“No thanks. Gave it up a long time ago.” He did his best to be polite. “What about Noland?”
The old Yalore jumped at that, reminding Randai that he was there.
“What about it?”
“Isn’t that even older?” he asked. “An old friend once told me that people used to live down there.”
“An old wives’ tale.” Peenna enforced the dismissal with a puff. “There’s all sorts of rumors about that place: killer robots, secret experiments, mutants, space monsters. You name it. Stories mothers tell their children to make ‘em be good. People don’t go down there. Why would they? Place doesn’t even have any power.”
The old Yalore turned to them, voice shaking. “My uncle went to Noland once, you know.”
“What did he find?” the Rivarian challenged.
“Come again?” The Yalore cupped his ear.
“I said, what did your uncle find there!” she shouted over Randai.
“Dunno.” The old Yalore groaned. “He never came back.”
“What do you mean, he never came back?”
Instead of answering, the elderly man fell against Randai’s shoulder and started to snore.
“Bah. Don’t pay no attention to him.” Peenna waved her hand. “He doesn’t know what he’s talking about. Probably senile.”
A Shanti dressed in a white coat appeared at the clinic door. “Mr. Kahn?”
Randai propped the Yalore up against his own chair and climbed over the Rivarian.
“Was nice talkin’ to ya. You take care now.”
“You too.” He nodded as he squeezed past, careful not to disturb the nursing baby.
The Shanti smiled and ushered him into the next room which turned out to be the surgery.
A wall of disinfectant fumes burned his eyes and forced him to clear his throat. He would have activated his helmet if he wasn’t about to have the back of his head cut open.
“Oh dear, Mr. Kahn.” The Shanti girl handed him a tissue. “Looks like your eyes are leaking.”
He accepted the tissue and made sure it was clean before wiping the tears from his eyes. He blinked several times until his vision adjusted. The Shanti looked just like the receptionist only her fur was a few shades lighter.
A Shanti male, so old he could have passed for the withered Yalore’s grandfather, half stumbled out from behind a curtained-off area. He wore blue coveralls and white gloves, and a mask hung around his neck.
“Welcome to my practice, Mr…” His voice quivered, and his eyes narrowed. “Sorry, I can’t remember your name.”
“Randai—”
“Ah, yes. Mr. Randai Kahn. I’m Doctor Warsax.” He cracked a toothless grin. “Oh. You’ll have to forgive me. I can’t find my teeth.”
Randai wondered whether he hadn’t stitched them inside someone’s skull by accident.
The doctor extended a tatty, white-furred hand, and Randai shook it gently, hoping the horror hadn’t registered on his face.
“We received the funds from Stavo on behalf of Mr. Darcy. Everything on the financial side is in order.”
“Good to know,” Randai mumbled. He wondered if Mr. Darcy had sent him to the clinic to die out of the way.
“I hope you haven’t been waiting too long. I had to wrap things up for another client. A female Varg. Fascinating anatomy the Varg have. Wanted some pleasure-organ enhancements. Good for sexual stimulation. I do those for Terrans too if you’re interested.”
“No, thank you, Doctor. Just the chip reinstall please.” Taza feared he might wake up with a body part missing or a new part that shouldn’t be there.
“I guess Terran pleasure organs aren’t as much of a problem given your flesh is so soft. Would explain why you breed so rapidly.” The doctor cackled. “When you’re all tough skin and plated bone like the Varg, however, nerve extensions go a long way.”
Randai didn’t know how to react. He’d always assumed doctors weren’t supposed to discuss other patients, but then Doctor Warsax probably wasn’t even a real doctor.
The ancient Shanti took a hold of Randai’s head and ran a rough finger along the old incision scar above his spinal column.
“You’ve done this before?” Randai tried not to sound too nervous or insulting. He figured that offending the surgeon who was about to open his skull was a bad idea.
“Father’s one of the best,” the softly spoken Shanti girl interceded. “He’s done four hundred and thirty-three neuroptical implants.”
“Only two reinstalls, though,” the old man muttered, his voice shaking. “And one of those didn’t go so well. But fret not, young man. We’ll have you out of the theater and into recovery in under an hour. First, we need to do something about that fur.”
The doctor retrieved a set of shears and ran them over Randai’s head. His white hair joined other piles that had amassed on the floor. “You remember the side-effects, yes?” The doctor stowed his shears and set to marking up the back of Randai’s head with a white tube.
“It was a long time ago, but I’ll never forget that feeling. Was like I’d been hit by a cruiser.”
“It differs from one person to another, but it shouldn’t be quite so bad this time. Unless your brain implant rejects the chip. I understand you have a Pegasus 300. Those have only recently come onto the public market, but you’ve had this one for a decade if not longer,” he said, examining the back of Randai’s head with a scanner.
“I used to know people who knew people.”
“I see.” The doctor purred. “This way.”
Randai followed Doctor Warsax and his assistant behind a curtain and into a makeshift operating area. “Nice set-up you have here.”
“Thank you, Mr. Kahn. It has served me well over the years.” The old man lost his balance, and his daughter steadied him.
Randai was doubting the doctor’s competence more by the minute. He tried not to dwell on it too much and looked about the room for a distraction. Patches of black mold spread across the walls and the smell of bleached decay almost overwhelmed him. Within arm’s reach, a gray mass floated in a sink filled to the brim with a vile-looking, brown liquid. Randai averted his gaze and told himself it couldn’t have been a brain. A well-used mop and bucket rested in one corner. Blood spatters and other fluids had stained the tiled floor. Grimy doors hung from cupboards, and uneven shelves held a collection of shiny tools. Larger implements dangled from hooks on the ceiling.
The walls looked like they had heard their share of tortured screams, and it occurred to Randai that he was probably fairly close to the truth. He found it difficult to imagine the frail old Shanti and his daughters torturing people, however, Randai knew that things were rarely as they appeared, especially in the Underways.
“Please, Mr. Kahn, make yourself comfortable,” Doctor Warsax said, inviting Randai to lie on a brown bed with bits of foam poking from its frayed covers.
Randai obeyed, almost kicking an outdated medical terminal with a dozen protruding cables. Next to the terminal, a scattering of sharp implements rested on a small table. The tools were notably smaller than those hanging from the ceiling but probably no less deadly in the right hands…or the wrong hands, depending on how one looked at it. Randai couldn’t decide which category Doctor Warsax fell into. At least the tools on the table are clean.
The doctor read over the compad with the assistance of a magnifying glass. “I see you’ve filled in all your details.”
The doctor’s daughter strapped Randai’s ankles to the table and moved to his wrists. “Can’t have you accidentally moving while father works.”
The old man turned to him with a mean looking needle between his fingers. “Your TEK’s injection port?”
Randai offered him his left forearm where he’d already uncovered the hole for the needle.
Doctor Warsax pushed the syringe, and a warm sensation flowed through Randai’s arm. The doctor hooked his TEK up to the dusty medical terminal and checked Randai’s vitals. “You’ll start to feel sleepy
soon. Just try to relax. Oh, I almost forgot. The chip?”
Randai popped his exoframe’s secret compartment and handed the doctor the glass tube.
Doctor Warsax examined the glass container and set it on his table. He opened the lid and removed the chip from the suspension fluid with a set of silver tongs, then placed it in a beaker filled with priming solution. “I’d like you to count to thirteen for me,” the old man whispered into his ear.
Randai cursed the need for such an operation as he counted. He wondered how odd it was that Doctor Warsax should choose such a number. “Doctor, didn’t people used to believe that thirteen was an unlucky num…”
20
Knives & Bullets
There hadn’t been any Chit activity along the narrow trail, and Grimshaw was glad to find that the wall outside Sector Five was as quiet as Lance Corporal Dale had promised. Seven wall supports ran between their location and Gate six. The white beams were broad enough to cover four abreast. Grimshaw and Eline agreed on breaking their group into two teams. They hadn’t sighted any Chits since the black vessel left hours earlier, but they didn’t want to take unnecessary risks after coming so far.
Having already worked together, Eline, Martin, and Stone made up the first team. Grimshaw, Briggs, O’Donovan, and Dale remained one support behind until Eline could signal that the next was secure. They followed the same pattern until they reached the final two supports before Gate Six.
Grimshaw tried the short-band Marine channel. “Sergeant Wallace, do you read?”
Static crackled and a voice answered. “We read you, Commander. Haven’t seen any Chits around here for half the day.”
“We’re two supports away from Gate Six.”
“Opening the gates now.”
A shriek issued from ahead, and Eline’s team made a run for Gate Six.
Five minutes later, the Shanti’s voice came over the vox. “Gate Six secured, Commander. No resistance.”
Grimshaw stepped out from behind the support when the ground trembled.
He turned to O’Donovan. “Did you feel that?”
“Feel what, sir?”
“Never mind.” He looked out across the empty plain. “Let’s get inside those walls. Stay sharp.”
They set out at a steady pace and reached the final support. Grimshaw signaled that the coast was clear, and a stronger tremor rolled underfoot.
“I felt that one,” O’Donovan said, clutching his HMG.
“Reading multiple geological disturbances, sir,” Briggs said.
The tremor passed beneath them again, and Grimshaw watched the gravel shift violently around their boots.
“What’s going on out there?” Eline came through the vox.
“They’re under us!” Grimshaw fell against a concrete pillar. “Get moving! Go! Go! Go!”
They sprinted for Gate Six, the dirt twisting and turning around them. They were less than a hundred yards from the gate when the ground before them heaved. Grimshaw threw his arms out and skidded to a halt.
The ground ahead convulsed again as though breathing. Suddenly, an explosion of sand and shale flung Grimshaw onto his back. He scrambled to his feet as a swirling swarm of brown Chits exploded from the sinkhole.
“Close that gate,” he ordered.
“What about—”
“Close it!”
“Buzzers!” Dale cried.
Grimshaw levelled his rifle at the incoming aliens. “Blast them.”
Guns thundered, and the nearest Chits exploded in a shower of guts and limbs.
They were much shorter than the elites they had encountered in the hills and went down much easier. But twice as many replaced those who had fallen.
Their guns opened again and took the Chits down, but by the power of sheer numbers, the swarming mass pressed forward. They were almost upon Grimshaw when they suddenly vanished in an explosion of red and brown.
O’Donovan stepped up next to him. “These guys go down easy, sir.”
“Don’t get cocky, O’Donovan. They aren’t as tough as the others but there are more of them.”
Eline’s voice rang in his ear. “There’s a maintenance access door three pillars back, Commander. Get back there, and we’ll send someone to open it up.”
Dale ran forward and lobbed a plasma grenade into the hole. The resulting explosion sent up a small plume of fire and dust. “Let’s go, sir,” he pulled at Grimshaw’s shoulder. “The maintenance access is this way.”
They ran in the direction they had come, but the ground rumbled so hard it dropped all four of them to the dirt. As hard as he tried, Grimshaw couldn’t get on his feet again. Eventually, the quake stopped, and he sprang upright as giant limbs emerged from the sand. Several more limbs appeared and pulled a black mass from under the ground. Before Grimshaw got a good glimpse of the enormous beast, hundreds of brown buzzers erupted, swarming in circles.
Gunfire from the wall streamed into the mass, and an angry buzz erupted among the creatures.
“Get moving, Commander,” Eline called. “We’ll hold them.”
He tried to answer, but static cut them off. “Shit. You heard her. Get going!”
They hurried to the wall support.
Grimshaw looked back to find a dozen Chits had broken away from the milling mass and come after them. He ordered his team to open up and gunfire brought the creatures down. The team continued running for the next pillar. Grimshaw risked another glance over his shoulder and saw a dozen Chits emerging from behind the support where he’d stood just seconds before. The team opened fire again, cutting them to pieces. Grimshaw’s weapon whirred, warning that he was out of ammunition. He stowed his rifle and drew his blaster.
More Chits than he could number exploded from the hole like a flood, replacing their fallen brothers.
“Get your sorry asses to that maintenance gate!” he roared.
O’Donovan stumbled, and Grimshaw hoisted him back to his feet. “Keep moving, Officer.” Grimshaw saw he was still carrying the Chit rifle. “If that gun’s dragging you down, drop it.”
“I got it, sir.”
Grimshaw checked on the swarm to find it closing in fast.
They ran into a shallow tunnel and pressed against the maintenance gate.
“Take out that swarm,” Grimshaw ordered.
He and Dale rotated shots with O’Donovan and Briggs. He emptied his magazine into the fast-approaching Chits and leaned back to reload.
“…read me? Commander, can you read me?”
“Eline, I read you.”
“Are you okay?”
“We’re at the maintenance gate. Where are you? A swarm is heading our way, and we’re low on ammo.”
“Wallace’s men should…maintenance gate any second. They keep pouring out…hole…a giant one blocking us from…”
Static cut her off again.
Grimshaw finished reloading, leaned out with Dale, and emptied his second last magazine. Red plasma blasted into the wall and they pulled back.
“Elites at ten o’clock!” Dale shouted falling against the maintenance gate next to him.
Red gunfire tore up the ground at the tunnel mouth, spraying Grimshaw with sand. The buzzing beyond ceased, and a minute went by where nothing happened. “Open the damn door, guys!” he shouted into the vox.
Static answered again, and the dusty cloud at the tunnel’s mouth began to settle.
“What the hell are the Chits doing?” O’Donovan spat.
“They like to play games,” Dale said. “Enjoy making us wait.”
Clicks echoed outside, and vague outlines appeared in the sunlit haze. Three elites emerged from the smoke, crouching at disjointed angles under a ceiling too low for them.
“Fire!” After what they’d gone up against in the hills, Grimshaw knew that their reduced firepower would make little difference to one elite, let alone three.
He finished his last magazine and drew his knife. The elites progressed almost unhindered, black swords glowing with th
e flash of gunfire.
21
The Bunker
Clio stroked Booster’s head as he pressed into her neck, purring deep as a cat. Since arriving at the shelter, Clio learned as much as she could about the invaders: the names the Marines had for the different varieties, tactics for fighting them one-on-one, the best way to take out a squad. Overall, little was known about the creatures. No one knew where they came from, what they looked like under their armor, or what they did with the people they harvested. Clio told herself that they took the living as slaves, but she’d heard more gruesome, yet believable, stories.
The underground bunker bustled with traffic as Marines and civilians went about their tasks. Everyone had something to do whether it be guard duty, looking after the injured, or caring for the children. The facility had been built during the Kragak War as a shelter for colony civilians in the event of an orbital bombardment. Invisible to the colony’s planetary scanners and satellites, however, the Chits attacked before most had a chance to reach such bunkers. On the bright side, it meant the power cells and stores were still almost full.
To Clio’s relief, her vision had almost returned to normal, and she experienced less numbness in her left thigh. The injury on the back of her head was still sore to the touch, but all in all she felt lucky to be alive.
“It’s nice to be out of those stinking clothes and in a nice clean set of subarmor,” she said to Booster.
The puck squeaked something that sounded like ‘nice’ and rested on Clio’s left shoulder as she finished lacing up her boots.
Booster had attracted some attention since entering the Bunker, but for the most part, people were too busy to stop and ask questions. Nakamura had pulled Clio into a quiet corner and explained how valuable the creature was. He warned that certain people might go to extreme lengths in order to secure the Puck for themselves. She told the Aegis she would keep Booster out of trouble.
Clio sat back on the bench in the makeshift armory, staring at the half-stuffed bear sitting on top of her old clothes on the floor. Dark thoughts started to creep into her mind when Aegis Nakamura touched her shoulder, tugging her from the quagmire.
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