by J. N. Chaney
“Smart on your part,” she replied.
Magnus ignored the comment. “Once we’ve taken the block, Abimbola will roll up behind. I want as little debris in these streets as possible in case we need them as egress. That means no blowing up splick unnecessarily. You copy that?”
“Copy that,” they all replied.
“What about the Tawnhack?” Simone asked.
Abimbola said, “They are doing their own thing, as always. If you even see them, you will be lucky. Do not give them another thought, though. They will not be coming to anyone’s rescue, but they will not miss an opportunity to kill Selskrit either.”
“Yes, my lord,” his team leads said.
Respect the man with the bigger gun, Magnus thought. I get it.
“Dutch, you ready?” Magnus asked.
“All green, LT.”
Magnus turned to Abimbola. “Time to light it up.”
Abimbola signaled to his M109 gunner. The operator reduced the twin cannons to quarter power, rapid fire, and started peppering every opening he could find in the next block. The skiff behind Hell’s Basket Case also opened up to complement the effort.
“That’s us,” Magnus said. “Move, move, move!” He shoved the passenger door open and dropped to the ground, shielded momentarily by the door’s metal plating. He looked down the column behind him to see several figures exiting vehicles.
With the skiffs providing heavy cover fire, Magnus slammed the door shut, ran forward, and took a knee by the front spikes of Abimbola’s ride. He had a perfect view of the cross street and looked for enemy combatants. The way looked clear. As soon as the platoon had gathered, Magnus gave the signal to move out.
They crossed the street at a run. Simone and her snipers moved down the right sidewalk, or at least what was left of it. They picked their way through debris left from the detonation and took care not to tumble into the crater left behind. They reached the third building that Magnus had specified and darted through a door.
Magnus looked over to see Rix covering the left flank. They reached the third building on their side and ducked inside a doorway, leaving one man on the street to cover. Magnus likewise picked up where Simone had left off, moving to the fourth building, a two-story sandstone house that had definitely seen better years. The sharp smell of spent explosives filled his head and made his heart beat faster. He looked over his shoulder and ordered Nolan to stand guard.
“On me,” Magnus said to Dutch, Haney, and Gilder. He paused long enough to see Cyril’s team, with their head-mounted sensors, scanning the street for explosives. The three of them looked like human versions of the skiffs Abimbola had concocted, adorned with all manner of wires, plates, coils, and optics. Good man, Magnus thought. He wouldn’t have been caught dead in a battle with such clumsy headwear. But, hey, if it saves lives, suit me up.
He removed his sunglasses and tucked them in the protective cover of his chest-plate pocket. Once the others were stacked, Dutch tapped Magnus on the shoulder, and he turned into the first room. The place hadn’t been inhabited in years, or so it looked, and it smelled like dog urine. Dust and sand covered most of the concrete floor. A few broken dishes sat in one corner, a decimated piece of wooden furniture in another.
A hallway extended from the vestibule leading to an open stairwell and three other rooms. Magnus approached the stairs, creeping along them with his MAR30 pointed to the second floor. Meanwhile, Dutch, Haney, and Gilder checked the rooms.
“Clear,” each Marine said over comms.
“I’m going up,” Magnus replied.
“On your six,” Dutch said.
Magnus crept up the steps, the toes of his boots grinding sand particles into the concrete. Rivulets of sweat salted his lips and soaked his beard. He could hear his heart beating in his ears. While he didn’t expect any Selskrit to hang around this close to the border, especially after the first blast, he knew better than to underestimate an enemy. All it took was a lone combatant with an LRGR—large railgun rifle—and an incendiary round to take out one of Abimbola’s vehicles.
Magnus continued up the steps and rotated his hips to match his field of fire with the opening above him. Once on the next floor, he noticed three more doorways, each filled with brick and mortar. He inspected the nearest doorway and noticed that the mortar was fresh. He’d seen this before. It was one of many methods used to corral an enemy. It meant the Selskrit expected an assault and, moreover, anticipated Republic urban tactics.
Not good, Magnus thought. Not good at all.
“What’ve you got, LT?” Dutch asked.
“Barricades. Someone doesn’t want us using this floor.”
“Splick,” she replied. “You want to breach them?”
“Negative,” he said, backtracking toward the top of the stairs. “Too much time and a waste of munitions. Let’s let Abimbola’s cannon drill the rooms.”
“Copy that. Headed back out.” A beat later, Dutch asked, “LT, why not just block off the stairwell? It’d be a lot less work than blocking off each upstairs room.” She paused. “Unless you…”
Magnus’s blood went cold as he finished the sentence for her: Unless you wanted a kill box.
Something creaked over Magnus’s head, and bits of plaster sprinkled on his shoulders.
Dammit! He swung his MAR30 up just as a massive shape broke through the ceiling. The air filled with plaster fragments and stone dust. Magnus pulled the trigger, sending a blistering burst of blaster bolts toward a Jujari assassin. The combatant fell on Magnus and knocked him to the floor.
Magnus’s MAR30 was pinned to his side, but he was pretty sure he’d hit the assassin. Still, the beast thrashed, his claws and jaws looking for Magnus’s head. He was far mangier than the Tawnhack and had beady red eyes. His incisors were also longer than the Tawnhack’s, resembling needles more than teeth.
Magnus held the Jujari’s arms at bay and dodged his snapping jaw. Then he brought his knees up and knocked the assailant in the belly, hoping that was where his rounds had hit. Sure enough, the beast whined. Magnus could feel hot blood pooling between his leg armor plates. Magnus forced his knees up again, pressing harder and harder as the Jujari winced and lessened the attack.
The thing weighed as much as four men! Magnus strained, made enough room for his blaster, and pinned the muzzle against the Jujari’s abdomen. He fired.
A gout of gore erupted from the Jujari’s back and splashed against what remained of the ceiling. The Selskrit ceased struggling and died, eyes open and staring at Magnus, who shoved the beast off him. Magnus gained his feet and examined himself to see if he was hurt. Amazingly, the only damage was to his appearance: he was covered head to toe in white dust and had a large crimson stain around his waist.
Dutch’s head appeared at the bottom of the stairs, the barrel of her XM31 Type-R pointed at Magnus. “LT?” she asked, lowering her weapon.
“This house needs an exterminator.” He paused and touched his earpiece. “Abimbola?”
“Go ahead,” the warlord said over comms.
“Fourth house down, right side of the street, second floor.”
“Copy. Let me know when you are clear.”
“Ten seconds,” Magnus replied as he descended.
He and Dutch left the hallway, passed through the vestibule, and returned to the sidewalk. Hell’s Basket Case was moving to their position. Magnus pulled out his sunglasses and slipped them on then headed for the next house down. As they approached the doorway, the M109 twin cannons sounded, drilling the last building’s second story with thousands of small holes.
“It’s going to be a long day, Dutch,” Magnus said off comms.
“Copy that, LT. Copy that.”
* * *
Magnus and his fire team cleared two more buildings before reaching the end of the block. Rix’s fire team was even with them and encountered no resistance. Cyril took cover behind Magnus, finding no more explosives in the first block, and Simone was somewhere above, scouting for rev
ised overwatch.
The cross street in front of Magnus was barren save for several lizards that sunbathed on walls or scurried under refuse piles. The smell of smoke clung to everything, including the inside of Magnus’s nostrils. He used the heel of his thumb to wipe his eyebrows of sweat. The sun was almost directly overhead. He took a long drag on his canteen then replaced it in his backpack. What I wouldn’t give for a working set of Recon armor right now. As it was, he wanted to rip every piece off his body.
Ahead, the street split in two directions, one northwest, the other southwest. Magnus pulled up the map on his holo-pad and zeroed in on their location. “We’re taking the right fork, everyone,” he said over comms. “Right fork.”
The fire teams confirmed.
“Simone, you in place?”
“We’ve got eyes on the intersection in all directions.”
“Cyril, you ready?”
“Scanning like a cellitype body swipe,” the skinny Marauder said.
“I don’t even want to know what that means,” Magnus said.
“Oh, that’s easy. You see, when you have—”
“That wasn’t a request for more information, Marauder.”
“Ah-ha. Copy that.” Cyril cleared his throat. “Beginning sweep of the intersection.”
“We’ve got you covered,” Simone said.
Magnus had to hand it to Cyril—he was one brave kid. That, or he had a few screws loose. Not only was he skilled in bomb defusing, but he was also now walking into the middle of a hostile intersection that was sure to be a focal point for enemy fire. The two other techs who joined him were apparently cut from the same cloth, as they didn’t hesitate in the least.
With a sudden report that ricocheted off the buildings like teeth chattering in the cold, a sniper round let loose overhead. Magnus looked up more out of instinct than any suspicion that he might see something. “That you, Simone?”
After a prolonged pause, she said, “Contact. Kill confirmed.”
Magnus grunted. “Fair enough. Next time, try—”
A second shot rang out, this time toward the opposite flank.
“Contact,” Simone said.
Magnus shook his head. “You know what? Never mind. Just keep doing what you’re doing.”
As if she hadn’t even heard him, Simone said, “Kill confirmed.”
“Hey, hey, hey, I’ve got something, Republic Marine Lieutenant,” Cyril said.
“Okay.” Magnus chuckled. “Talk to me. And you don’t need to call me that, kid.”
“Copy, roger, copy. IMTB here.”
“Come again?”
“An improvised multi-trigger bomb. Trinitex composite core. About two feet down, dead center,” Cyril said from the middle of the intersection.
“Trinitex?” Magnus said.
Dutch let out a long whistle behind him. “Where do Jujari get ahold of trinitex?”
“You Republic types will trade just about anything for information or sex,” Cyril said. “It’s not hard.”
“He has a point,” Dutch replied.
Magnus shook his head. “Can you defuse it?”
“Of course I can defuse it.” Then Cyril muttered to himself, “Can I defuse it? Pshh, can I defuse it. What kind of a question is that?”
“Cyril!” Simone said from above. “Focus.”
“Yes, ma’am. Right away.” Cyril bent down, joined by his other two techs.
Just then, Magnus noticed movement coming from the fork ahead. “Simone, you see that? Twelve o’clock.” Several shadows moved in the slivers of shade cast by the buildings. A few more passed through some windows.
“Sure do,” she said. Magnus could hear the analog click, click, click of her aperture-adjustment dial. Apparently, she still preferred windowplex sights.
Hey, whatever works, he thought.
“We’ve got more to the left,” Simone reported. “And now the right.”
“Everyone, find cover,” Magnus said. “How much time you need, Cyril?”
“Twenty more seconds, sir. Maybe twenty-one. But if I—”
“You’ve got ten seconds, kid,” Magnus bellowed. “And I’ll do your counting. Nine. Eight. Seven—”
The head of the tech closest to Cyril popped like a cherry squeezed between someone’s fingers. The man’s bulbous sensor contraption flipped into the air like a platter of parts thrown across a garage. Magnus screamed for Cyril to get down and opened fire at the windows across the street.
14
“What’s happening?” Sootriman asked, her voice shaking. Awen could tell the woman was just as startled, concerned, and wildly excited as she was.
“I don’t know!” Awen yelled. She stepped away from the console as lights began to blink. There was no way to tell what was her physical body shaking and what was her form in the Unity—they were blending into one. She braced herself against a railing behind her and watched as the darkness beyond grew lighter and lighter, like an accelerated sunrise on the horizon.
“It’s getting really bright in here,” Awen yelled, hoping her friends could hear her over the vibrations emanating from the floor.
“It is out here too!” Sootriman replied. “It seems to be coming from where you’re standing—from the pedestal.”
It suddenly struck Awen that maybe she should move her body and get it out of harm’s way. She exhaled and withdrew from the Unity. In an instant, she stood beside the pedestal, which glowed bright white. Shielding her eyes, Awen spotted her friends and ran across the circle toward them.
Sootriman waved her on. “Come on, love! Hurry!”
Awen arrived just as the sound in the room became unbearable. The ground beneath their feet moved, but not like a quake—more like the waves of an ocean. Some sort of reality-distortion field. She held her hands over her ears and did her best not to lose her balance. The others, too, were struggling to stay upright—everyone but TO-96. Like the shelves beside him, the bot stood stationary and calm as if nothing were happening.
“My, do the three of you need assistance?” he asked.
“Yes!” Sootriman yelled, struggling to stay on her feet. In an instant, a metal hand lunged at her and grabbed her around the arm. TO-96 also reached for Ezo just as Awen fell into the bot. Behind the group, the light from the pedestal grew even brighter until not even closed eyelids could keep the painful energy at bay. Awen screamed but couldn’t hear it.
Then, as if someone had flipped a switch, the entire event stopped. The noise and the quaking ceased. The only things Awen could hear besides the ringing in her ears were the soft whir of TO-96’s gyros and her own labored breathing.
“You might be interested to see this,” TO-96 said, helping the three people turn around.
Awen blinked as her eyes settled on the material manifestation of everything she’d just seen in the Unity. It was all there in front of her: the massive glowing orb, the workstations with their colorful script and planets and nebulae and blinking lights. It was real. It was physical, stolen from one reality and deposited in another. The only difference was that where the concentric circles of workstations had been raised above the floor in the Unity, they were sunken into the ground in the natural realm.
In all her years of training, Awen had never heard of anything like this. The Novia Minoosh had clearly mastered the Unity in ways the Luma had never even conceived of. Normally, the Unity was the dynamic and dramatic expansion of the material universe; better said, it was the limitless expression of the limited impression. Where the natural realm only displayed an object in its present state, the Unity allowed the observation of time and space immemorial. But in this case, the control room existed first in the Unity and second in the natural realm. Such a thing was unheard of.
“Uh, where did that come from?” Ezo asked, looking at Awen. “Because that’s… that’s what you… when you… in the… right?”
“Uh-huh,” Awen replied, slack-jawed, unable to take her eyes off the spectacle.
“I guess you
pushed the right button,” Sootriman concluded. “If you wanted to blow our minds, you sure did it.”
Awen felt Sootriman’s warm hand rubbing her back. “Yeah, I guess so,” Awen answered, still in shock. “And I’m glad you guys got clear of the circle. I’m not sure how things would have ended for any of us were we within the ring.” The highest level of workstations was even with the golden ring around the floor, the orb appearing to float above the hollowed-out well of the subterranean control room.
“So, should we figure out what it does?” Ezo asked, rubbing his hands together in anticipation. “Your sensors picking up anything, ’Six?”
“Sir, I am sorry, but I regret to inform you that I am experiencing what I believe to be the onset of a catastrophic systems failure.”
“I know, right? It’s truly incredible!”
“I am not talking about my re-re-response to the control room anom-anom-nomaly, sir.” TO-96’s head twitched wickedly as he spoke.
Ezo snapped his head to the side. “Whoa, buddy. What’s going on? Talk to me.” He put his hands on TO-96’s chest. “Damn, you’re burning up, ’Six.”
“This isn’t normal?” Awen asked, taking Ezo’s behavior as an indicator.
“No, definitely not normal.” Ezo went into autopilot, moving about like he was possessed. He bobbed his head like a kundlesprink bird as if trying to get the bot’s attention. “Optic receptors are inactive,” Ezo muttered. “Neural actuators aren’t working either. Dammit, this is not good.”
“What’s wrong, Ezo?” Sootriman asked, but her husband ignored the question and kept moving around the bot.
“Sir, my quantum core temperature is-s excee-ee-eeding maximum tolerance.”
“What’s the cause, ’Six? You gotta fill me in here.”
“Cascading failure d-d-detected in all limb subroutine AIs, s-s-sir.”
Ezo flipped open small access doors on TO-96’s torso, but he couldn’t touch them for more than a second, as the heat was too intense. “You need to stand back, ladies.”
“But, Idris—”
“Now!”