by Christi Smit
“That depends, what do you want?”
Sam was looking at the walls surrounding the door, searching for the hidden camera the person inside was using to watch them, his trained eye could not find anything, meaning the man inside was more of an expert than he was.
“We want safety, we know about your hidden bunker, we want you to let us in,” Jessica said, her forehead resting on the door, she had moved to rest against it after the voice had told Sam to not try his idea.
“You are asking a lot without offering anything,” the voice said, followed by a dry laugh.
“We don’t have anything to offer you.”
“Oh I don’t know about that girl.” This time his words were followed by a deeper, and more perverted laugh.
Jessica’s muscles tensed, she knew it would have to come to this. But she would show her anger at the situation before she agreed to anything. She banged her fists on the door again, screaming at the man on the other side. “My father trusted you! He said you would help me if I ever needed you! Now I need you and you are like this...” her words trailed off as she kept hitting the door, the futility sapping her last reserves.
There was a long silence, Jessica slid down the door and came to rest against it in a heap of limbs and spluttering tears.
“Your father?” the voice finally asked.
“Yes, Raymond Saxe,” Jessica said, her tearful fit calming down as the seconds passed, as if she had resigned herself to what was happening.
There was silence again, nothing happened for a few moments. Jessica just wanted to curl up into a ball and wait for death, but her sister’s sudden touch made her look up at the dirty teenager. Tristan had her hand on her bare arm, squeezing it slightly.
Tristan’s eyes were clear, and she had a smile on her face. “Listen,” she said to her older sister, pointing at the door behind Jessica.
With a sharp sound of locks disengaging the door clicked open, Jessica fell backward as the door that had supported her weight disappeared behind her. She fell flat on her back halfway inside the dark and smelly apartment, above her stood a man looking down at her dirty, tear-smudged face.
“Little Jess Saxe. My, you have grown up so well,” the man said, a hint of perverted undertone was still there, but the man was at least trying to supress his nature.
Jessica was too drained to say anything from her prone position on the floor. She relaxed all of her muscles as the old man gripped her wrists and pulled her into the apartment, Tristan and Sam followed her in.
The last thing Jessica heard before she passed out from exhaustion was the thick door slamming shut and the bearded hermit asking if any of them wanted tea.
Very few beasts attacked the rag-tag squad from the front or behind, instead they focused all of their mutated ferocity on the Lancers. The monsters knew exactly who to target this time, not bothering with direct attacks against Xander or the Titan brothers at the front of the line. The beasts side-stepped, or tried to at least, the Titans, dodging past or sacrificing some of their own brutes to keep the armoured killers busy, striking only when the bigger threats were tied up in a melee with the bigger monsters in the swarm’s midst.
Somehow the infected on the bridge had warned or communicated with the rest of the mutated monsters on the Fateful Moment, and there was proof of it in the way the Wolves and Lancers were being attacked.
Nathan was kept busy by a pair of gangly creatures, his shield bashed from side to side as the two awkward monsters attacked the senior Titan. Nathan had opened up a small area in front of him to fight the monstrous duo without bringing Xander into danger. Both creatures were able to climb the sides of the duct, attacking Nathan from different angles, but even with two against one the fight was too easy, just enough to keep him away from the intersection. He looked over his soldier for a brief moment to see if his brother was surviving; to his surprise Christian was holding his own against an enemy far deadlier than the two he was fighting.
Xander shot one of the monsters Nathan was facing as his Lieutenant’s attention wavered slightly. Nathan gave him a nod as he heard the shot, smiling as a limb from one of the creatures dropped to the floor, gushing thick blood over the metal grating. Xander resumed his vigil over the few Lancers on his side of the intersection, firing at anything that came close to them. Luckily he always had a massive amount of spare ammunition for his pistol, something he had learned during a mission that almost went to shit many years ago, more ammo meant more lives were spared, and that was always a good thing.
Christian was in a power struggle with a mutated slab of meat, it seemed to be made out of one solid piece of muscle, its limbs the only vulnerable spots Christian could see as the muscular horror gripped his shield, trying to wrench his valuable defence from his armoured hands. The monster would take swipes at Christian’s head with sharp claws growing out of its hands, but so far no blows had landed or come even close to reaching Christian, as if the creature wasn’t really trying, again only doing enough to keep the Titan out of the main fight.
Locke was firing over Pyoter, bullets hitting targets not far from Rivers’ head. Smaller but devilishly fast creatures had attacked the back of the line. Rivers’ shotgun barely held them at bay, but with the combined fire from Locke’s rifle they at least kept their area safe. They fired almost non-stop at the smaller monsters, kicking their bodies away as they slid closer to the Titan in their last moments before death. Even so close to death these beasts were deadly, claws reaching for the Titans before expiring.
Pyoter was furious at being so useless in the confining space of the ventilation system, he wanted to help, get up and fight with the rest, but at best he would be able to sit upright, blocking the vent with his bulky body. The worst part of being stuck on the ground not able to do anything was watching the Lancers die only a few feet away from him. It was something Pyoter would never forget, he memorized the names of every Lancer that died, and he would honour them in his own way if he survived. The Lancers in the middle of the melee fought courageously, but were ultimately doomed the moment the hornet’s nest was disturbed.
The first Lancer died mere moments after the swarm of beasts broke into the vents, his legs were severed from his body by a fast moving monster, its sharp bone blades protruding from its forearms cut the poor Lancer’s legs from under him and then pounced on the screaming man. It was not a pretty sight to watch as the beast cut the screaming man into bite-sized pieces. Another died as he was pierced by an ugly monster with long blades instead of fingers, puncturing the Lancer’s most vital organs, pinning him to the duct wall as the monster ploughed into him. His name was Roberts, and the man was a hero, he never stopped firing his rifle into the torso of his killer, even as his vital blood leaked from his body in torrents, the man still managed to kill the creature, ending its horrible life.
Two more Lancers died, one’s head was cut from his body as he tried to unjam his rifle, the other disembowelled and then set upon by a group of smaller beasts. Pyoter watched every one of them die, and still he was stuck beneath Locke, unable to save the Lancers.
Soon more of them would die, and if all of the Lancers fell the Wolves would never forgive themselves. It was, after all, what they were meant for, why they were trained and given the Titan suits - to protect humankind. And they would protect them with everything they had, until their very last breath.
Chapter Four
Unforeseen Event
“The universe is vast and dangerous, between every star, behind every moon, and on every planet the unexpected waits for humankind. However, even the universe cannot see every surprise coming. That blind spot between destiny and choice is where you will find your truth.”
-Commander Locke, First Generation Star Explorer, Captain - New Horizon
“Where is it going Remy?” Gray asked his second in command. Sweat was beading from his forehead as he followed the Fateful Moment through the dangerous asteroid field.
“We are still calculating its path,
its erratic flight path is making it difficult to see its destination,” Remy replied, hunched over the large tactical display table in the centre of the Hyperion’s bridge, it was an old piece of hardware rarely used, but it offered Remy the best way of tracking the cargo vessel’s vectors.
Gray barely missed a spinning piece of space rock as he listened to Remy mumbling on about her calculations; his arms were tiring from the constant manoeuvring. “Can you at least tell me if it is moving out of this damned field?”
“Its destination is unknown, it keeps changing course every few minutes, picking its direction at random. It’s either going deeper in or escaping the asteroid field. Just keep following it,” Remy said over her shoulder to her Captain, adding a slight tone of sarcasm to the last part.
Gray smiled as he wrenched the controls attached to his arms, flipping the Hyperion upside down to pass through an opening between two drifting rock mines. At least her mind was not stuck on Nox’s death anymore, the current task taking focus off the horrible fate of the billions of people on the destroyed planet they were now flying through.
The Fateful Moment changed course again, bringing its enormous metal body into a sweeping turn, diving as it turned, causing even more confusion to Remy and her calculations.
Remy sighed as she watched its manoeuvre through the bridge’s view ports, blowing loose hair from her face in mute frustration. She bit her lip, undoubtedly holding back a string of curses. “This is impossible sir, it’s just too unpredictable. I can only guess what the pilot of that ship will do next.”
“I don’t think that is a pilot, no-one in their right mind would be so foolish, burning their engines like that through a mine field of asteroids. It’s something else, something that has no fear.” Gray kept following the Fateful Moment, matching the cargo vessel’s turn and dive, slipping back into its fire trail. “Give it up my dear, help with the communications problem; find me a voice on that ship.”
“On it Captain,” Remy said, stalking over to the consoles where the communication officers were seated, ordering one of them to stand and give her a seat.
Gray was too busy trying not to hit anything to hear what Remy said to the officer she stole a seat from, but it was probably extremely rude, knowing the girl’s temper very well. He checked the timer at the bottom of his central display, it did not look good, the chase had already been going on for forty-five minutes, they were almost half-way to the Fateful Moment’s reactors going critical from the strain the thing operating it was putting it under. Soon the engines would begin to flare and crack, leaking extra fire into the silent void as the metal casings around the engines disintegrated. Not long after that the reactors would go critical, and then there would be nothing left of the vessel the Hyperion was chasing.
Captain Gray needed to talk to Locke, or Sabian, or even Gunn, anyone would do at this point in time. Time, he thought, something that was always in such a short supply.
The battle inside the ventilation system was becoming a stalemate, neither side making any ground, both sides taking losses. All of the Wolves still fought on, their armour baring only superficial damage from scrapes caused by claws and bone blades. The Lancers were the ones suffering the most, their numbers down to only three capable fighters. Four had died already, and one man was never going to see daylight again, his chest plate was a carved mess of flesh and armour. He was slumped against the opposite side of the intersection, firing down the line Xander was not covering with his nearly depleted pistol. The dying Lancer was named Randal, and he was one of the bravest and strongest men Pyoter had ever seen. Even as he was dying, knowing full-well that he would not get out of the ducts alive, he still fought on. Using one of his legs to rest his rifle on, he fired down the tunnel in front of him, killing the beasts in droves that tried to get close to the middle of the line.
Borstil was crouched next to Randal, almost sitting on top of him, helping the man reload his rifle once he had emptied a clip. Randal coughed blood as he fired, but he never let up, even firing anti-personnel grenades from his barrel-mounted launcher down the duct, obliterating the duct and whatever was moving through it.
Randal was single-handedly clogging up the cross tunnel, stemming the flow of monsters converging on the rag-tag squad.
Pyoter reached for a fallen Lancer’s rifle that lay nearby in a pool of blood from its previous owner. He gripped it with is right hand, Locke had stopped firing, giving the giant Titan some breathing room, room to move his arms at least.
Pyoter threw the rifle closer to Randal, nodding at the dying man with his utmost respect. He spoke as Randal’s weakened neck tilted his head to look at Pyoter. “End it...Hero,” Pyoter said to the Lancer.
Randal understood immediately, as did Borstil. Borstil lifted Randal’s other leg and positioned the second rifle to rest on top of it. He loaded both rifles with a high-explosive grenade and tapped Randal on the shoulder. Xander had followed the exchange as he was reloading his pistol, inserting one of his last three clips into his beloved weapon.
Xander holstered it the moment Borstil tapped Randal on the shoulder, unhooking two devices from the belt around his waist, priming them with a click and turn, waiting for the terminal Lancer to say his most favourite phrase.
“Fire in the hole!” Randal announced with rasping breaths. He pulled the trigger on the both rifles; the launchers clicked and made a hollow thunk sound as they hurled the high-explosive rounds down the ventilation duct.
Xander threw both primed devices he was holding in his hand down the same duct less than a second after Randal had fired.
There was an eerie silence from all of the squad members as they braced themselves for the fire storm that was about to break out.
Jay, Borstil and the third surviving Lancer, Stevens, dropped to the ground the moment the fire erupted down the dark tunnel, the Wolves did not move, showing no fear.
A cacophony of sounds washed over the squad, the screams of the dying beasts mixed with the deafening sound of a powerful blast. The fire erupted from the tunnel, engulfing everything down the other three tunnels. The fire burned with hellish heat, as if the flames were summoned from Hades itself.
Fire never discriminated when it burned, burning metal and organic as it ate at everything in the confined spaces of the vents. Luckily the Wolves and Lancers were protected against such hazards. The Wolves could withstand thousands of degrees inside their suits without breaking a sweat from the heat. The Lancer’s basic armour offered less protection, but was enough to protect them from the fire storm rushing over their prone bodies.
The fire ate up all the oxygen inside the tunnels in mere seconds, and it spluttered out as the last sparks of flame vanished in unseen corners of the ventilation system.
In its wake, the storm had charred everything charcoal black, scorching armour, removing paint, melting weaker metals and burning organic matter into ash.
The two monsters Nathan was fighting were reduced to smouldering heaps of melting flesh and bone. Nathan lowered his shield and scanned the scene around the intersection as he caught his breath. Nothing moved except the Wolves and Lancers, and nothing could be heard down the tunnels leading into the intersection. Everything was silent, that strange silence that followed death wherever it went.
Bodies of dead Lancers and beasts were nothing but paste on the floor, the fire finding purchase inside the armour of the dead or dying Lancers. The beasts never stood a chance once the fire started eating at their flesh, consuming their matter with ease. It was almost ironic in some way, how the monster’s hunger was nothing compared to the hunger of the inferno.
Randal was dead; his body was vaporized below his legs, having had his legs in the direct blast of the fire storm. His eyes were closed and his head rested on his chest, the metal from his helmet melted into his chest plate.
Borstil, Jay and Stevens had survived, their armour blackened, but intact. The parts that were less protected between the metal plating of the Lancers had suffered s
ome warping, but nothing that compromised the integrity of their standard armour.
Christian had seized the opportunity the fire storm had created and had severed the head from the slab of meat he had been grappling with. He had pinned it against the duct wall with his shield as the flames consumed its flesh, using a back-handed swipe with his combat blade to detach the thing’s awful head. Christian stood, his armour steaming from the heat, breathing deep as his suit filtered the thin scorched air in the duct. He looked at Nathan, and for the first time his brother gave him a nod, it might have been a tiny gesture, but to Christian it meant so much more. Christian did not dwell on it for too long, they were far from escaping the trap. He turned and walked to the intersection. He assessed the rest of the squad, taking deep breaths as he tried to calm himself after the adrenaline rush from battle.
Rivers’ back was scorched and he was complaining about how he would have to repaint his suit again. Locke, Pyoter and Xander were not fazed by the fire. Xander was helping the remaining Lancers, gathering ammo from the weapons that did not completely melt during the blaze. Pyoter was sitting on his knees, just looking at the dead men in the intersection.
Locke was tapping his helmet with his armoured fingers, shaking his head as if trying to clear something from it.
Christian was about to ask his captain what he was doing, but Locke spoke first.
“Can you hear that?” Locke asked the rest of his squad.
“Captain, I found someone, patching it through to your station,” Remy yelled over the bridge, she was almost as relieved as Gray was, almost.
“Thank the stars,” Gray whispered to himself with a sigh of relief. He mentally pressed the incoming transmission button he saw in his mind, his connection with the Ship’s OS made it possible to see virtual representations of the entire Hyperion’s systems.
The voice he heard was the one he was hoping to hear, it sounded hollow as if the person on the other end was speaking into a metal can, an anomaly attributed to the filtering on all military analogue channels. But it did not matter to Gray; he was just overjoyed to hear the voice of Locke on the other side of the transmission.