Submantle- The Alpha Key

by Patrick Lane

  “Nifty? Nifty?” Called a towering, dark-haired Ranger entered the gauntlet from a silver-framed doorway between two of the statues.

  “Well met, Chadlock,” Nifty called back, the man’s broad smile reminding Nifty of his younger brother back home.

  As usual the heavy browed Ranger, with those startlingly purple eyes, was in the company of a woman. This time it was a rather robust cadet with dancing eyes who looked to be part Yolon—her long blond tresses styled into four looping braids. Chadlock sent her on her way with an unheard comment that elicited a giggle and a blush. Quentin tried his best to ignore the approaching man whilst trying to shoo them towards Doon’s office.

  “Well met, well met,” Chadlock said, closing the distance to clasp Nifty’s forearm in a vigorous shake. “Well met, Merchant,” he said, turning to Scotty, using the abbreviated moniker of ‘Power Merchant’, the senior Ranger had earned in the practice yards as a young man.

  Scotty, not slowing for an instant, nodded with a curt, “Well met, Corporal Chadlock.”

  Falling in beside Nifty, Chadlock began, “Terrible business, this missing Ranger nonsense.”

  Quentin cleared his throat in an attempt to silence the man but Chadlock just plowed ahead.

  “Four delve-trains practically blinking out of existence. No doubt you’ll be heading out with the rest in the morning,” he continued, then, taking note of Nifty’s duffle bag. “Shame though—an Ascendant Ranger squad arrived not three hours ago for some inter-Helix training, a few of them are from Boloczar, big slaggers. Rumor is most of them showed a fair bit of interest in taking a chance in the combat circles, and may attend some training tonight.”

  Scotty turned to scowl at the man over that, “Niftmire is busy, before you go asking.”

  “But—” Nifty began.

  “They asked for him by name, sir,” Chadlock replied smoothly. “In fact, taskmaster Danwright sent me out to see if anyone with the rating of Combat-warden could make an appearance. To keep our reputation intact, and crack some skulls, you understand. It’s a rare thing, having a full squad of Ascendants for us to practice with. Lulu and Brokam may even be in attendance.”

  Nifty was about to lay out his own line of reasoning but was cut short as the mention of Lulu muddled his thoughts.

  “Two hours, no more,” Scotty said with a wave of his hand, surprising all three men. “Meet me in my office for a briefing afterwards, bruises or no.”

  “Well—well—well—Councilor Doon, made—made no mention of the master Niftmire here’s… sir. So, so, I’m quite sure he shan’t, won’t be missed sir,” Quentin quickly interceded, as if expecting Scotty to change his mind.

  “He’ll not have a moment’s focus until he has a blazin’ go at someone,” Nifty heard as he veered off with Chadlock.

  A good part of him wanted to follow along with Scotty but was over shadowed by a deeper desire to test a couple of his new moves on a proper opponent. And, if he was being truthful with himself, an even larger part of him wanted to see if Lulu would show.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  After devouring a quick dinner at the Citadel’s mess hall, Nifty and Chadlock made their way to the animal nursery to drop off Otto.

  It took Nifty a good deal of wrangling to disentangle himself from the frightened slipmunk—only after Chadlock thought to introduce him to a fully augmented female slipmunk named Nuct, who had specialized in reconnaissance training, did the little guy finally settle down. In fact, Nifty was almost forgotten as Otto refocused his attention on the larger female.

  Almost, but not quite. As Nifty left for training grounds Otto scampered over to him and bid farewell. His large blue eyes conveying more that his simple body language was able to.

  “See you soon and work hard,” he called as the enamored Otto scampered back to Nuct’s side.

  “Yikes!” Chadlock said to Nifty as he watched the pair. “I guess he likes ‘em tall.”

  They finally made it to the practice grounds and as they changed into their armored combat gear Nifty realized that Chadlock made no mention about the search for the Key, nor had Quentin when he met them at the dock.

  Nifty thought it best that he keep even his meager details of their most recent assignment to himself. It wouldn’t be the first time he and Scotty were sent out on a classified mission.

  The big man did, however, have plenty to say about tomorrow’s deployment. Nearly a hundred delve-trains were to be sent out in fleets of five—thirty Rangers to a craft. They were to scour this sector of Submantle, fanning out in ever-increasing concentric circles until the missing Rangers were found.

  “I haven’t heard of a deployment this large since the Sakurian dispute nearly ten years ago. What about the dreadnaughts?” Nifty asked as they walked.

  “Twenty of them are being sent to the Rocklinker Alliance boarders. I’m quite sure the trains and their crews will be found. Some of us think it may be a little overblown, Command using this as an excuse to stretch its legs a little and show some muscle.”

  Nifty snorted at that. “Maybe,” he replied. “Maybe.”

  They crossed under the carved stone gateway that separated the academy from the practice fields and he called out, “Toro,” to a silver bearded Ranger standing across the pitch. The man was snapping forearm a diamond-shaped goliath shield to his forearm, it’s typically sharpened edges dulled for training purposes.

  “Well met, Niftmire,” came the rowdy reply, the name causing Nifty to cringe.

  Jogging past the weapons racks, he closed to where dozens of sparing circles were set up and where Toro had gathered with a handful of Rangers.

  “Where’s Merchant?” Toro asked, clasping Nifty’s forearm and giving it a hearty shake. At just over seven feet tall, the Field Major was just a few of inches shorter than Nifty himself. And despite being nearly seventy years old he still possessed the broad shoulders and narrow hips of a man half his age.

  “Scotty?” Nifty replied with a grin. “We both know his training days are long behind him.”

  “Not that he ever needed much,” Toro replied with a deep chuckle, crossing to one of the racks to remove a drill maul.

  “Shouldn’t you be at the command offices, organizing, well, tomorrow’s deployment?”

  “Needed to clear my head and burn off some steam. Too many details to deal with. I sometimes find myself playing quartermaster at those meetings. Thought it best I leave before I did something I would regret to that young upstart Barton Farwell and his sycophantic friend, Toby Brighrash. They’re always testing my patience with their idiotic request.”

  Nifty laughed at that. Everyone knew the pair well, always inserting themselves into situations above their station. He was about to make a joke at their expense, but thought better of it. Barton seemed to have eyes and ears everywhere and he had an uncanny way of collecting his pound of flesh at even the slightest of…well, slights.

  He unhooked the holster holding his punch-pick. The knuckle-duster style tool still had the retractable grappling line locked in across the knuckles. The weapons had been originally designed to carve stone in confined spaces, but had been adapted to accept dozens of blade options specially designed for the Ranger Corps.

  Riot was next, he un-holstered her and twisted a ring in the base of the haft. It hissed as it released residual energy and allowed him to remove its glowing blue Flux power core which he then placed in a pouch on his hip. Seeing this, Chadlock threw him a practice core from the racks. He installed it above the haft and checked it for balance. The practice core allowed Rangers to train without releasing a dangerous energy blast. It wouldn’t kill you but it would send you to the infirmary in short order if you weren’t careful.

  He was tempted to begin his session against Chadlock, finding it easier to warm up with the tall Ranger’s punishing yet predictable style, but he didn’t. Instead, he inspected the rest of the group.

  There was no Lulu, but he did notice several more Rangers making their way through the g
ates. Good, he thought, recognizing most of them; only one or two were rookies. And, as luck would have it, a couple were women, so he could train for speed today as well.

  “What’s the status of those Ascendants?” he asked, as Toro began his warmups, swinging the practice maul in great loops.

  “Master Danwright proffered an invitation, and they’ll be here before the hour’s up,” he replied, a moment before wheeling towards the gathered Rangers. “Now, which one of you slaggers is ready to taste some dirt?”

  The small crowd chuckled, nudging one another. Nifty knew none of them wanted to fight Toro first. Maybe fourth or fifth, once he’d tired a bit, but never first. He’d won the Brawler Bash on three separate occasions at the Intercontinental Ranger Games as a young man. His dusky face bore a tidy row of glimmering jewels over his right eye, one for each year he’d won. Along with decades of training in the delicate art of warfare, it made him a perfect candidate to spearhead military engagements in the outer quadrants of the Rocklinker Alliance. It was a far cry from the more mundane tasks Nifty encountered while dealing with Submantle’s engineering infrastructure missions that Scotty always seemed to favor.

  “Let’s go then,” Nifty said, stepping forward, “I’ll even allow you to choose the sparing circle old timer.” He laughed.

  “Old timer? Listen lad, you’ll regret that choice before the hours up,” Toro jabbed back, strapping on a silver training helmet and waving him toward one of the vertigo circles.

  As they crossed to the circle Nifty noticed that the sun-spheres had dimmed to full dusk and cool blue lights dotted around the perimeter began to brighten to illuminate the training field.

  Nearly a mile across, it contained a full spider-ball pitch; a level eight obstacle course; target ranges for both launchers and arc-shots; and over a dozen other dangerous training challenges designed to push the Rangers to their very limits. Squinting across to the stables at the far end of the grounds, Nifty could see a dozen or more Rangers strapping armor to their mounts. They looked to be prepping pushsnouts, hyber-rams, and a couple of shankwings, for a game of Storm Stone.

  Turning his attention back to the vertigo circle, Nifty smiled; he’d had a feeling it would be Toro’s first choice. It was just like it sounded, designed to test one’s ability to fight both an opponent and to withstand vertigo. Pushing his fiery orange hair off his brow, he donned his own helmet.

  “This isn’t a side show!” Toro growled as the other Rangers gathered around expectantly. “Pair off and get your warm ups in. I saw Boloczars and Yolons with our Ascendant guests, so if you’re expecting easy pickings, think again.”

  There was a grumbling as they paired off; no doubt they were hoping to witness Toro’s first victim. “Now!” The Field Major boomed, his pointed beard quivering. As the most senior Ranger on the field, Toro didn’t tolerate slack-jawed gawkers.

  Nifty activated Riot as he stepped onto the ring, feeling the Link surge through his system. Snapping a lever on his belt, his jacket, gloves, and boots Linked with the same intensity. Every part of his armor now felt like a second skin, the bat like an extension of his limbs. The Flux power rods that powered nearly every tool and machine in Rocktower gave him an unparalleled control that could only be obtained through genetic linking with the energy coursing through his gear.

  He noticed Toro had done the same, and no sooner had he stepped into the circle than the entire platform telescoped upwards, finally taking rest fifty feet from the ground. The previously opaque circle began shifting beneath their feet. Internal metal plates drew back, leaving only a glass resin surface to spar on. Nifty’s stomach lurched involuntarily, his brain tried reasoning with his instincts as a dizzying feeling of vertigo settled in.

  “A month spent investigating ore scorching crews and languishing in a cell?” Toro bated, as he circled towards the younger Ranger, “Doubtless you accumulated just a wee bit of rust.”

  He lunged across the circle using his favorite attack, the iron-spiral. Nifty countered with a shield-slash, and they spent the next ten minutes trading kicks, elbows, knees, and weapon strikes in a complex dance. Crust-cutter deflecting mica-swipe, circling up into granite-slam. Each man waited for the other to make a mistake as the vertigo circle began its own dance, dropping and then rising in an unpredictable pattern, forcing Nifty to constantly recalculate each blow as a fine sheen of sweat began to appear on both men’s faces.

  Until recently, Nifty had never truly pushed himself in the circle, just learning the basic moves required for each evaluation. He had quickly realized he could rely on his speed and natural ability. But then that had all changed when Lulu caught his eye. Although distant and aloof he somehow knew there was more to her than most realized. A Brawler Bash winner at the games more than once, she seemed obsessed with combat. Nifty saw little choice. So with just a few months of hard training, he’d managed to make it to the semi-finals in the Brawler Bash at the Ranger games last year. He’d placed eighth, from a field of over two thousand contestants split across nearly a hundred Helixes.

  Spinning Riot, he activated the auto loader. It chattered away as it charged her with energy.

  He noted Toro’s stance, the senior Ranger’s eyes flickering towards the next expected blow, raising his shield and cocking the maul for a crust-crack.

  Having sparred with one another dozens of times in the past, they both knew that neither was tired enough for a mistake. Toro was waiting for him to intentionally take some damage just to land a single strike of his own. This is what Nifty had been counting on. He’d spent his free time this last month alone, practicing a number of obscure moves he’d researched from the archives before he’d left.

  Rusty? Not slaggin’ likely.

  Nifty swung Riot in a wide arc for slate slash, Toro raised the goliath shield to block. Nifty feinted with a kick, a metal-toed boot lashing out at Toro’s knee, distracting him for just a moment. Nifty’s right hand snaked down to withdraw the punch-pick. He looped his fingers through the four finger holes in the handle and snapped the attached grappling line into the butt of the shatter bat. He continued with his slash, letting go of the bat at the last moment and sending her out exactly as he’d practiced a thousand times in the last month.

  The line uncoiled from his punch-pick, pulling taut as it sent Riot wrapping around Toro. It pinned his drill maul to his side and kept going until it looped around to lock on his shield. Nifty pulled hard on the punch-pick and tipped Toro off balance for just the briefest moment. He dropped low and swept Toro’s legs while using the tether between the weapons to detonate the bat’s pent-up energy. The combination of moves knocked Toro onto his back, while nearly tearing the punch-pick from Nifty’s grasp.

  Nifty jumped high, feeling a moment of vertigo as the sparing circle dropped beneath him, and landed on his downed opponent. He used one knee to pin the arm holding the drill maul, while the other crushed the goliath shield against Toro's chest, causing him to expel a lung full of air in a surprised whoosh.

  “Yield?” Nifty demanded, grinding the shield under his knee and twisting Toro’s arm at a painful angle. Toro winced as his eyes darted around, desperate for a countermove.

  “Yield,” Toro finally replied.

  Nifty pulled Toro back to his feet, disentangling him from the grappling line. The older Ranger had dropped his maul and was rubbing the shoulder of his shield arm. “Is that one of Scotty’s moves, lad?” he asked, wincing as he raised his arm over his head. “Bit risky. If it’d been an inch higher you’d have been weaponless, with my boot at your throat.”

  “I learnt that from one of the ore scorchers,” Nifty joked. “Best two out of three?”

  “At any other time, most certainly, lad, and you’d not catch me again. But Rune and I are heading out tomorrow so I can’t afford to be nursing anything greater than a bruised ego. I may have to try my luck with one of these dross-wits—they have less fire in their bellies.” He shook his head ruefully. “You’ve not been yourself since the l
ast games; you’re like a man obsessed, is something amiss?”

  Nifty shrugged, not willing to answer; instead, he directed the practice ring back to the ground. The sudden lurching sensation concluding the brief questioning.

  As he stepped out of the circle Nifty was happy to see that a few of the Ascendant Rangers had already arrived on their cycles. The two-wheeled transports lined up in a neat row beside the weapon racks. They wore the blue and gold livery of the Eurasian Helix alliance. Toro had been right, five of them were from Boloczar, all easily topping eight feet. Two Monsourions, four Vulperites, and six eager looking Yolons.

  Over a thousand years ago Ascendant culture had rejected the Link with Flux, considering it far too dangerous. They had sought alternative technologies and advanced genetic enhancements that relied less heavily on the organic Flux metal. Of course, that didn’t diminish their efficacy in battle. The Yolons, although almost a foot shorter than Nifty, were nearly twice as wide. Their heavily muscled physiques, while slower than most Linkers, were intractable in close quarter combat. Each wore combat gear that was in itself a weapon, designed to reduce the need for speed, each armored plate bristling with stubby blades.