PS turned from the wall, a smile on his lips, and Figment had the feeling he had passed the test. “Oh yes, we were here before. We sent a reconnaissance team to earth in the early years of the Death Match; well before the conversion process had been perfected. We learned a lot from that experience, including the strengths and weaknesses of humans and human technology.”
“Then why the elaborate plot, why invade Genilon?”
“Isn’t it obvious? We recalled our recon team prematurely, believing we had learned all there was to learn about humans, their cybernetics and synthetics. We hadn’t counted on the advances in bioengineering.”
“You mean Chasm and the Phalanx.”
“Precisely. They won the Death Match after we left, displaying an unexpected tenacity and fortitude. Initially, we thought it a one-time occurrence and no contingency plans were made. However, the dominance of the Phalanx continued throughout the decades and we had to face the prospect that we were wrong. Worse still was the realization that we had no information on their composition, their structure.”
“Of course. If they proved to be immune to the conversion process....”
“Exactly. And then we learned Genilon had made another advancement, creating the Legion. Well, even the Nekroid have political intrigue in the halls of government and the invasion was already set by immovable powers. Yet we faced the horrible possibility that the gene-boosted beings might be immune and therefore provide serious opposition. Thus, we were tasked with gaining the missing information that would ensure the success of the attack.”
“And I brought it right to you.”
“Not right away, but we had faith that you would succeed in the end.”
Figment knew he had been used, had known for some time, but that didn’t lessen the impact of Pre-emptive Strike’s words. The sting of being played for a puppet, of being a blind fool manipulated in a plot to destroy his species tore at his heart. But it also made him all the more determined.
“If my blindness led to this, then I guess it’s up to me to stop it,” he said, as he whipped his pulse cannon up, firing off a purple sphere directly at PS before triggering its eruption. As the light and sound died away, it became clear that PS had been protected by a wall of tentacles that shielded him from the blast. Figment lunged to the side and triggered another sphere, with similar affect, before the weapon was swatted from his hands to fly across the room. He ripped the flak cannon from his back holster but he was hammered in the face before he could fire. The weapon fell, harmless, to the floor as he flew backward, colliding with the soft wall.
As Figment dropped from the wall, landing on his hands and knees, he looked up at PS where he couldn’t help but notice several dark tentacles with sharpened ends swaying in the air before him. “You can kill me, but there are others who will finish the job.”
“Perhaps you refer to the two whom we allowed to enter our base with you?” a small gesture to one side and the floor bulged as if a bubble was forming in a tar pit.
Beside Pre-emptive Strike, a sleek, black mass rose, seemingly birthed from the floor itself. The object broadened as it grew, before tapering and finally thinning to a narrow stalk. It looked like a large, dark egg on a stick. As Figment watched, the side of the egg closest to him sank into the ‘shell’. Flattening, it formed a shiny oval surface that brightened to almost white before it dulled again. Shadows resolved themselves on the surface, becoming recognizable humanoid forms. As the scene clarified, Figment understood it was the inside of one of the conversion chambers. He also understood that dozens of Nekroid were waiting there.
“Of course, as you have no doubt surmised, we’ve known of your intrusion from the start. Your two comrades shall reach the pools, where they will make a fine addition to the Nekroid genetic stock. In fact, I do believe they will be arriving at any moment, would you like to watch?”
* * *
Once leaving the Legionnaire, it hadn’t taken Bodybag long to reach her destination. It was almost as if the base wanted her to be here. But now that she was, she didn’t know how she was going to complete her mission. There were far too many Nekroid between her and the pool and any one of the Nekroid could intercept the Rapture shell before it had properly armed. They would have to be cleared before she could deliver her message.
Bodybag. The whispers came again; calling her as they had before, stronger the closer she approached the chamber housing the conversion pool. This time they circled in the air, her name bouncing from all corners of the room. Bodybag. With each repetition, they grew in power, became more invasive. She fought them, but they were persistent, tireless. They seeped past her defenses, sapping her strength.
The Nekroid stood motionless as if automatons awaiting a trigger word. She fingered the flak cannon trigger. Tried to raise the gun. But the whispers continued their assault, stripping her of the necessary will.
It was difficult to focus.
Why was she here again?
The room began a slow dance, rotating about her. Bodybag fell to her knees and the cannon slipped from her fingers. Thoughts warred in her head, a confused milieu screaming in endless circles. She had to resist. Resist who? Why was she here? To destroy — something. But what? Why fight? Why not join them?
No.
No! She had to resist.
The din of voices was suddenly silenced by a staccato burst of deafening sounds. She heard the gunfire before she felt the searing pain or saw the rounds spew from her chest. She raised her hand to the area and felt the warm dampness of blood soaking into her clothes before she fell forward.
As the room grew dark she could just make out, standing machine gun in hand by the door, the Legionnaire she had saved earlier.
* * *
The hole in her shoulder had almost healed and with that, the voices had returned, rising to a deafening roar in her skull. DaemonS bent forward, clutching her head in desperation, trying to shut out the din in her mind. The few coherent thoughts that came were all directed toward trying to understand why the mass of Nekroid hadn’t yet attacked.
She had expected opposition, but not the battalion of warriors that filled the chamber before her. Clearly they had known she was coming.
Why do you resist? The voices were stronger now, more insistent. All her concentration was needed simply to distinguish her own thoughts from the others. There had to be a way to shut them out, to focus on the mission.
The mission. How could she get around two-dozen Nekroid? Sure, the Rapture could be detonated here, but how resilient was the pool? More likely than not, a direct shot would be necessary.
You will be one of us soon. She raked her skull, pulled her hair — what little remained — opened her lungs in a piercing scream, but nothing seemed to make a difference. How did you fight an enemy inside your head?
Join us and all your pains shall be assuaged. Was there no release? Unable to even bang her head against the wall — the bone sheath prevented that even if the walls hadn’t been semi-soft tissue — she dropped to her knees, driving her forehead into the floor. It was still too soft but the minimal pain was a slight relief.
Pain, of course! There was but one recourse.
With a yell, DaemonS plunged her fingers into the small hole still remaining in her shoulder. The excruciating fire lancing through her muscle and nerves thrust the voices from her head. Gritting her teeth, she dug deeper, ensuring the wound wouldn’t heal before her task was done. After seconds that seemed ages, she withdrew her fingers. Panting and with a sweat-soaked brow, she climbed to her feet momentarily, blissfully, free.
And then the Nekroid horde moved.
As one they came alive, drawing weapons and advancing on her. For a moment, they faced each other in an uneasy standoff, an awkward calm before a certain storm.
From behind there was the unmistakable sound of the portal opening and instantly the room was bathed in a lead storm of high-speed projectiles. DaemonS was tagged with a few rounds
in her side before she dropped to the ground. A glance back showed what must have been a metallic, one-armed ghost.
The outline of VinD stood in the doorway. Backlit, he seemed the visage of death as, with a huge machine gun held effortlessly in his one hand, he indiscriminately sprayed the room with lead.
* * *
Thoughtfully, the screen had split in two so he could follow the suffering of both Bodybag and DaemonS. Pre-emptive Strike hovered nearby, watching him more than the monitor. It was too much. Until now the Nekroid had never struck him as sadistic. Violent, sure. Sociopathic, undoubtedly. But not sadistic. “Why not just kill them and be done with it? Surely you can convert them after, without all these games.”
“My dear Figment, as well-meaning as your comments undoubtedly are, we outnumber your comrades thirty-to-one. And they are not willing to come quietly. If we start a blood bath there won’t be enough of the two women left to build a worm. That would be an incredible waste. We’d much rather have them join us, incorporate their skills into the collective existence that is The Nekroid.”
It was clear that stalling was no longer a viable tactic. Every moment he waited here, doing nothing, was a moment closer to DaemonS and Bodybag being converted to mindless drones. He couldn’t let that happen, couldn’t let them exist in the non-life that would entail. He owed them too much to fail them here. But what option did he have?
Figment took in as much of the room as he could, eyes darting about while trying to stay oriented on PS. There was nothing. Nothing recognizable, at least. All Nekroid constructs looked the same to him. The same soft, organic walls that triggered thoughts of being ingested by an immense worm. The same eerie backlit glow from behind the walls. The same veins innervating the cells of the walls, spreading out from a dark conduit to... what?
“Even now you fail to give in. You search for a weakness where there is none.”
Were those veins equivalent to wires? Did the Nekroid transport energy throughout the structure in that way?
“You are a problem solver to the end. I think you will also make a valuable addition to our matrix, willingly or not.”
But if the smaller veins were the energy capillaries, then there must be an energy artery feeding them.
The dark conduit running overhead! It ran through the joins of the room so it looked like a some kind of crossbeam, but Figment was now sure the lifeblood of the base ran through that structure. Only, would a single rupture cause enough damage? It was a big station and this was an organic base. Wouldn’t it just heal itself?
Then he spotted what looked like it might be the equivalent of a heart.
Just above the ceiling was a dark patch with a faint glow. Previously, he had assumed it to be some kind of lighting for the room. His new interpretation of the base suggested otherwise.
He swung his pulse cannon up, but PS must have realized what he’d discovered, because Figment was immediately hit by tentacle in the chest. He flew across the room, impacting the soft wall before falling to the floor. Somehow he’d managed to maintain a hold of his weapon, but another tentacle ripped it away and flung it to the corner.
He jumped to his feet, but found a trio of tentacles aimed at his head. A look to their owner showed PS wearing a smug grin as the tentacle heads hovered around Figment, almost taunting him.
* * *
Bodybag clung to awareness amid the chaos of artillery rounds, grenades, cannons, and pulse spheres. If this was her time to die, so be it, but she was going to do it staring death in the eye and spitting in its face. Her body burned where the rounds had pierced her. For some reason the advancing state of her conversion had lowered the pain tolerance of her cloned body.
By now it was clear the Legionnaire was here to help her, but he was badly outnumbered and would need another gun for support. Climbing to her feet, Bodybag hoisted the flak cannon and fired off a few grenade rounds into the thinning crowd of Nekroid.
“Stay down,” the Legionnaire yelled above the whine of machine gun fire.
“Not a chance,” she answered, glancing back at him.
His armor was shredded and, where exposed, his skin was streaked red with artillery burns from the constant bombardment he was facing, but Bodybag had to admit, it looked like Genilon had outdone themselves this time. A damn fine specimen. She would have loved to challenge him in the arena.
Well, life’s loves and losses, blah, blah. No sense crying over spilled Jaffrey Juice. Neither of them were getting out of here alive, but she’d be damned if any Nekroid were going to be standing when she was finished. Bodybag pumped another spread of grenades into their attackers while dodging like a maniac.
“The pain will keep your head clear for a short time. Arm the Rapture and let’s do what you’re here to do.”
He was right, no matter how much she wanted to join in the bloodshed, she had a job to do. For some reason the Nekroid hadn’t been targeting her. That changed when she unlocked the Rapture’s case. Fortunately, the Legionnaire appeared to have anticipated this and stepped up his attack. The fact that there were only a handful of Nekroid remaining was both good and bad. It meant less artillery to dodge, but more mobile opponents. Bodybag, gave up on all ranged weapons and kept her shield angled to protect her vitals while arming the bomb. Its charge was almost expired, but it would buy a few crucial moments of safety.
She entered the first half of the code without incident, then a Nekroid bowled into her, knocking her back and away from the bomb. She kicked the creature up with powerful legs and it exploded in the air above her, showing her with black, tarry rain. Bodybag turned back to the Rapture to finish the job, and that’s when the voices returned.
Join us and you will have many glorious battles.
“As a slave,” she muttered under her breath. Only three more digits to enter.
A warrior’s life shall be yours.
The voices had once again found a foothold in her mind and were quickly gaining in strength. Bodybag felt herself begin to slip away.
Constant challenges, new fights, inspiring victories.
“No!” The room started to blur, the fight around her adding to the confusion.
You just need to let us in. Join us.
“No.” Her resistance was already fading. Bodybag felt her will slipping away. She was beginning to forget why she was there.
Pain lanced through her calf as a bullet shredded the tissue forcing the voices to recede again. Acting on instinct, she turned, returning fire with her flak cannon… into the chest of the Legionnaire.
* * *
DaemonS hugged the floor until the lead storm was over and the whine of VinD’s empty guns filled the room. For several seconds afterward, he held the trigger tight, until the the gun fell from his hands to the soft floor where it squelched into the surface. VinD still stared ahead, motionless except for a barely noticeable twitch and DaemonS was certain he was fighting his own demons.
But she didn’t have time to worry, because the remaining Nekroid had come alive. They seemed to know that VinD was no longer a threat, and the half dozen remaining warriors focused their attention on her. Except, as one they holstered their weapons, only activating their shields. There were intending to batter her senseless. That could only mean the Nekroid wanted her alive, for the moment anyway. That thought only redoubled her effort to fight and trigger the Rapture. She had no intention of being kept alive as some mind-enslaved monster.
Hoisting her rocket launcher, she backpedaled while launching rockets at their feet. The first few caught the Nekroid by surprise, but the survivors quickly adapted, using low-angled shields and the shockwave from the rocket explosion to propel them through the air toward her. She rolled under the first few, catching them in the back with rockets, but all too soon she was out of ammo. A hasty check of the nearest fallen Nekroid revealed a pulse cannon — suicide in this environment — and a pistol. She armed herself with the smaller weapon and sprang away narrowly avoiding th
e impact of several energy shields.
Now that the big artillery was out of the way, the Nekroid followed her lead and switched to their own pistols, deactivating their shields. It was clear they still wanted her breathing, however. That was the only explanation as to why the storm of lead filling the room was doing little more than leaving bloody streaks across her body.
Keep it coming, DaemonS thought. Each wound, each streak of fire across her skin only succeeded in keeping the voices at bay for a little while longer, enabling her to concentrate on the task at hand.
Only, with so many Nekroid still attacking, it seemed increasingly unlikely she’d be able to complete that task and arm the Rapture.
* * *
“My dear Figment, you will make an excellent addition to our collective. Your resourcefulness and determination, along with those of your two colleagues, will be a great boon to what we’re building.”
“And just what is that?” Figment asked, more to stall than because he cared. By now it was obvious the Nekroid had to be stopped or everything would be lost. Their goals, whatever they might claim them to be, ran counter to the survival of all life in the galaxy.
“Change. From the ugly chaos you inhabit, to the beauty of our order and unity. Imagine, a universe where every being acts with a singular purpose, toward a singular goal.”
“A goal chosen by you, I suppose.”
“No. Well, maybe. Who chooses the goal is really a meaningless question since we all have the same goal. But I think you’ve postponed the inevitable long enough. Now, you will join us.”
Figment tensed as the tentacles neared. He had one, slim, chance. As he readied to duck and dive, the screens behind PS erupted in a cacophony of artillery fire and the Nekroid turned, momentarily distracted.
“What? No! They need to stay alive!”
Figment seized that moment and dove toward his weapon. In one smooth movement, he grasped the pulse cannon, aimed at the throbbing black mass in the ceiling, and pulled the trigger. Then he buried himself in the soft floor before triggering the detonation.
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