—that grandiloquent mannequin with theatrical modulations—was still reviewing past plays as if this were a tournament.

  It looked like it was trying to “entertain” the audience during this “break.”

  But this time they weren’t alone.

  “What the hell…?”

  I zoomed in. To his left, standing with his hands behind his back and the posture of an academic at his lectern, was a man.

  Black hair tied back, a dark blue robe with ink-like details, and an expression of genuine curiosity—almost childlike.

  Jiang Shuren.

  Rank 9.

  Head of espionage and infiltration.

  I immediately sent three drones to verify his identity and what he was doing there.

  My nodes confirmed it within seconds: it wasn’t an illusion or a recognition error.

  He was there, talking to Dinamo.

  Conversing. Calmly.

  “Shuren,” I said in a neutral tone as soon as I opened the channel.

  He turned his head smoothly.

  “Director Katherine,” he replied serenely, dipping his head slightly. “I didn’t expect to be discovered so quickly. My mistake, I suppose.”

  “May I ask what you’re doing next to humanity’s number one enemy? Your answer better be convincing, or there will be consequences.”

  “A unique opportunity. He’s a being with more than a million years of history. I’ve been gathering information ever since he appeared.

  Right now he’s describing what his fight with the great Cursed felt like—from his point of view. It’s… fascinating. Having the opposing perspective is, without question, enlightening.”

  I froze for a moment when I heard that name, but I recovered immediately.

  “You’re not authorized to be here.”

  “I know. I sincerely apologize. I promise I won’t interfere, and I will accept any punishment you impose on me. Please—just let me learn for now.”

  “Are you hearing yourself? You’re a renowned researcher. A bright future is waiting for you. Are you really planning to throw your entire life away for this?”

  “Yes, Director.”

  Not a hint of doubt on his face. Only the fervor of an enthusiastic academic.

  Dinamo turned his head toward the camera. Amused.

  “Oh, please. Don’t be so dramatic, Katherine. He’s entertaining me. I consider it community service.”

  He smiled mockingly—clearly finding the situation funny.

  “I didn’t ask your opinion, Dinamo. Why don’t you stay quiet?”

  “And as for you, Jiang—I’m giving you three more minutes. If you aren’t present when that time is up, you will be accused of treason.

  Either way, you’ll have to face court-martial for this.”

  “I accept,” he said with a small bow. “Thank you for allowing me this moment, Director. I’ll remember it. I promise.”

  “Record everything.”

  “Of course.”

  “Hehe~ looks like the dog got a reward,” Dinamo smiled after that comment. “I suppose I should do the same.

  I wouldn’t want to be less generous than Katherine. I should reward you later—after these new books and the entertainment. What was it? Jiang?”

  “Yes, Your Greatness.”

  It looked like Jiang had earned Dinamo’s approval.

  Or he was doing it to annoy me.

  Probably both.

  “Here. Read it when you have time. You’ll need it.”

  With that, Dinamo handed him a strange book.

  “It’s an honor, Lord Dinamo.”

  The moment he received it, Jiang stored it in his spatial storage.

  “And as for you, my dear Katherine—don’t you have somewhere else to go be a nuisance?”

  Dinamo flicked his hand like he was swatting a fly—being the insufferable creature he knew how to be.

  With nothing else to say, I cut the connection.

  And I sighed.

  I looked back at the capsules.

  The data.

  The city in general.

  Everything was still in order.

  For now.

  06:37 — 89.93% | The Final Stretch

  I couldn’t believe it.

  We were going to make it.

  Just a little more.

  One minute and twenty-three seconds, to be exact. That was all that was left.

  If we kept this up, we could afford to breathe. Plan the final strategy. Face him with a cool head—with rested Rank 10s, cleared routes, and civilians digitized.

  The miracle was happening. One carefully built, second by second, with every correct decision.

  “We’re going to do it.”

  I let myself think it. Just for an instant.

  And as I did, a torrent of images ran through me like a data spear:

  Caetano, decisive at the most critical moment.

  Dimitri and Baek, deploying without hesitation to 50 and 100 AU, serving as anchors.

  Hanami, carrying capsules at an absurd speed, always with that damn smile.

  León and Dánica, as if the fall of a dome were just background noise for their personal soap opera.

  Irina, Rajiv, and Seo Min, standing before a spatial rift.

  Ramiro, doing his job with that relaxed efficiency that defined him.

  Freya, painting her nails like this was a gala.

  Hassan and Eoin, toasting before the final fight.

  And Dinamo.

  Always Dinamo. Mocking, patient, unbearable.

  “One more minute. That’s it.”

  And then it happened. Peace was never eternal.

  A dry crack.

  Just one.

  But it wasn’t an explosion. It was a chain.

  One after another—a mapping of simultaneous emergencies. Hundreds of nodes in the red. Thousands of alerts.

  All adult compression capsules, simultaneously, hit their limit.

  All of them.

  No preamble.

  No warning.

  They exploded.

  Not in flames, but in lethal structural failures:

  Compression collapse.

  Sealing systems shattered.

  Insulators ruptured by pressure.

  The entire adult digitization system came down.

  Millions of instant casualties.

  All their data scattering into nothing—as if they’d never existed.

  Silence.

  And then screams.

  Alarms.

  Voices asking for orders I couldn’t give fast enough.

  The loss of family members, lovers, friends.

  Everything was chaos.

  And then another signal arrived:

  Alert. Unidentified body detected. Relative spatial coordinates: [X=+197.04, Y=–2.31, Z=+0.98] AU.

  Trajectory: direct vector toward the core. Approach speed: 12.02 AU per second.

  Preliminary classification: Rank 10 entity.

  Genetic and energy signature: not registered in any database.

  Collision probability in under twenty seconds: 99.7%.

  Probability the entity is an übermensch: 99.9%.

  It didn’t need to be said.

  Everyone understood.

  “How did we not see it earlier? Who is it? Enemy? Ally? Just an observer?”

  I had too many questions for our unwanted guest.

  But there was no time for that.

  First, I had to contain the damage.

  “This can’t be Dinamo’s doing. Or can it?” I said without thinking.

  No. Definitely not one of his subordinates.

  None of them would dare do something that displeased him.

  Not unless they wanted to die.

  And Dinamo would never ask for reinforcements.

  So the question remained:

  “Who are you?”

  The city—up until that moment a perfect clock—slipped out of sync.

  As if chaos had been waiting for this exact second to break in.

  I went cold.

  Time was no longer enough.

  We couldn’t evacuate everyone.

  Not even half of what remained.

  And now an unknown übermensch was approaching—intentions unclear, power comparable to Caetano’s.

  I stared at the data.

  The broken capsules.

  The names of the dead.

  The enemy’s approach.

  And for the first time since this began, I felt like I didn’t know what would happen next.

  “Was it all for nothing?”

  I sighed.

  No.

  I couldn’t think about that now.

  It was time to be decisive.

  “Listen up!”

  “…,” I issued an order to every available member.