by Chris Turner
“Yeah, well be thankful you’re out of there and rid of it now.”
“For how long?” He started to shake like a recovering Myscol addict and I had to grab his shoulders and shake him like a wet blanket and slap his cheeks a few times.
“Snap out of it! We have to move, Blest. First, let’s gather up Zan. He looks to be in a bad way.”
We cut him down from his swinging post, then unwound the leather from his wrists and got the groaning man up onto his feet. His back was mangled up, sure, nothing we could do there. But Mong had spared him the usual agony of extra deep slits this last time. Zan swayed on his feet, moaning, looking around in confused horror.
“Amp up your game, Zan,” I said. “We’ve got a journey to make.” I shook him as I had Blest. Seemed it helped. Zan wasn’t in great shape. I considered dropping him in one of the spare tanks to heal him up better but I grimaced at the idea. No time, and even if I could hold him by down like a rat in that witch water, by the look in his eyes, I knew he’d not go in easily.
“Steady him, Blest. I’ve a little last minute business to take care of.”
“Like what?”
Over to the remaining tanks I hobbled and took the butt end of my rifle in a firm hand. With all my force, I smashed the nearest Mentera tank.
Blest’s eyes bugged out in horror as the glass cracked and green fluid trickled down the side. “Are you fucking insane?”
“Chip and Chong are inseparable,” I declared. “We separate these bitches and we create a whole new dynamic, don’t we? It’ll sharpen up our old friend Mong. He seems to be a big fan of trials and tests.” I leaned in and smashed the glass again with triumph and rage.
“What about us?” Blest croaked. “You plan on getting snipped by their claws?”
“I’m not messing around here any more.”
“Easy for you to say, Rusco, you’re—”
The next strike hit the cracked glass square on and the locust came spilling out in a spray of green water and glass. The thing rolled then coiled up in a dense, black heap. It lay there sprawled, its antennae quivering before the broken tank. Then the dwarf wings fluttered in a burst of movement. The power of flight seemed lost over the passing ages. It scootched up on its hind legs into a beetle-like crouch, making weird clicking noises with its mandibles.
Blest recoiled. Zan’s mouth moved in a hoarse scream.
“Let’s get the fuck out of here,” I cried, “before Chip starts to get antsy.”
We hobbled like three broken musketeers to the exit.
On the way, I caught a brief glimpse of the glass case on the altar, the one that housed Fol’s alien bulb. A brief hesitation had me wincing before I smashed the glass case and snatched up the bulb, the same that Follee had taken up on a whim from Cyber station.
“What are you planning to do with that?” croaked Blest.
“Stuff it up your ass, what do you think?”
“Rusco, these things are fucking dangerous.”
“Exactly. Now move.”
We thrust our shoulders to the door. Nothing. Tight as a spinster’s crotch. Locked. Why wouldn’t it be?
Blest sighed, blowing spittle past his dry lips. “You could have tested the door before you woke up Chip.”
“Hindsight, Blest, hindsight. The key must be in Balt’s purse. Guess that’s what his firearm is for.” I lifted the gun barrel.
“But the noise’ll—”
I blasted the fuck out of the mechanism before Blest could argue. The door sagged open.
“There, see? Now shut up or I’ll put you back in the tank with Balt. Everything’ll work out.” I grinned in satisfaction as I used the rifle to widen the gap to reveal a dim-lit hallway. Broad marble tiles sheened in the sconce light. Zan huffed out a laugh then hissed a breath between his gap-teeth.
I nudged the others out into the deserted hall. Thank Mong’s ugly gods there were no guards. I risked a glance backward and saw our little bug friend, Chip, righting itself, staggering over to his cricket buddy in the nearby tank in a bent-legged crouch.
Time to bug out from this crib.
Chapter 26
Shadows crawled where I motioned the others down the temple hall. Fewer wall sconces lit the broad passageway. Only portraits of Mong and his warriors and ancient warlords adorned the walls. A small air fan chugged away. I started to move toward the exit then recalled a face devoid of hope and a woman’s legs splayed over silk cushions. I halted, mumbled a curse, and backtracked.
“Where you going now?” croaked Blest. “The exit to this shithole is back that way, isn’t it?” He stared around grimly then rolled his eyes. “Oh, Rusco, you’ve got to be kidding? Don’t you get enough skin from Wren?”
Blest and Mong had me pegged, yes, I was a stupid, chivalrous sucker. My true colors coming out. “More than enough skin, Blest. But for now, move.”
He flung off my arm. “Who the fuck are you to give me orders?”
Maybe I should have pistol-whipped Blest for his insolence long ago or left him on Gainor. My brain wasn’t totally sharp-edged this moment, nor was I the greatest tactician. Too many rival emotions, desperate plans and hopes, crossed signals. Too many damn things that could go wrong. Good to see that Blest was returning to his normal obnoxious self. But dammit, we had one chance at freedom and seeing blue skies again! I didn’t want to blow it or lie awake at night, thinking, well, Jet, if you had only tried to save the noble lady who had the guts to stand up to Mong, instead of scurrying off like some damned coward with tail tucked between his legs intent on saving your own skin…
I heard the staccato rap of gunshots ahead.
“Down!” I cried.
The roar of ship engines surfaced above, then sounds of explosions rocking the temple’s massive roof.
“What the fuck?” Blest stared white-eyed at the ceiling. “Mong got a little fireworks celebration for us?”
“No, those are fareons,” rasped Zan. “Attack ships.”
“Maybe Mong’s got a little training exercise then in motion?” I mused.
Something smashed into the roof and the whole temple shook down to its foundation.
“Maybe he’s made himself a few enemies?”
“Come on!” I squawked. “No better time than now to get out of here.”
Commotion reigned up ahead. Three figures came running toward us, rifles in hand. Two trailing—youngbloods. They cast tense glances over their shoulders, at the meslars who pursued them. I halted, Balt’s confiscated weapon trained, reluctant to fire on them.
Good thing I didn’t. The foremost, a tall, shadowy figure loped up out of the dimness, moving like an agile cat. I recognized her at once. My God…my heart leapt. Could it be?
It is you, you glorious sight for sore eyes.
She turned and aimed her R4. Mong’s meslars came waving truncheons at the three. They crouched and spat gunfire back at them. Two fell. One of the fanatical survivors kept running with truncheon raised. She blasted him to shit.
Wren tossed me a better rifle. “You look cute in bald, Russy. But you’re harder to find than a beetle in a barnyard.”
My jaw dropped. Not the grim affirmation one’d expect, but the lean figure was a balm to my beleaguered spirit. “Good one, Wren.” I rushed over and gave her a fierce embrace.
“No time for kisses, Rus. These temple laymen are all lambs but Mong’s hard-boys are out, crawling all over this place with guns.”
I motioned them forward. “Back down the hall. How’d you find out where we were?”
“I asked the hired help, nicely.”
“Yeah, I’ll bet.”
“They’re still picking their teeth up off the ground,” said one of the youngbloods, a curly haired gunman garbed in grey khakis and kevlar.
I gave a curt nod. The short-barreled R6 I’d taken from Balt I tossed to Blest.
I made a signal to move on with quicker speed. Wren blinked, indicating the exit was back the other way. Blest just sighed and shook his
head. Knowing time was short, I herded the others on, urging them to silence. The corridor curved in a bow around the back of the temple. Stairwells led to lower levels. I bared teeth at those places, wondering how many more torture chambers Mong kept in this ill-begotten place.
We crept down the hushed halls, Wren, Blest and the others at my heels. A vengeful leer was carved on my face as we halted before the iron-bound door worked with ornate inscriptions of naked bodies plunged in orgiastic positions. I gave a quick nod. We blew the mechanism and burst through, our guns hefted. The place appeared deserted, but through the thick billows of reeking incense, I perceived goblets of stale wine and ale lying strewn all over the marble floor amidst the decorative fountains. I caught a shiver of movement in the back. Cushions and embroidered blankets sprawled on plush divans; heads turned at our approach and naked bodies twisted.
Amid the rank haze, I stared and found her spread-eagled under a drunken captain whose croak rose to a bull’s roar of defiance.
The naked, struggling figure underneath him kneed him in the groin. The man groaned, one hand groping for his weapon. Wren opened fire and he fell in a rapidly-spreading pool of blood.
Frenzied shrieks echoed about the stone chamber. Several of the dazed women rolled off their couches, uncertain what to do. Volia staggered up, pulling a fleece cover around her half-naked, olive-skinned body. She looked broken in some indefinable way, but I glimpsed a defiance still burning in her hazel eyes and a growing contempt for her captors and a raging desire for vengeance. I shuddered to think what those animals had done to her in here.
I moved forward to gather her up, snatching up a long fur coat draped on the side of a couch.
“Who’s she?” grunted Wren, motioning her gun. One of your girlfriends?”
“It’s Lady Volia—”
“Leader of the Melinar,” Volia croaked. She coughed, staggered up to her full height, fumbling to accept the garment in my hands. She leaned heavily on me and I caught the musky smell of sweat and sex. She wrapped the black-furred garment tighter, hugging the trim contours of her body, the smooth round of hip and curve of breast I’d glimpsed earlier. She was half drugged with something, still zoned on local poppy or some drug no doubt. Probably the least of what Mong had forced on her. Her eyes stared funny, all glassy.
Wren seemed to pause. “Your people are here, Volia, trying to rescue you.”
She nodded, gave a weak acknowledgement.
“What of these others?” Wren motioned to the scattered few in this smoke-hazed, degenerate orgy grounds.
A half dozen other women shied away from us. The riddled corpse spooked them and had them cowering back against the wall in even greater fear. “If you want to come with us, hurry your asses!” Wren called in a crisp, no-nonsense voice.
None of them responded, only quivered in doubt and fear, retreating to their shadowy corners.
“Broken as whipped dogs.” I shrugged in resignation. They were too far gone, too brainwashed and terrorized by Mong’s sadistic abuse. It was sad. I took a few halting steps toward the exit.
Blest’s moon-face blinked; he started to shiver again, still prey to convulsions.
“Blest, snap out of it.” I slapped him then gave him a reassuring pat on the back. “We have killing to do.”
“Yeah.” He shook off whatever was buzzing through him and took a firmer grip on his R6. Zan was doing better, though he was looking terrible. Pale-faced, bloodshot eyes, jittery hands.
Wren looked the epitome of health. Ready to take on a small army.
I shuddered to think what I looked like. Probably a ragged scarecrow with a shit-eating grin pasted on his gaunt-ugly face. I rolled my eyes. Quit mucking around, Rusco. You auditioning for a beauty pageant here? A second’s daydreaming and it’s graveyard time for you.
Another half-baked sot sprang to life from under a blanket on a nearby divan. His hands clawed for me. I kicked him in the gut, whacked him with the butt end of my gun as the snarl died on his lips and he fell in a soundless heap.
I stepped over the body and motioned to Zan. “Forgot to make the introductions. Wren—meet Zan. Zan, Wren.”
Wren waved her gun at the two young recruits. “These ugly mutts are Voj and Grild.” The whites of their eyes showed against camo-blackened faces, matching toothy grins.
Zan shook his head in confusion. “Rusco, who are these guys? What gives?”
“This is my swat team, can’t you see? If you want out of this prison, follow her lead.”
Zan gave a low whistle. “You’ve got friends in very high places. Or some guardian angels protecting you.”
“I followed Mong’s meditations, remember?”
“What’s our plan?” Blest growled, facing Wren.
“Get to the ship,” she said. “Noss is out there waiting for us. I told him to hide the ship not far away, on the other side of the river.”
“Good,” I said. “What is it, Alastar?”
“No, a new one.”
I shook my head in wonder and could have laughed for joy. “Wren, I applaud your resource. Good play. Can you reach Noss?”
“Of course.” She tapped her invisible earset. “All on a safe channel.”
“A bold move, considering Mong’s ruthlessness.”
“It was the only opportunity we had. Paid some mega yols out of your drug money for secret intelligence. I’d been watching Othwan like a hawk for weeks, then I saw the Vendecki move in. They must have used some force field to penetrate Mong’s defenses and used it to repel the host.”
“Heard them surge in,” I mumbled. “Sounded just like Mong’s bat fighters making a stealth swoop on a defenseless world.”
“The Vendecki can’t hold these brutes off forever. We’d better hurry.”
In that moment I realized the fortuity of Wren’s presence and loved her all the more for it. The gal was saving my ass again. All of our asses. She’d been watching the planet. Liquidated the assets to buy and equip a ship and track down Mong’s movements. The Vendecki strike had been a bonus, providing the perfect cover to move in. Probably by trying to spring Volia, they’d gotten neck deep in Mong’s murderous warships. I hoped they’d stay alive long enough for us to get to our new ship.
We slunk with speed down the hall.
The sound of sudden bootfall thundered behind us. I swore. Angry voices, shouts of doom followed. Somebody must have gotten wind of the expo of carnage back at the Orpheum. I turned to level fire at the pursuing figures, a half dozen or more.
“Rusco!” I felt a sharp tug at my arm. Wren.
From up ahead, two ghastly shapes scuttled straight for us. Anthracite figures out of a ghoul’s nightmare. Chip and Chong. I almost shat my pants. Wren raised her gun to blast them to atoms. I elbowed her gun wide.
“What did you do that for?”
I pulled her off to the side and we hugged the wall. Blest, half out his wits, lifted his trembling rifle.
I slapped his gun away. “Don’t kill them!” I barked. The two locusts scuttled forth on their hind legs, antennae twitching, but as anticipated, they fled past us as if having a definite mission in mind. I could see in their red glinting eyes the malice and vindictive wrath, armed with centuries of old animosity for whatever the fuck else. The ancient memories that brewed behind those insectoid skulls, could not be known. They were infathomable.
“Let them face Mong’s guard,” I hissed.
“Why, they’re—”
A crunch of bone precluded words. The two black shapes pounced on a defenseless meslar armed with a truncheon.
The first locust’s strike was lightning fast. Lashing out a slimy appendage, it hooked the man while its partner snapped off the man’s arm at the elbow. Another pincer reached for the man’s jugular. The victim gave a blood-curdling shriek as his life blood spurted on the marble floor.
The creatures sped away on their hind legs, heading toward the Orpheum and the place where I remember Mong kept the amalgamators…almost as though the
y were drawn to a homing beacon like moths.
I had to turn my head away as more crunching sounds came drifting back to the tune of men’s screams and hoarse wails of agony and terror.
The insects scuttled on, leaving a trail of dead in their wake. Feisty and efficient devils, I thought.
“What are they?” hissed Grild.
“Come on!” I rasped. “Let’s get the fuck out of here before those bugs decide to beetle back and bring a horde after us.” I waved my R4.
“Where did those things come from?” Wren called.
“You don’t want to know, Wren, believe me.”
Blest was too dissociated from pain to do anything but mumble doom and gloom. Volia, paralyzed with shock, was having trouble registering any of it. Zan had already inured himself to such unnatural violence, having seen and experienced enough grisliness to last a lifetime back in the Redemption hall.
Events were fast sliding out of control. I knew I had to get a grip on reality and get the fuck out of here.
No such luck. Fierce shouts issued from down the hall—Mong’s men, perhaps even Mong himself. The heavy tread of clopping boots and running figures came to our ears. We were blocked in. Enemies in front, enemies behind. Too many to deal with, even with our guns. Some of us would die. Maybe most of us. I looked around in utter desperation. Where’s your bag of tricks now, Rusco?
On a sudden inspiration, I shuttled Volia and Zan to a door and into a room, hoping to hell there was nothing lurking there to cut us to ribbons. Blest and the others loped behind; Wren brought up the rear.
Nothing. Nobody. Just a shrine room dedicated to some obscure god, one of Mong’s pantheon of creepos.
We crouched in the murk, the whites of our eyes showing and our breaths held. The shadows were thick at the far end of the chamber. A lone, sputtering candle set on a low altar cast long and wavering shadows upon a grim warlord’s face carved on the stone wall.
We passed precious minutes hunched in the dark, crouched like mice, trying to stay out of the cat’s jaws. Weapons trained at the door, we prepared for violence. Blest tried to hiss out some unsolicited advice, but I waved him to silence. Too many bloody amateurs spilling ideas in the stew pot. Too many foes around us. I could hear harsh, enemy voices echoed from under the crack of the door. We couldn’t hide here forever. Decision time. I was about to give the order to head out and let us take our chances in a mad scramble in the hall when I heard more voices and figures doubling back this way. I winced and waved the others back, though they huddled close at my shoulders. I stuck my ear to the door.