The Return of the Grey

by Robert Lee Henry

  Crell didn’t want to test her. He could feel her warmth against his side as he ran. He wanted to play with her, soon, now. His blood sang. Running out was even better than running in and it would get better yet.

  He had not been able to wait there on the plain, with the others and the body of the supplyman and the grav platform. Serin had wanted to take Visco first, in case there was another trap inside. But then Arren had said that she was alone. In the psych room at the bottom of Med. Where the chase had started on the other one, the first one. That memory and the smell of fresh blood were too much and he had grabbed the stungun and bolted. The others were soon behind him and it had become a race.

  It had been all he could do not to howl on the way in. He howled now, and laughed, and heard the others call and hoot. They spilled out onto the plain.

  ‘Quiet,’ commanded Serin. ‘We must get her to the Box undetected.’

  ‘We have her. We have her,’ laughed Arren. ‘We are safe, and she can fix the others.’

  ‘What about the quiet one? We must wait for him,’ said Clairvaus.

  ‘Bugger Visco. We’ll deal with him later,’ said Crell. He jumped onto the platform, the small woman no hindrance to his movements. Forn was already on, at the post, opening the hand clamps. Crell let her body slide down his thigh so he could grab her crossed wrists with his good hand. He pushed with his leg to force her against the post, but when he lifted her hands to the clamps, her body spun head down.

  ‘She’s too small,’ said Forn. ‘She doesn’t fit.’

  Crell let her drop to the floor. She landed on her side, her shirt pulled partly open at the front. He reached down and ripped it. Lovely little breasts. I will have those. Her eyes were open. Blinking tears. Good.

  He straightened and turned to the others. ‘For the vault, not the Box.’

  ‘A sacrifice, chosen by the Cross,’ said Clairvaus.

  ‘No, please no. Test her first,’ begged Arren. ‘I will hold her.’

  Crell turned back to his prey, ignoring their words. She was on her back now. He leaned down so that she could see his face, see her fate. The stun would hold her for a while yet, long enough to get her to the vault, but she was aware and he wanted her to know. He wanted to smell her fear and lick the terror off her eyeballs. What? It wasn’t there!

  Her kick took him in the knee and drove him off the platform. Pain, but nothing like it would have been if his lower leg were not steel. Her body blurred past above him, then Forn fell on top clutching his groin. No! Crell thrust him aside and came to his feet roaring. There! Chase!

  *

  Celene dove past the two framing the doorway, rolled, pushed up only to lurch into the wall. The stun had not worn off completely. No! Can’t fall. She ran, using the walls to keep her upright. Get back inside. Someone will have heard them, logic said. Her heart said, RUN! GET AWAY. She heard them behind her, closing. Run, she told herself with her mind now. At least it may earn you a quick death.

  She drove herself on. More light ahead. Someone! A uniform. Help.

  She fell at his feet.

  Visco! Suddenly it all made sense. All the caretakers, Briodi’s discovery, the missing notebooks. Protection in command. She didn’t need to see his hand coming up, or his eyes, to know what would happen next.

  *

  Crell bulled through the others and kicked the girl out of Visco’s reaching arms. ‘MINE!’ he shouted.

  Her body flew to the wall and he pinned it there with his good arm, swinging the other to try and take Visco’s head off. The bastard ducked back and only the hand hit, the false hand still clamped to the blade. Crell had not thought to remove it. He couldn’t think now.

  The blow was enough to smash the side of Visco’s face and spin him away. Crell brought the arm in and jammed it underneath the woman’s chin, to hold her up and free his good hand.

  ‘No blood! No blood!’ shouted Serin. ‘Bring her out.’

  ‘No blood’ got through. Crell clenched his fist and smashed it against her side. He felt ribs break. So small, so fine. He drove his fist in again. Bones cracked and ground. Air blew out her mouth against his face.

  ‘Bring her. To the vault. Away from here. Gain time. Have her at our pleasure,’ called Serin.

  Pleasure. This was it. Almost ecstasy. But it would be over too soon. Time. In the vault. All that he could do. He backhanded his fist into her other side. Again bones broke. He was winding down. The vault, yes. He could think. Time, to touch, to penetrate, to rip, to enjoy the screams as the blood comes.

  One last punch drove her chest in. Frothy blood flew from her mouth to his. Thought blew away when he tasted it. He grabbed her face and slammed her head back, lifting her higher. The blade of his right arm had worked through the sleeve and, although flat against her throat, had cut in under the chin. More blood. Beautiful red. He licked it then pulled the arm out and hammered it against the wall, smashing it again and again in his frenzy until the false hand finally came off. He brought the blade back, between their eyes. The point shone, oh so sharp, with a wicked curve at the tip, to cut and pull. Now!

  ‘MUOOAHH!’

  The great shout snapped his head around. A challenge. There, beyond the others. Crell turned in red rage and started his charge. As the woman’s body slid down the wall, he swung one last time, to drive the point of his blade in just in front of the hip and across to carve out her womb. The blade caught and threw her along the wall. It came away red and dripping.

  *

  ‘MUOOAHH!’ Nata screamed a second time. A primal scream. One of the calls of power learned in the higher teachings of the One Path.

  A challenge. Instinctual.

  He had to do it to draw the brute off Celene. Surprise, an attack from behind, targeting individuals as he passed, would have given him the best chance of defeating these men. But she would have been dead by the time he reached her. That last blow may have done it anyway.

  The brute charged from the rear. The others came forward almost formally. Nata readied. Cool dry air from the plain flowed past him and fluttered their rags. One at the front feinted with a hand then swung a straight kick up towards his groin. Nata leapt, blocked down with one arm and struck forward with the other. Unexpected searing pain from the block robbed power from his strike and his opponent was driven back but not killed.

  A blade! The leg was a blade, concealed by cloth. The force of the colliding blows had driven it through his hand, all the way up to the elbow between the bones of his forearm. So great was his shock that a second cut landed in his left side before he recovered. Deep, above his hip. This second attacker stepped back. Nata recognised the pattern and flung his wrecked arm up to block the overhand strike from the brute. It cleaved through one bone, but caught on the other and he was able to push the blade to the side, carrying it and the big man’s momentum on to drive the blade into the chest of the second attacker. A short snapping knuckle strike caved in the brute’s temple. Nata turned back, no strength in his left side, to face the others. A looping cut was on its way from his far right. He did not try to block the blow. Something he had learned from the big marine. He needed to kill or disable these men quickly. He did not have to survive. He let the swing in and struck over it, crushing this one’s throat. Blood poured from both his body wounds and sprayed out below the dangling hand on the radius, now separated from the severed ulna by a gap of more than ten centimetres. Weak, he went down to one knee. The last attacker came forward, blade over head, mumbling prayers. Nata knew where this blow would land and bowed his head. The six rays of their perverted cross. There would have to be another cut to his right shoulder after this to complete the pattern. Briodi’s wounds.

  When the boots were in front of him he launched. Balanced over his hips he rocketed up, shooting out his left arm, keeping all the power in one line. He drove the sharpened end of his ulna into the eye and on into the brain of the surprised caretaker. They fell and Nata found himself on his knees again.

  Only on
e remained. His first attacker. The leg blade, now back on his feet. Nata had nothing left. Even the pain was gone. His mind drifted. He thought of Elsewise. Farewell, my friend. Slowly he lifted his good hand, brought the palm up and curled the fingers. The tiger claw of the low Eastern style. The caretaker turned and ran. Nata smiled and fell forward. I would have so loved to have become a scholar, was his last thought.

  *

  Visco pushed up onto his knees as Nata went down. He had stayed on the floor, motionless, so as to not draw the master’s attention. Well that he had. Incredible. Nata had killed four in seconds, Crell as if he was no more than a bug. If he had not been surprised by that first blade he would have gone through them without a mark. Now only Serin remained, coming past him in panic, running into the section.

  Visco swung his sidearm. Kill him and it is all over.

  Serin kicked and he lost his weapon. The madman drew back his bladed leg to kick again but laser traces splashed off the ceiling above him and shouts rang down the corridor. He turned and fled back through the bodies, down and out onto the plain.

  The Security team halted next to Visco. Two kept guard while the other three checked the bodies. Marines thundered in also, some started to go past.

  ‘Wait,’ commanded Visco from the floor. ‘Form squads, organised search, sweep the plain.’ He fell back, making sure the damaged side of his face was up. He lifted his bleeding arm to point. ‘He’ll make for the Box. As he is, he is extremely dangerous. Don’t know what weapons he has. Shoot on sight. Don’t try to approach or apprehend.’

  From the urgent motions of the man by the Specialist, he knew that she still lived. Two marines pushed the security man out of the way and pressed a bandage made from their ripped shirts to her lower front. Maybe not for long, from the looks on their faces.

  Lying on the floor, he followed the rest of the check. A solemn shake of the head at Nata’s body. Confirmatory nods at all the others. They knew the enemy here. Visco steeled his face to show nothing. It would not do to smile. Fate had left him on the side of the good. He would share in Nata’s heroism. They had seen him try to stop Serin. He could make up the rest.

  Fate had preserved him for his work, closed this episode in a typically bloody but effective manner. Almost. Serin would die on the plain or at the Box. And Celene?

  They would take her to Med. Him too. He would stay close, his concern for her undeniable. Sooner or later she would be left alone and he would finish her. Fate would provide. Of that, he had no doubt.

  CHAPTER 91: QUARTERMAINE ON THE PLAIN

  ‘We think that he has gone up. We saw lights.’

  Quartermaine tilted his head to look up. The black wall of the Box towered above them, darker than the sky. Stars, I hate this thing. ‘No lights now,’ he said to the one-eyed marine than seemed to be running things.

  ‘No. That was a while ago. Maybe twenty minutes.’

  Quartermaine’s neck hurt. He switched his gaze to the entrance. ‘Nobody in or out?’

  ‘Nah. We almost caught him. He came across on a grav platform. Straight in. I held the boys at the door. Don’t know what is inside.’

  ‘Good. What have you got now?’ asked Quartermaine.

  ‘Two men on each corner. Another pair back a bit on the west side to watch the top. The Grey came out that way. Don’t think this fellow is that good, but best to be sure.’ He pointed to a one-armed man near the entrance. ‘Joe Pack and I have the door.’

  No weapons, Quartermaine saw, on either of them. Probably none on the others either. Just like marines to chase a madman across the plain with nothing in their hand. Damn, a one-armed man. ‘Hey Pack!’

  The man shuffled sideways, keeping one eye on the entrance. When he was close enough, Quartermaine tossed him his sidearm. ‘If he tries to come out, shoot him. Try to take him alive. One leg is prosthetic so aim for the trunk.’

  Two security teams waited behind him on tracked vehicles. He did not want to take this away from the marines. They were La Mar’s squad, the ones that had guarded Celene at Arborne. Damn. If she dies …

  He called the leaders of the security teams over. ‘Split up your men. Three to each pair of marines. They keep watch on the Box. Your men guard them.’

  We keep thinking that we’ve caught the last of them and we are always wrong. God damn this Box. Who knows how many it has turned out? ‘There may be others. Watch the plain. No one approaches.’ How many more in the future? Damn. I won’t suffer this any longer. There was a shout behind them and they turned to see three more marines come out of the dark, weapons in hand with more slung over their shoulders. At least somebody is thinking.

  Quartermaine got back to it. ‘Security. I want lights and a camera on this entrance. Another on the west side. No, damn it. On all the walls. He could cut his way out. Damn. They could have a tunnel by now.’ Tracka-dan, Briodi, Nata, maybe Celene. All the good ones. This will end!

  ‘Marine, once those lights are up, pull your men back fifty metres. Then wait.’ Quartermaine fixed the marine’s eye and the security men’s in turn. ‘When I give the word, move everyone off the plain. I’m going to melt that damn thing.’ He pulled out his comm and brought it to his mouth. ‘Command, give me satellite control.’ The others were staring at him. He moved his comm to the side. ‘Get to it.’

  The satellites could do it. They had the power. He brought his comm back in close. ‘Okay, Sat. This is Quartermaine. How many can focus on the Box?

  ‘Yes, now.’ His voice rang over the plain. Everyone for hundreds of metres could hear.

  ‘Lasers,’ he ordered. The lasers in light cannon, like those mounted on ships, were nothing compared to the ones on the satellites. Nearly unlimited power could be fed in and controlled, sent through massive flawless crystals grown in place, in near perfect vacuum. The sat lasers could vaporise a ship of the line. That was what they were there for, to protect Base from attack. Nothing could get past them. No one had ever turned then on the planet. No one ever took them off Base either, did they? Looks like them and I are destined for ‘firsts’.

  ‘Low bands. Don’t want to damage the walls.’

  ‘Good. How tight can you keep it?’

  ‘Good. I’ll be right up.’

  He would have to warn all of Base. The port also. It would be a show. The low bands would be visible. From three satellites at once. Stabbing in at the Box. It would be a show right through the system.

  A cold thought came to him. There was one who wouldn’t understand. One who would see more than all of them, feel it. Quartermaine couldn’t pass a warning, an explanation. Attacking themselves? Confusion, fear, maybe terror. So close now that these could be his last sensations. He couldn’t let him die like that.

  CHAPTER 92: COMMANDER LA MAR

  The corridors were quiet now, for the second time. La Mar knew that it wouldn’t last long. No one is going to get much sleep tonight. She sipped coffee from a bone-coloured cup, fine porcelain, almost thin enough to see through.

  She had been woken earlier, seemed hours ago, but she knew it wasn’t, by some commotion in amongst the marines, not hers, new ones just back from the Rim. It had quieted quickly but she hadn’t been able to get back to sleep. Lucky she hadn’t. She had been in the corridor, fully dressed, hunting down some coffee, when the alarms went off.

  Marines and aides boiled out of the wards. A med security man, weapon drawn and comm to his ear, went up onto the counter at the aide station to see over them. Aesca came around the corner on the fly, trailing two more of her security men.

  ‘An attack in Stores. Corridor S11l. Adjacent to our sector,’ yelled the man to Aesca.

  ‘Who?’ she yelled back.

  He pressed his comm closer to his ear. ‘The Specialist injured badly, Visco lightly … the others dead. Nata … ‘ He looked up, shocked. Something on the comm snapped him back. ‘Caretakers! The marines have chased one onto the plain!’

  Aesca didn’t slow as she came past the station. The security man
jumped down to follow as did most of the marines. La Mar stepped out in front of them all. ‘STOP!’ she shouted.

  They did.

  ‘You.’ She pointed her finger at the doctor. ‘Get on the comm and get a description of the injuries. Ready an operating room, call the people you need, and wait there.’

  ‘You,’ she said to the closest aides. ‘One evac team, on your way.’

  ‘You.’ She indicated the Med security men. ‘One goes with that team, the others secure this section. This might not be finished yet.’

  La Mar took in the remainder of the crowd. ‘The rest of you get back to bed or work. Clear this corridor.’

  They moved without complaint, including Aesca.

  La Mar looked for her squad. She only saw three of her marines. One had a comm in his hand. ‘Where’s One-eye and the others,’ she asked. He pointed out toward the plain.

  That would be right. ‘You three go to the Armoury. Draw weapons for the squad and get them out there.’

  Her three went past and the corridor was suddenly empty, peaceful again. La Mar walked to the counter of the aide station, went around behind, poured herself a cup of coffee, turned on the wall comm panel and sat.

  The cup seemed delicate in her strong hands. Rhone would have laughed if she had seen it. ‘Shit, La Mar. You plan on becoming a lady or something,’ … or something like that.

  The coffee was strong and bittersweet. She finished it as the evac team rolled in, Celene so small on the stretcher that she could hardly be seen. Visco trotted behind, bloody bandages on his head and arm. La Mar stood and nodded to him but he didn’t notice, so intent was he on the stretcher in front.

  The Med security man peeled off the group and she waved him over. She pointed him to the chair. ‘You take over here.’ She tapped the comm panel. ‘Keep this scanning. Helps you follow the action. Quartermaine will override if he wants Med. You run Med now, understand. The doctors will be busy.’