Her exposed arm started to burn all of a sudden. Flickering yellow-orange smudges appeared to the left of the chair. It was hard to tell how close the flames were, but Clio suspected they were just out of reach.
“Help!” She managed a half-broken scream.
She didn’t care if nearby enemies heard her. Whatever their plans, they couldn’t be worse than slowly roasting alive.
The heat grew more intense, and Clio leaned as far to her right as she could. Through the stinging smoke, she managed another call. If help wasn’t on the way, it was already too late, but Clio refused to surrender so easily. She desperately shoved and clawed at the hot metal for as long as she could. Clio never imagined she’d go in such a horrible way: cooked alive like a pig on a spit and she’d soon be squealing like one too. Maybe she deserved it for her sins.
If only I died in the crash.
The flames crept up next to her, the heat becoming unbearable. Clio removed the makeshift mask, hoping the smoke would suffocate her first.
She was about to draw a deep breath of fumes when a bang rang out. Only when hands dragged her from the chair did Clio realize that the noise was the rubble trapping her being removed. Shadows danced and faded as she was carried out of deep darkness and tears blurred her eyes. Smoke choked her lungs so badly she could hardly breathe, let alone call out to whoever was carrying her.
He, she, or it set Clio down on her side. Breathing gradually became less laborious, and the air here felt cool, even soothing the inside of her throat. She coughed violently between shallow breaths and brought up phlegm. She still couldn’t feel her legs, not that she had the strength to check on them.
Despite the cleaner air, Clio’s nose and throat still burned. She rubbed away the tears and had to shield her sensitive eyes from the powerful light that had replaced the darkness inside the wreckage. She cautiously looked from under her hand. A blurred silhouette of a figure stood over her. No matter how much she rubbed her eyes, the image didn’t get any clearer. It occurred to Clio that her eyesight had been damaged, and she stifled a moan.
As much as she wanted to speak, her mouth refused to move. A merciless sea of exhaustion drowned her. The silhouette expanded until darkness tugged at the edge of her awareness, threatening to envelop her.
She welcomed it.
Clio opened her crusted eyelids and found herself in darkness once again. She sat up and leaned against a rough wall. Her body felt stiff as if every muscle had recently taken a serious beating; she supposed that was a good way of putting things. To Clio’s surprise and delight, her legs worked fine and the pain in her head had dulled to a throb.
The darkness, however, worried her. For all she knew, she had been taken prisoner by the invaders and a horrendous death awaited her. She fought back a wave of panic.
“Hello,” she whispered, half-hoping no one would answer.
Something shuffled somewhere up ahead then clicked.
Dim light poured into the room as a door opened before her, framing a dark figure. Her eyesight had improved, and she could make out crates and stacked shelves, but everything lacked a certain sharpness.
“I’m glad you're awake.”
She recognized the voice but had trouble matching it with a face.
“Who are you?” She had a million other questions, but that one seemed like a good place to start.
The figure moved into the room and the soft light reflecting off the walls revealed a man in an unusual TEK, but nothing clicked. “It’s Aegis Nakamura. I was on the bridge when we went down. We’re in a storehouse basement in Sector Two, Targos, Colony 115. Don’t you remember?”
“I know what planet we’re on. I didn’t hit my head that hard.” Clio was surprised by the humor in her voice. “What happened? Where are the others?”
“We cut through a building before crash-landing. Cutting up the avenue slowed us down, but we hit another structure hard not far from Gate Two.”
He seemed to be avoiding her second question.
“What about Lieutenant Commander Gargan, Officer Jarris, and the others?”
The Aegis crouched down in front of her. “As far as I know, we’re the only ones who made it.”
“I…” Words failed as a flood of burning guilt overcame her.
“Don’t be too hard on yourself, kid. Thanks to you, we’re still alive, and that in itself is a miracle. I found you in the wreckage and pulled you free, but before I could check for others, the invaders descended on the area. I got us out of there and found somewhere for us to hole up. I returned to the wreck in the night, but the bodies were gone. The invaders seemed to have picked the bridge clean.”
A tear broke free of Clio’s left eye and trickled down her cheek. Others soon followed, and she forced herself to draw deep breaths. Maybe I’m not the cold-hearted bitch everyone thinks I am, after all. But everyone was gone, apart from her and the Aegis. “Who are they?”
“I’ve never seen them before. They’re tall, fast, and they wear powerful black armor. I haven’t seen what’s under it yet, but they look and move like…insects. Judging by the level of damage in the city, their weapons are deadly. In short, it’s best they don’t find us.”
Clio recalled Gargan confirming that the drop-ships had deployed successfully. “What about the Storks? Commander Grimshaw? The cadets?” Again, Clio was surprised that she even cared.
“If the Storks made it to the ground, they probably set down somewhere near the western plains, but I’ve not been able to confirm anything. The enemy is jamming communications down here too, and there’s only so much I can do without giving us away. I detected an explosion beyond the western forest not long after I found you. Most likely the Bakura’s core failing. If there were survivors, I hope they got off in time.”
Clio forced down a sob and brought herself under control, wiping the wet from her face with a dirty sleeve. “My injuries seem to be much better. I can wiggle my toes, but my left thigh’s still a bit numb.”
“You’re lucky we saw to it in time. A chunk of debris had you pinned down and cut off circulation to both your legs. The left was worse, but I patched it up. Your concussion was pretty bad too. I injected you with the last of my nanites. They should help the wounds heal completely within the next day or so, but don’t be surprised if it continues to hurt in the meantime.”
“Thank you,” she whispered. “What about my eyes?”
“According to my scans, the nanites should fully repair your eyesight too, but I’m no doctor.”
“I don’t know what to say.” It was an insufficient token, but it was all Clio could muster without crying again.
“You would have done the same for me, I’m sure.”
An awkward silence filled the dark room, and Clio couldn’t bear it. “What do we do now?”
“I’ll head out before the sun comes up, take a look around. From what I’ve seen so far, there’s been a lot of fighting, and someone’s still putting up some resistance. The city took a hell of a beating, though, possibly some kind of orbital strike. One building looked like it burned to the ground several days ago, so this has been going on for a while. We probably would have known if the enemy hadn’t been blocking comms. I need to find a path to Xerocorp Labs as soon as possible, but it’s miles from here, and the invaders are everywhere.”
“I’ll go with you.” Clio tried to get up and collapsed back to the ground. She may have had feeling in her legs again, but they had a long way to go before she could walk.
“You must rest and let the nanites do their job. Otherwise, you’ll take longer to heal. Take this.” He fetched something from a dark corner and set a field pack in her lap.
Clio felt the hardened plastic clasps and opened the lid to see what was inside.
“You’ll find a blaster and a field-shield in there. They’ll come in useful when we need to move. The shield has a full battery, but it won’t last long in a fight. I’ll see if I can find you a TEK while I’m out. There are enough liquid packs and ration pouches in t
here to last you a week or so. Only use two each day. There’s no telling when we’ll find more.”
“How long will you be?” She tried not to sound too desperate.
Nakamura checked his SIG and smiled at her reassuringly. “I’ll be back by zero eight hundred. The entrance to this place is hidden behind a collapsed wall, so we should be fine, but hold onto that gun, just in case. I’ll be back before you know it.”
He made his way to the door.
“Aegis Nakamura.” She got his attention. “Thanks again for everything, and good luck.”
“You too. And call me Sai.” He shut the door behind him enclosing Clio in darkness again.
A plethora of thoughts fought for her attention, but pure exhaustion pushed them aside and her heavy eyelids closed.
Mourning the dead would have to wait. But until then, Clio had to work on not joining them.
They had to reach Xerocorp Labs. Maybe then she would be able to complete her own mission.
Clio thumbed the artificial fingernail containing the Confederation data she had stolen from the Bakura. She still needed to transmit it to her contact.
“Need to complete the mission,” she moaned as she drifted to sleep.
13
Rolling The Dice
Randai stalked from the dark alley into the neon glow of The Raven’s Wings nightclub. A visit to White Dragons headquarters was nothing short of suicide for a man with a price on his head, but Randai had a bargaining chip and a few cards up his sleeve, in case things didn’t turn out as planned…When have they ever?
A line of would-be patrons ran the length of the street, and thumping music spilled from an open door as a party of three was admitted. Four bouncers manned the entrance, all of whom were Varg warrior-class. They wore basic security exoframes and carried blades and blasters at their sides. The biggest bouncer stood off to one side watching the other three as they worked. He stood half a head taller than the others and more bony armor covered his head. The butt of a shotgun jutted over his shoulder and a blade, twice as long as that equipped by his colleagues, hung at his hip. He was the leader, the one Randai wanted.
Randai approached casually, his chest out and shoulders squared. Vargs were all about body language.
“Where do you think you’re going?” the leader growled, resting a giant hand on the pommel of his knife. “Get in line!”
“Easy there, Spike. I’m here to see Mr. Darcy.”
“Mr. Darcy isn’t here. Take a hike before I cut you a new ass.” The Varg stepped forward in an attempt to intimidate him, but Randai stood his ground.
“I wouldn’t get too close if I were you, Spike.” He smiled, goading the warrior. “It wouldn’t be good for your honor.”
The Varg hesitated briefly then took the bait. He stooped to touch his bony forehead to Randai’s: the customary way for a Varg to accept a challenge. Before they engaged in head-butting to the death, Randai flicked his hand to his side and pulled the trigger. The blast took the towering brute in the boot, and he stumbled back howling in pain. By the time Randai had wrestled him to the ground and held a blaster to his head, the other three bouncers had their own guns drawn and trained on him.
Several would-be patrons fled while others in the queue watched the scene with unease.
If not for having their leader at his mercy, the three warriors wouldn’t have thought twice about blowing them both to pieces, but Randai had chosen correctly and thus had complete control of the situation.
For the time being, at least.
“Get a message to Mr. Darcy,” he shouted over the animal-like grunts of the other Vargs. “Tell him Randai Kahn has something he needs.”
The Vargs looked to their leader but didn’t move. Spike hissed at them, and the bouncer nearest the door disappeared inside, obeying his master like a dog.
Randai decided to name that one Max.
A few awkward moments passed before Max returned and signaled for Randai to enter.
He pushed Spike to the ground, stowed his blaster, and made his way inside the club. Since Mr. Darcy had a thing about spilling blood on his premises, he’d likely not get his gun inside, but it didn’t hurt to be prepared.
Randai followed Max through the entrance. The noise that young people called music assaulted his ears as sweat and stale booze got to work on his nose. Dim lights lined one end of the club and the other pulsed with smoky lasers flashing to the beat of the music. Randai could hardly move for the bodies choking the place and almost lost Max in the crowd. He caught up with the Varg near the back where naked dancers entertained their patrons with impressive maneuvers on poles and tabletops. Randai felt a familiar tug as he passed gamblers betting their lives away at a cluster of tables in a corner. He shook it off and carried on.
I’m more of a quiet-poker-game kind of guy anyway. A couple of bottles of Galtaran Venom always went down well with cards or dice, but the gambling was what really got him going.
Randai was relieved when they passed another gruff bouncer into a much quieter well-lit corridor, the club’s music a dull thudding behind them. The corridor looked familiar, and Randai suspected he had walked that way before while on whatever binge had gotten him tangled up with the White Dragons in the first place. Doors lined both sides of the hallway and two squat Urlocks guarded an unusually heavy entrance at its far end. Randai hadn’t seen many Urlocks since returning to the Underways. They stood four feet tall but were tough little bastards with thick natural shells under their tridarium-plated TEKs. As Randai and Max approached, white glowing eyes looked up from inside their thick exoskeletal skulls. The Urlock on the left clicked with insect-like chatter and pushed a button on the wall. A drawer filled with weapons appeared and the squat guard pointed its automatic phase rifle at Randai.
He pulled the blaster from his belt and the knife from his boot, smiling innocently as he placed them in the drawer. Randai held his thumb on the lock, and the bin vanished into the wall again. Parting from his weapons was less than ideal.
The Urlock on his right ran a scanning device over him, and satisfied that Randai was clean, stood aside. Max pushed the door, and the Urlocks looked up at Randai and chirped playfully as though they knew him. Must have made an impression last time.
Randai left the excitable creatures in the hallway and analyzed the private club, taking note of the layout, armed guards, and anything that could be used as a weapon. Lush reds and golds decorated the room, and Randai was pleased to find that the music here was more to his taste. About three dozen people milled about the lounge but it exuded a laid-back feeling.
They passed cases of ancient artifacts that lined the walls, and Randai remembered that Mr. Darcy considered himself a serious collector. He couldn’t see the item he’d come for among the contents of the displays.
Max nodded to a half-naked Varg he must have known reclining on a cushioned couch before three private dancers. A scantily dressed Shanti servant brushed against Randai as she wove between tables with a tray stacked with more liquids and powders than he could name. They turned the corner in the L-shaped room, and Randai’s eyes fell on Mr. Darcy, sitting behind an ornate desk, chewing a giant cigar.
Randai noticed guards in the lounge but most of them had clustered around Mr. Darcy’s corner. Two particularly large Vargs—his bodyguards, no doubt—stood at his shoulders wearing military grade armor, holding vicious looking rifles in their hands.
Mr. Darcy, a stout partisan-class Varg with too many chins to number, must have told a joke, for the audience gathered around his desk broke into laughter. The White Dragons boss wore a white dress-suit, and various items of jewelry adorned his fat neck and chubby fingers. He was much shorter than Randai remembered, which probably had something to do with his heavily inebriated state at the time.
As Randai and Max made their way to the desk, a familiar warrior-class Varg in the far corner caught his eye. To Randai’s astonishment, Brutus reclined on a couch, enjoying the company of a topless Shanti dancer.
>
On seeing Randai and his escort arrive, Mr. Darcy clicked his fingers, and his audience dispersed. “Ah, Randai. When I heard you’d shaken up my guards, I must say I was surprised.” He waved his cigar around with exaggerated gestures. “Didn’t know you had that in you. I’d even offer you a job if I hadn’t already decided to kill you.”
“I’m flattered,” Randai said without a flinch.
“Oh, it’s nothing personal, my dear fellow. It’s simply a matter of protecting one’s honor. You know how we Vargs are about that sort of thing.”
“Hard to forget such a foolish custom.” Randai still had a burning wound in his ribs as a reminder.
“I sent a team over to the clinic, but it appears you eluded me again.” He threw open his arms. “Yet here you are, strolling into the lion’s den.”
“Didn’t take you for a holy man.”
Mr. Darcy’s jowls wobbled as he chuckled. “I’m certainly not holy, but I’ve read all the great books. I must say, you Terrans have something the other races lack when it comes to religion. Some call it chaos. I prefer to think of it as flair. But that’s enough about me, how did you escape from Varkal and Chiak?”
“What can I say?” Randai kept his voice calm and casual. “My parents served in the Armed Forces. Must be genetics.”
Mr. Darcy cackled wildly, a sound made even more unsettling by his pointed golden teeth.
Randai knew better than to trust a man who stored precious metals in his mouth, but recklessness was something born from desperation, and he found himself beyond desperate.
“You were a funny one last time we met too, Randai. Had to keep Varkal from slitting your throat. You know how we Vargs are about jokes made at our expense.” He chewed on his cigar. “I’m wondering if letting you live then was a mistake given all the trouble you’ve caused me.” Mr. Darcy calmly lifted a gun from under his desk, a dusty antique that wouldn’t scratch a TEK, let along puncture one, but Randai wasn’t wearing any armor.
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