by Patrick Lane
Their impact, while not unexpected, was surprising in its scale. Four enormous slabs of ice formed in the towers of water, two in each fountain, just below the discs, carrying the reinforcements. The weight of each was enough to cause the columns to buckle before spitting thirty-foot chunks of ice from their streams, sending them crashing down to the ground and smashing into a thousand pieces around the soldiers. The ice was joined by a torrent of water, obliterating all signs of life.
The disrupted fountains weren’t able to recover from such a sudden loss of pressure. The front edge of the transport platforms dropped, dumping every last one of its passengers over the edge.
“Dusters, attend!” Lulu shouted through the commotion, her eyes wide as she retreated from the destruction.
Nifty, his heart still angry, didn’t need to see any more. He wheeled Snort from the courtyard and sent him at full gallop away from the cries of injured and dying men.
The small party was once again on the move. It took them several minutes of hard riding before they passed through the lower platform’s gates, descending a ramp to the roadways on the Helix floor.
“We should stay off the main roads,” Nifty called, trying to shake some feeling back into his arm as they entered the tree line.
Beneath the city there was a vibrant lake teeming with wildlife, and on either side stood broad paved roadways that travelled both up and down the Helix. Tatum guided them through the undergrowth, weaving her way through a bamboo maze that seemed to dominate the region. The massive stands had been planted hundreds of years ago, each mature stalk stood over a hundred feet tall and many were at least a dozen feet thick at the base.
“That wasn’t the last of those guards,” Lulu said. “I saw many more in the city. I wouldn’t be surprised if those cycles were just as fast as Buttar. And I don’t think Tatum can keep this pace all night, she’s a fighter, not a worker.” She turned to the Valence hyena keeping pace behind them and asked, “How do you feel? Do you need to circle back to Smoath?”
Tatum shrugged, intent on the path ahead, keeping an eye on Buttar and Snort for signs of trouble.
“Alright,” Lulu said with a nod. She paused, distracted momentarily. “What was the name of the duster we lost?” She asked sadly.
“Dart, she was a good girl,” Nifty replied, almost under his breath.
“Dart. Poor thing.” Lulu said, then mustering a deep breath, squared her shoulders. “Duster, attend!” she called.
The dusters glided in from all directions, swooping through the sheets of fine rain.
“We must remember our friend Dart, but we must also stay on the task ahead.” Lulu said to the gathered insects. “If any of those lance hares survived, they’re going to be a problem so please stay alert.” Then, turning to Nifty. “We need to get those wheeled transports somewhere that will make it difficult for the hares to double back and report. Unless you have some gasp canisters for the dusters?”
“Gasp? That seems a little rough for lance hares.”
“Dammit. That Stillness, he killed one of the dusters and it could have quite as easily been any one of us. Poor girl.” Her voice cracked a little and she shook her head. “And, if that fountain didn’t finish him then we can ill-afford to be caught by him.”
“Stillness?” Nifty asked, his chest constricting as he remembered snippets from history lessons at the academy. He remembered the name Hadron Drake and the images he viewed with the Fluxform at Terraport. Instantly he knew the warrior was the product of another era. But he couldn’t let Lulu know though, not yet anyway. “You’re mad. That’s just something from the histories. We need to stay focused. Should we chance retrieving Dart? Send some of the girls back for her?”
“The dusters won’t be able to catch up to us in time to board the trains, even with their speed.
And it was a Stillness. Just like those were rifles. Someone has used ancient tech to create that warrior—even his armor is from another time. And they don’t seem to be concerned about the effects of the virus. It’s on a larger scale than anything I have ever seen before. Master Smoath may be right: something in Submantle is shifting.”
“Well, I think I gave them enough to keep busy for some time,” Nifty said. “It’ll take them a while to regroup and mount any kind of pursuit. Besides, I think some of the legends from the time before the scourge may have been exaggerated.”
He turned to look for Tatum, who had run off a few moments before with a cackling laugh.
“The Stillness; in their name lies a promise, in their wake lies their name,” Lulu quoted, no doubt from some ancient text, before returning her attention to the path as Buttar leapt over a stretch of dense tree roots.
Bad mans not follow, Ryder signaled, landing on Nifty’s saddle. Her antennae, like the rest of the dusters, lay flattened across her ridged brow; her once vibrant green wings were brown and lusterless. The poor little girl was struggling with the memory of losing Dart. Bad mans stop at city.
Nifty was somewhat relieved at the news and his mind revisited his confrontation with the Stillness, if in fact that’s what the soldier was. Stillness, even his name, was a threat. Lulu’s quote was right—the only thing a warrior like that left behind after combat was stillness.
He remembered more about the soldiers from bedtime stories than he had learnt at the academy. They were supposed to be unstoppable fighters, created sometime during Core War Four—normal Submantlers hyper-naturally Linked to their Flux weapons with abilities honed to a razor’s edge. No two soldiers were quite the same, limiting their enemy’s ability to anticipate their moves in combat. Who in Submantle would dare to begin such a process, if indeed it proved true?
Hadron Drake, that’s who.
Nifty felt torn. After what the Stillness had done to Dart, part of him wanted to confront him and those greenback slaggers, and let loose with Riot.
Ignoring his anger, Nifty tried to stay focused on keeping the rest of his party safe. He marked the Stillness’s patterned helmet in his mind and resolved to get to the bottom of this business. He knew that the best way to do that was to make it back to the delve-train for Scotty’s council.
He turned at the sound of crunching branches just in time to see Tatum return to the path and continue her gallop alongside.
Good, good, she signaled, bad part coming soon, stripe tails, nasty, clever, much fight, much fun soon.
“Slagg it,” Nifty mumbled to himself before calling ahead to warn Lulu as they galloped into the dawn.
CHAPTER THIRTY
Dysuss Dripvein stared in anger at the destruction around the base of the lift fountain as the hydro platform dropped him closer. He tried not to care, tried to tell himself that the loss of a few soldiers meant nothing, but he failed. Both men and machine lay in twisted heaps, strewn across the courtyard. Twenty-three men dead and over two dozen more critically injured. Scrap it all!
His gaze was drawn to a particularly large chunk of ice where there looked to be some kind of commotion still going on. It took him a moment to register what he was actually seeing, his eyes not believing it at first.
“Runion!! What the scrap is the matter with you? Stop right now!” Dysuss barked angrily as he leapt from the platform, still twenty feet from the ground.
He landed lightly, and crossed the courtyard in a rage fueled sprint, unsheathing Ire, his zeal hammer, as he ran, pumping the haft, to load it with Flux energy.
Runion, a thickly muscled Yolon, was mounted on Husk, an ill tempered scaleback. The creature was consuming one of his dead soldiers while the beast wrangler sat in his saddle and stared like it was the most natural thing in the world. Several soldiers looked on in horror as the creature chewed, unsure whether to attack or retreat.
Runion and the beast turned just in time to see Dysuss leap high and swing Ire down in a granite slam, connecting with Husk’s armored snout. The Flux energy released from the hammer with an angry crackle, blasting the creature and its rider back over a dozen feet.
All around the courtyard soldiers, who had been unsure just moments before, were galvanized by Dysuss’s actions. As one they trained their weapons on Runion and his mount.
“What in slagg do you think you’re doing letting Husk eat my men?” Dysuss screamed. He knew the brawny man had undergone some kind of transformation at the Monitor’s hands, but he’d never imagined he was this far gone.
“Husk hungry,” Runion said,” Men dead.”
Despite his indifferent words, Dysuss saw a glimmer of concern in Runion’s eyes as he realized his misstep may not be overlooked this time.
“We don’t eat our dead, we honor them,” Dysuss replied, biting off each word, wondering how he should make an example of the man as he loaded Ire with energy once more.
Runion inhaled deeply, and then, as if somehow smelling the depth of Dysuss’s anger, he leapt from his saddle. In a move that few of the onlookers could have anticipated, Runion yanked on Husk’s powered bridle, forcing the scaleback onto its ridged spine with an unexpected whimper, exposing its belly to Dysuss. He then joined the creature on the ground and lay on his back with his arms and legs spread wide.
He calmly said, “Sorry boss, Husk like fresh food,” and then just lay there, awaiting Dysuss’s judgment.
Dysuss and the soldiers simply stared at the man and his beast, a mixture of awe and concern on their faces.
Dysuss studied the man and beast a moment longer, trying to get a read on the pair and their bizarre actions. Is this madness or animal cunning? He thought to himself. Runion is an extremely valuable asset. Does the man know this? What exactly is he playing at?
“Get out of my sight,” Dysuss finally spat. “And remain in your hold in the Valorous until we leave.”
Runion sat up and scanned the guards, looking for any weakness in their resolve. He then turned to Dysuss. “Yes boss, thanks boss, good boss.” He snapped Husk’s reins and the animal inelegantly scrambled to its feet, allowing Runion to mount. Husk circled once, his eyes drawn to the remains of the soldier he’d been eating, and released a low whine.
Runion sat there for a moment, considering the animal. He then awkwardly waited until Dysuss met his gaze once more before saying, “Damage already done, can Husk finish his meat?”
“No!” Dysuss boomed in exasperation, smashing the long-handled hammer onto the platform for good measure.
It was all the encouragement Runion needed. Without further comment he dug his heels into Husk and the beast cantered across the courtyard, causing soldiers to scatter as the pair made their way to an arriving lift.
Dysuss took a moment to settle his nerves as he watched the two retreat. He reasoned that he needed to find a way to keep better track of the man. He couldn’t afford to have his kind of chaos running amok in the ranks.
As Runion left, Cadet Brewbin stepped off the lifts, giving the Scaleback a wide berth and she headed towards Dysuss. Her face wore an expression that was a combination of shock and anger as she studied the courtyard. Of course, the anger was nothing new, in fact it seemed to be a permanent fixture on the woman’s face since she’d been assigned to Dysuss’s battalion several months ago.
The mergence had not gone well with this one and even as he studied the tall woman he wondered, are those fracture lines in the glyphs around her right eye?
He pushed the thoughts away. He had more pressing concerns to deal with.
Brewbin crossed to Dysuss and handed him two roto-scanned pages. Without a word he perused both documents. One contained an image of Niftmire Orediten with relevant personal details, the other was an equally comprehensive document on Lulu Longshire.
He crumpled both sheets in his fist and threw them to the ground. Their clearance level was barely higher than that of the two Rangers they already had in custody, but their combat ratings were off the charts. They couldn’t have chosen two worse candidates for capture.
Dysuss suppressed a roar of injustice. His foul luck continued to haunt him on this mission. First his daughter and now this continual loss of men.
“Cadet Brewbin have Ensign Krok set a perimeter and get these bodies back to the ship immediately,” he ordered. “And have someone fetch me clan magistrate Bulloic. I may need to make amends for this disturbance.”
“Yes sir,” replied the blonde giant.
Dysuss was about to step onto one of the hydro-lifts to return to the dreadnaught when he noticed the men dragging both the Stillness and his Minder from between two slabs of ice. The Minder had been on one of the lift platforms when the Ranger had fired his bridging rounds.
He had met the two men earlier in the day when the dreadnaught had docked at Ragnatex. To his surprise they had arrived within minutes of the Valorous, while Dysuss’s men were still unloading equipment. The Monitors must have dispatched them directly after his last destination report.
When he had received his orders regarding the pair the previous day, he had immediately accessed the dreadnaught’s historical files regarding the legendary warriors. The technology to create Stillnesses had been achieved during Core War Four, or thereabouts.
They were warriors focused solely on the destruction of their enemies, linked with their Minders who maintained control over them. Apparently, the transition from normal Submantler to Stillness left the candidate like a raw nerve, prone to a ceaseless blood lust once the battle was joined. They were literally unstoppable. Only through technology implants that linked Golworth to the Stillness could he be brought to heel.
“Dropvein,” greeted Minder Golworth as he and the Stillness exited their transport.
Dysuss hadn’t bothered to correct the man as he studied the pair. Golworth was a long-legged Vulpurite garbed in a sweeping blue robe. He wore a large cowl that did little to hide the glowing glyphs covering enough of his face to give him complete authority over Dysuss and his men. The Stillness had glided up behind the man with a fluid grace that belied his size—a ridged helmet hid his face behind a darkened face shield.
To the casual observer, the Stillness, bristling with weapons and stout armor, would be enough to give even the most resolute heart a pause. But Dysuss had encountered many fools in the past that had made the mistake of carrying more weapons than they knew how to use. It was a mistake that he usually managed to correct rather quickly with his zeal hammer.
That was not the case here though. As an experienced fighter himself, Dysuss immediately recognized the stance that many soldiers took decades to achieve, and most never did at all—the seemingly relaxed pose of a warrior ready to commit the most extreme acts of violence in the blink of an eye. He knew at once that a good portion of his platoon would perish if Golworth deemed them unworthy to serve the Quantum.
“Have one of your men fetch me a tea,” Golworth ordered, “that vessel contained nothing but field ration swill and I am feeling quite parched.”
Were it not for the Stillness, Dysuss would have ended the man right then and there. His daughter, Centrissa, would have attempted the same, Stillness or not. His throat had caught at the thought of his daughter, a raw nerve of his own that he couldn’t seem to heal.
“Yes sir,” Dysuss had replied, signaling to Ensign Krok to make it so.
“It has been reported that you and your men, Dropvein, have had problems with this simplest of tasks. This Key, by all accounts, should have been found by now.”
He held out an imperious hand to the Stillness. ”Task-tablet and Stylus,” he said. The warrior’s hand whipped to a slot in his back holster and withdrew a thin writing device while in the same instant a stylus appeared in his other hand. The Stillness set the stylus on its tip in the middle of the tablet and with a quick finger-snap he set it spinning vertically on the surface. While maintaining perfect balance that kept the stylus dancing in a tight circle, he handed the device to Golworth’s outstretched hand.
As soon
as Golworth touched the tablet, the stylus lost all sense of balance and only through grasping spastically was able to prevent it from falling to the ground.
“Buffoon,” Golworth glared, “save your idiotic displays for battle, now return to the ship and fetch my bags.”
Dysuss had been stunned as he watched the minder scratching away on the task-tablet. He’d treated the Stillness no better than a servant. Dysuss had doubted Golworth even noticed the clenching of the man’s mailed fist as he left his monitor’s side to complete the idiotically mundane task, well beneath his warrior station.
“Report on your planned deployment for this assignment. I will make corrections where I can,” Golworth said with a sigh as he continued to make notes.