Inspector Borislav, already halfway to the side exit, didn’t hesitate. The sight of Varga’s face, contorted in genuine, unmasked panic, was all the confirmation he needed. Zofia’s cryptic warning, Borislav’s own suspicions, and now this open declaration – Anya was in immediate peril. He lunged, intercepting the two men in charcoal suits just as they reached Anya. She shrank against the wool sleeve of a bewildered fair official.
“Police business!” Borislav barked, flashing his badge with a speed that startled the thugs. His move was less about finesse and more about sheer, unexpected bulk. He slammed his shoulder into the first man, sending him stumbling, then pivoted, catching the second with a knee to the thigh. The fair official, bless his quick wits, immediately pulled Anya behind a display of award-winning gourds, creating a momentary shield. Borislav, breathing heavily, positioned himself squarely between Anya and Varga’s advancing guards. A desperate, almost theatrical distraction was needed.
“Miroslav Varga!” Borislav bellowed, his voice echoing through the stunned pavilion. “You are under investigation for industrial espionage, corporate fraud, and unlawful detention! Your ‘Veridian Initiative’ is nothing but a criminal enterprise!” He knew it was a bluff, a wild, unsubstantiated claim, but the sight of the official-looking uniform and the sudden, loud accusations momentarily froze the hall. Varga, still reeling from Zofia’s broadcast, hesitated, torn between ordering his men to seize Anya and silencing Borislav. The delay was all Borislav needed.
He grabbed Anya’s hand. “Run, kid! Straight out the back! Don’t look back!”
Anya, surprisingly quick despite her fear, darted away, weaving through the startled crowd. Borislav knew he couldn’t hold them off for long. He saw Varga point, his face crimson, and the men surged forward. Borislav braced, pulling out his service pistol – not to shoot, but to make a visual threat. The ensuing chaos of shouts and overturned display tables was enough to cover Anya’s escape into the labyrinthine fairgrounds.
Inside the glass conservatory, the world tilted. The overhead lights, usually a soft, circadian-rhythm-tuned spectrum, flickered violently. A low, resonant hum began to emanate from the ceiling, growing steadily. A mechanical voice, devoid of Varga’s usual smugness, echoed through the vast space.
“Warning: Facility sterilization sequence initiated. High-intensity UV cycle commencing in 60 seconds. All organic material will be neutralized.”
“He’s destroying everything,” Zofia said, glancing between the conduits and the roof trusses. “The server, the specimen, us.”
Laszlo’s gaze locked onto the colossal, hollowed-out gourd sitting innocently by the hydroponics array. Goliath Jr. was a magnificent specimen, a deep orange behemoth, nearly seven feet in diameter, its interior meticulously cleaned and carved out, awaiting its judging at the fair.
“The prize squash!” Laszlo shouted. “It’s insulated! It’s thick! We can use it as a pod!”
Zofia stared at him, incredulous. “A… a gourd? As an escape craft? Laszlo, this isn’t a fairy tale.”
“It’s better than being vaporized!” he shot back, already scrambling towards it. “Think, Zofia! A thick, dense shell. UV light can’t penetrate this easily. We can ride it out!”
The hum intensified. The first of the overhead UV arrays flared, casting the glass hall in a harsh violet glare. The air grew perceptibly warmer, with a faint, metallic tang.
“Forty seconds!” the automated voice intoned.
Zofia’s mind, ever the calculating machine, began to process. It was absurd. It was insane. But it was also… a possibility. A highly improbable, utterly ridiculous possibility, but a possibility nonetheless. They had no other option.
“The server drive! The blossom!” Zofia ordered, yanking the solid-state drive from the terminal. Laszlo was already inside the hollowed rind, his head poking out. He reached for the Starfall bloom in its self-watering pot.
“Get in, get in!” Laszlo urged, his movements surprisingly graceful for a man wedged into a giant squash.
Zofia handed him the drive, then the flower pot. The purplish glow intensified, bathing the entire chamber. She could feel the heat on her skin now, a prickling sensation that promised much worse.
“Twenty seconds!”
Zofia squeezed into the hollow, the enclosure snug against her ribs. The sweet, damp musk of raw pulp filled the cavity. Laszlo pulled the carved-out lid back into place, plunging them into darkness, save for the faint glow filtering through the thick walls.
“This isn’t enough,” Zofia muttered, her voice muffled by the fibrous hull. “We’ll cook. We need a way out of here entirely.”
She shut her eyes, picturing the building blueprints, the labyrinth of conduits and vents. Her father’s designs, her own modifications. She still held residual remote credentials on her handheld receiver. Massive subterranean lines fed water across the foundation. Above, the thinnest point remained the drone deployment hatch.
“The main irrigation line,” Zofia said, her voice sharp with renewed purpose. “There’s a flow regulator by the auxiliary hydroponics array. If I spike the load, force a rupture… aim it at the weakest point in the dome.”
“You want to blow a hole in the roof with water?” Laszlo asked, his voice a mixture of awe and disbelief.
“It’s industrial flow under hundreds of atmospheres. And Varga’s network won’t register a localized surge as intentional until it blows; the terminal will read it as thermal distortion.” Heat penetrated the outer rind, warming her back.
She keyed her override sequence into the receiver, bypassing threshold valves. A metallic groan echoed across the concrete floor, then another, sharper. The hollow sphere shuddered.
“It’s working,” Zofia grunted, straining. “The force is building.”
Inside the rind, air grew dense and stale. The rhythmic thrum of the UV lamps was a constant, ominous bass line. Then, a shriek of tortured metal, followed by a violent hiss.
“Now!” Zofia screamed.
A concussive blast ripped through the hall. Their shell slammed sideways. Rending metal and thousands of glass panes exploded outward. A torrential geyser hurled them upward through the shattered ceiling. Zofia grabbed Laszlo’s arm, bracing for impact as the world outside turned into a blinding flash of light and a roaring tempest of air and water, unsure if they were flying to their freedom or their doom.