Game, Set, Deathmatch

by Edwin H Rydberg

  The result was more than he could have hoped for.

  As Ichor squirted everywhere, the room shook. The structure had been hurt! That meant he had a chance.

  “Annoying insect,” PS said, charging him.

  Figment jumped to his feet and ran from the room, firing a pulse sphere at PS before quickly detonating it. A glance back showed PS writhing in what appeared to be pain as numerous tentacles had been severed.

  Now that he knew how to read the venous pattern in the walls, Figment could quickly spot one of the pumps. None were visible in the corridor, so he raced to a nearby room, blasting his way through the sphincter that served as an entrance portal.

  Where floor met ceiling in the far corner he spotted another heart. In seconds it too was ruptured. This time the shudder of the base was more noticeable.

  After destroying two more hearts, the base heaved, throwing him from his feet. In the corridors, the walls were undergoing peristaltic spasms as the room sphincters snapped open and closed even as they shriveled and fell apart. The veins running along the ceiling burst, spewing a black ichor onto the floors below causing the base materials to warp into strange, hideous structures. Figment took that as his cue to leave.

  He launched himself in one direction, struggling to keep his footing, while avoiding the ichor from the bursting veins as the base collapsed around him.

  * * *

  Time froze for a moment as icy clarity swept over Bodybag. She watched as red seeped from multiple places beneath his fractured armor. She’d just killed her savior.

  As the Legionnaire collapsed, she caught his eye. There was no malice there, just a look of forgiveness and belief. “You can — must — do it”, his lips seemed to say, though no sound came from them.

  As he crumpled to the floor, the room shook, almost as if it was a living being writhing in pain. The voices in her head faded and the hold on her was broken, at least for the moment. Bodybag turned back to the Rapture, entering the final three numbers in the distraction.

  With the full code locked, the display readout flashed a red warning and activated the timer. Normally Raptures detonated within seconds of being triggered. Although, normally, they were launched in a game zone. However, as both Raptures had to detonate simultaneously to ensure the destruction of both conversion pools and maximum damage to the base, these models were equipped with three-minute countdowns and a wide-spectrum communications array. They’d start on the longer countdown, but once both were triggered they would detect one another and sync to a three second countdown.

  With another glance to the descending numbers, Bodybag leapt to the side, dodging a spurt of heavy artillery before grabbing her discarded flak cannon and pumping a few rounds at the remaining Nekroid. They seemed to have recovered from their momentary shock and were back in the game.

  “Might as well have some fun ‘fore ma time runs out,” Bodybag said. She was only disappointed there was no audience to wow for her final show.

  * * *

  DaemonS was losing health fast. However, between her and VinD, most of the Nekroid had been whittled away in the opening salvo. Ever since then, VinD had simply stood at the doorway, blocking escape but neither helping nor hindering in any other way. When she had the opportunity, between dodging the remaining half dozen Nekroid, a quick glance would reveal a spasming trigger finger or a shaking of his body and it looked like VinD was fighting his own, internal battle.

  The last six Nekroid were not going down easily and DaemonS was getting tagged more and more frequently — hip, shoulder, bicep — each hit slowed her a little more, made her that little bit easier of a target. Add to that the fear that VinD would come charging into battle against her, and the certainty that Bodybag must have locked down the other Rapture already, and DaemonS had begun to feel the battle was lost.

  That was when the room shook, knocking DaemonS to her knees. Her gun skittered away, along with her last hope. Until, that is, she noticed that VinD had finally come alive. The Halandri construct was spewing death indiscriminately around the room and it seemed he’d concluded his internal struggle by deciding that both sides should die.

  DaemonS flattened herself on the floor before slithering behind the Rapture. There, she input the trigger code while letting VinD and the Nekroid take care of each other. The countdown started at three minutes before jumping to three seconds.

  So, Bodybag had beaten her to the objective. Well done ‘oman, she thought with a chuckle.

  And then the conversion chamber erupted in a ball of fiery plasma.

  * * *

  Figment continued his mad dash for the exit as the base writhed and shook in the aftermath of his attacks. It was like running on a bouncy funhouse castle from a childhood fair. As always, the corridors twisted and turned, creating a vast maze. This time, when he came to the end of a corridor, he just blasted the wall with his pulse cannon. Most of the time, the organic tissue dissolved under the onslaught, tearing a hole through to the next passageway. When the blast hole revealed an obstruction instead, he turned. But he always attempted to continue in the same direction he started in. After all, the base had to have an end in each direction, he just had to continue until he reached it.

  Figment regretted not being able to risk helping the two Cowgirlz but pragmatism had always been his guiding principle. Not only did the human forces outside need to know what had gone on down here, but given the odds DaemonS and Bodybag had faced, it was incredibly unlikely either of them made it out of the conversion chambers. Incredibly unlikely either had managed even to set off their Raptures, which made his mad dash outside all the more important. A failure meant the city had to be warned and mobilized to this threat — assuming they’d defeated the Cyclops army.

  The faces of the two women filled his thoughts as he continued blasting through walls. He regretted the actions that circumstances had led him to, the necessity of using the Cowgirlz as crucial linchpins in a plan to counter evil forces. Just as he regretted the fact that, given the same circumstances, he’d make the same choices again.

  Wall. Left.

  Wall. Right. Clear.

  The corridor seemed to go on forever and Figment was beginning to long for an open sky above his head when a final shock pulse burst open the outer wall. He sprinted forward into the cold dark night.

  By now it was clear to Figment that the Cowgirlz had failed. If the human forces didn’t act quickly, the Nekroid could gain a permanent foothold in the city. He allowed himself one last stolen glance at that underground base, and a final thought for his fallen partners, then he turned his attention back to finding the allied soldiers. At that moment, the first rumbles echoed through the base, followed quickly by a pair of expanding fireballs.

  Figment sprinted for all he was worth, jumping debris and dodging mounds of earth as he felt the heat of the explosive blast on his neck. He hadn’t come this far only to be stopped by coincidental timing.

  Another quick look back and an estimate of the blast radius, it was going to be close. As the fire ball reached for him, Figment dove forward, struggling to squirm beneath the shelter provided by larger rocks and construction debris as the hellfire of the Raptures overtook him.

  * * *

  After what felt like an eternity, the fireball receded behind him and Figment climbed from his protective hole. Looking back, he saw stretching like a network of giant spider webs, indentations from the collapsed tunnels lacing the ground, reaching under and around the rubble and nearby building supports. The ground shifted again, slightly, but otherwise there was only silence in the surrounding air, emptiness like the hollow feeling in his chest. DaemonS and Bodybag were gone.

  It occurred to him that the city really was quiet — preternaturally so. No air cars traced their fixed routes through the sky, no people could be seen bustling about on the lower platforms, and most importantly, there was the noticeable absence of laser batteries discharging, or of the staccato bursts of cannon shells
exploding. The battle seemed to be over. What remained was only to learn who had won.

  Figment bent; digging in the rubble by his feet he uncovered the sky skates he’d buried before they entered the lair. A strong tug pulled them from their grave, but they might just as well have remained. The Rapture blasts had left them charred, their electronics fried as exposed wires and circuit boards still smoked. He held them up, appraising them, before dropping them back to the ground. It was going to be a long walk back.

  22

  Night had fully encapsulated the city by the time Figment reached the base of the lower skyway support structure. The faint stars and new moon offered little more light than the subdued glow of the city behind him. In the long shadows of the near black he could gain little information on the battle’s outcome. What wasn’t blocked by roadways or refuse was blocked by the rubble of devastated houses.

  Scavengers had crept from their hovels. Independent and unconcerned with the victor’s identity, bright eyes of the disenfranchised were clearly visible as they traversed the area rummaging through new and old wreckage. They searched for a piece of food or something to make the nights warmer. Figment hoped his own refuge was still safe; it was only a matter of reaching it.

  Before him was a daunting climb up to the skyway, or a long climb until he found an access ramp. He preferred the climb, if he could find a way up. There was nothing to grip for at least a dozen yards up the support structure. He scoured the debris around him but found nothing of use. That left only one option.

  Figment removed his socks and shoes and stripped off his jacket and shirt. It was obvious that none of them could reach around the support, so he also removed his pants. After several tries, he managed to tie the shirt, jacket, and pants together so they couldn’t be pulled apart. They just reached around the pillar, if he stretched his arms. With a deep breath and a determination driven by fear of what he’d find, Figment took hold of the makeshift rope, leaned back, planted his bare feet on the support structure, and began the long climb in the cold air of the downbelow.

  * * *

  More than an hour later, one hand reached up and over the thick duracrete edge of the skyway, followed closely by the second. He hung there for a moment and then, with a final burst of energy, Figment hauled himself over the lip and onto the road where he lay still, exhausted.

  How long he stayed there he couldn’t say, but when he came to, the sky was still dark. Figment climbed to his feet, taking in the surroundings. The city’s glow illuminated the raised roadway more easily than it had the lower level and a number of vehicles were visible a short distance away. As his eyes adjusted further, he began to separate the darker shadows of moving bodies from the grey of the city night. He knew not whether they were friend or foe, but there was nowhere else to go, and no one else was around. He walked toward them. If they were human, great, if they were Nekroid then humanity was already lost and he would welcome death.

  As he approached, the wreckage became clear. Tanks were flipped over or charred and gutted; gaping holes had been rent in the roadway. The remains of soldiers lay strewn about the surface. Yet, as bad as things looked, there were no signs of Cyclops or the other strange vehicles anywhere.

  He continued his slow approach when a faint yell met his ears. “Hey, there’s one.” It sounded relieved, not antagonistic, and moments later a small cluster of forms raced toward him. They were clearly human and Figment breathed a sigh of relief.

  The soldiers gathered around him, questioning, prodding with small probes, tests for the Nekroid infection, they told him. He let it continue a few minutes before stopping them, “I’m sure you’ve done enough tests and I need to see the general.”

  “One more,” he was informed as a medic held a small disc over Figment’s right eye and shone a bright light through it. Moments later the light was removed. “Clean,” came the judgment.

  “Great,” Figment answered, “and now, the general?”

  “General’s dead,” a voice from the crowd said, “caught in the crosshairs of one o’ them Cyclops.”

  “Then I need to see whoever’s in command.”

  “That’d be Duncan; assumed the role after a techno-spider blitz vaporized the command staff. Damn good leader, he is.”

  That much Figment already new, but he was happy to hear that at least some of the matchers had made it. “Then take me to him.”

  “Right this way.” He was led along the road, through the wreckage, and towards a much larger cluster of people.

  As they neared, the tall form of Duncan resolved itself against the crowd. Figment approached from behind as the legend was engaged in discussion, “This has got to top ‘93.”

  Duncan spun and, recognizing his friend, clasped Figment in a strong one-armed hug, “Glad to see you made it.”

  Figment returned the gesture, “Glad to be back. Looks like you really pulled off a miracle this time.”

  “I can’t take the credit. We fought as best we could, but we still would have lost had it not been for the cavalry.”

  “Cavalry?”

  Duncan pointed to a wall a short distance away and Figment followed its sheer face up into the night sky. He hadn’t previously noticed the huge object, or perhaps his brain had simply assumed the shadow belonged to a distant building. But as his eyes reached the top he realized it was an ion cannon.

  “It’s theirs,” Duncan said, waving toward a squad that stood alone a short distance away. “Okijuza.” They were clad in full body armor of a design Figment hadn’t yet seen. “Dropped this baby on us just in time, airlifted with a squadron of Scarab. Both were very useful.”

  Okijuza playing the cavalry, what could happen next? “I wonder who tipped them off to the end of the world?”

  Duncan shrugged, “Does it matter? As long as someone did.”

  “Amen.”

  The pair stared out over the edge of the roadway and across the suburbs. In the encroaching light of the early morning, the husks of Cyclops could now be seen littering the battlefield. After a few minutes, Duncan turned to him, almost hesitantly, “And you? I assume it went well?”

  “As well as could be expected. The head is gone and the conversion pools destroyed.”

  “That sounds like a victory to me,” Duncan began before understanding more from Figment’s demeanor. “I’m sorry,” he added with a soft hand on Figment’s shoulder. “Were they remembered?”

  “That’s what I intend to find out as soon as I get the chance. I might need your help.”

  “Anything I can do, just ask.”

  “Thanks, that means a lot,” Figment returned his attention to the devastated city and watched the sunrise over the crumpled and gutted buildings. The area would take time to rebuild, but he was just happy that it was time they still had.

  23

  As DaemonS translocated into the third floor she smiled, Bodybag was as formidable as ever. She’s gonna pay for that rocket with a flaknel burst in the stomach when I find her.

  She leapt high off the ledge launching a pair of rockets at her nearest enemy before landing hard. Two of them hit close enough that the only remnant was a red smear on the floor. She raced on through the warehouse.

  It was hard to believe a year had already passed since the attempted invasion by the Nekroid. As she sped through the labyrinth of industrial corridors, her mind wandered back.

  Last year at this time, they were fearing for Bodybag’s life as the big bundle of death had been turned into a vicious techno-squid. Now, the woman was captain of her own team, thanks largely to Figment. He had really come through for them after the final battle. How he’d managed to acquire their P-matrices from the Halandri archives, considering the company was in complete disarray, she couldn’t imagine. But it was almost as amazing as convincing the Global Earth government to restore them, despite books of legislation against such practices. Yep, Figment had come through for them in a big way.

  “Hiya darl
ing, mind if I watch your back?” Speak of the devil.

  “Watch whatever you want, just keep those corpsicles outta my way.”

  “And my reward?” he asked suggestively.

  “I won’t frag you myself.” She smiled, seeing his mock pout in her mind, before making a suggestive comment of her own, “and maybe something extra back at the base.”

  “None shall lay a hand upon you,” he said with dramatic flair.

  “I’m not worried about hands. Now just keep your eyes...,” a machine gun burst tore into her arm, interrupting her.

  “C’mon ‘oman, yur not makin’ dis a challenge,” a familiar voice filled her ear as it rang over the common channel before she was splattered with bits of Figment.

  DaemonS dodged right before springing off the wall and cartwheeling over the fireball from an exploding rocket. “I’m not that easy!” Turning in mid-air, she fired off a rocket of her own in the direction of the attack.

  “Not sure what you be aimin’ fer, but it sure ain’t me,” came the taunt.

  Landing, she rolled, taking in the room with a quick glance as she came up. A shadow flitted by on her left and she fired a burst of lead at it before giving chase.

  “Yer gettin’ soft in yer old age ‘oman.”

  DaemonS released her adrenaline stores, channeling them into a burst of speed, and streaked after her assailant. Racing around the corner, she was blown backward by an erupting shock sphere.

  “Oh, you’re good,” she said over the channel.

  “You ain’t see nothing yet,” the voice was more audible than comm. and a moment later she was staring down the barrel of a rocket launcher as Bodybag stood over her.

  “You’re gonna ‘ave ta turn it up, ta play wit’ me ‘oman.”