by Sam Bradbury
Here the first thing to hit us was the noise. The reception area had been an oasis of calm, quiet as a morgue, clean as an operating theatre, serene as a Zen garden. In contrast this was a bombardment of the senses, like having a jackhammer inside your skull.
The second thing to hit us was the sheer space of it, and for a moment we stood, taking it all in – or trying to. Directly in front of us was a wall of grey metal panelling, so close that it felt as though we could lean over the balcony to touch it. It stretched down to the floor and then up almost as far as the eye could see, so that both of us stood with our heads tilted right back, trying to see the top of what, I eventually realized, was a brand-new, just-being-built battleship.
Stretching away from us like a giant black knife blade, it occupied what was a gargantuan hangar space and was about the same length as an ISA cruiser turned on its side, though more squat. Around it swarmed hundreds of technicians and engineers, all moving with the purpose of workers whose job is almost complete. They rushed this way and that on the factory floor, buggies with trailers weaving in and out. I watched a team of men working on something along the flank of the colossal ship and saw that they were spraying on the logo of Stahl Arms.
I wondered if the Helghast military knew about this ship. I guessed not.
I looked at Rico just as he was looking at me and we had a mind-meet moment. What we were seeing here, this was new. This was important somehow.
‘You.’
The shout tore into my thoughts and I started, looking down at the factory floor to find its source. Staring up at us with the clean lines of the battleship hull, behind him was a technician in a long coat, wearing a respirator.
‘What are you doing there?’ he demanded loudly.
‘We were told to report to the factory floor,’ I shouted back.
He looked us over and frowned. I realized that it was odd to be able to see his eyes and I found myself looking down into them as if hoping somehow to solve the mystery of what it was that made his people tick. He gazed back disinterestedly before raising a finger and pointing vaguely over to the other side of the cavernous hangar. ‘Go through to Workshop Four, to Factory Control,’ he said.
I indicated thanks and we turned to continue along the walkway, passing along what was no doubt the stern of the battleship, coming next to a huge computer room.
‘This looks like some kind of mainframe,’ said Rico, amazed, as we passed. ‘What sort of a computer is this?’
I shook my head and we moved along, finally passing through doors in the next workshop and then – at last – into Number Four where we descended steps to the factory, crossing a highly polished floor to Factory Control. From behind a counter, a bored-looking clerk glanced up at us with barely interested eyes.
‘Who are you?’ he demanded, reaching to scratch beneath his respirator.
‘We’re Argus Two,’ replied Rico.
This seemed to take him by surprise. Suddenly he was looking at us with new, interested eyes.
‘The king killers?’ he said, suddenly alert. ‘Chairman Stahl’s personal assistant has notified me about you.’ It was beginning to dawn on me that killing Tomas Sevchenko made us quite the celebrities around here.
‘Yeah,’ continued the clerk, his eyes darting from me to Rico, ‘Chairman Stahl’s assistant has instructed me to hand you an important component that you are to take to the broadcast room.’
‘The broadcast room?’ I asked, careful not to let my voice change, despite my surprise. ‘What’s happening in the broadcast room?’
The clerk laughed and settled back in his seat, putting his hands behind his head. ‘Well,’ he said, looking very pleased with himself, ‘there is to be an execution. The first king killer, the captain they brought in earlier, name of Narville. Chairman Stahl plans to execute him live on air.’
I caught my breath.
‘Here.’ The clerk reached beneath the brushed metal counter for something, a box that he brought out and slapped down on the top between us. A small, white plastic box. ‘You’ll be needing this,’ he smirked.
‘Why us?’ asked Rico.
‘Why you?’ grinned the clerk. ‘Because Chairman Stahl wishes to reward you for your bravery in killing one of the autarch’s assassins, a dog by the name of Tomas Sevchenko, I believe.’
I felt rather than saw Rico bristling with anger beside me. Please don’t lose it now, Rico, I thought. Please don’t lose it now. Instead Rico spoke and when he did his voice sounded measured and composed – and he was still in a perfect approximation of Helghast, asking, ‘And how does he wish to reward us?’
‘You’re going to be Narville’s executioners,’ sniggered the clerk.
Chapter Twenty
We trudged back the way we’d come, carrying the component and trying to have a hushed conversation at the same time.
‘They’re going to kill Narville,’ said Rico under his breath, like I might have missed that bit.
‘They expect us to do it,’ I said, like Rico might have missed that bit.
Our minds were racing. How were we going to get out of this? Okay, I thought, pull yourself together, Sev. You wanted to be near Narville – you got your wish.
We walked back along the walkway, past the mainframe and the battleship construction and to the corridor that led to the landing-deck level. There we found ourselves in the antiseptic hub once more, where soldiers and clerks, technicians, engineers and pilots all made their way from one place to the next. Where before I had detected a sense of purpose in the air, now there was something more. What I could feel as we made our way into the hub was a sense of expectation, of excitement: Stahl Arms was preparing itself to hear from its leader.
In front of us a door slid open and we found ourselves in yet another corridor, walking in the direction of the broadcast room. Now we saw the first of the guards. They lined the glass and steel walls of the corridor, silent sentinels forming an avenue that led towards our destination. At the door a guard glanced down at the white plastic box I held.
‘Argus Two?’ he asked.
‘Yeah,’ I said.
He stepped aside to allow us through. The doors opened. We walked in.
‘Are you the executioners?’ asked a guard by the door. We nodded and he collected our rifles then motioned us forward – into a room whose occupants were awaiting our arrival.
One wall of the broadcast room was a mosaic of screens showing closed-circuit footage from around the complex, Pyrrhus and even what looked like the senate room of Visari Palace. They showed Helghast gathering around screens, ready for the broadcast, while senators were filing into their grand chamber, taking their seats. The whole city it seemed – maybe even the whole planet – was preparing for Stahl’s broadcast.
It would be relayed to them via a camera on a tripod, set up close by. Two grunts stood beside it and one of them indicated the white box I held now, impatiently beckoning me forward to hand it to him.
‘Take your positions by the gun,’ said the camera operator and we did as we were told.
I counted five other grunts in the room as well as Narville and Scanlon who knelt with their hands secured behind their back and their heads bent. And Stahl, of course, in the centre of the room, facing the camera. He stood with his arms folded, holding a pistol, an StA-18, and wearing a calm, almost beatific smile in contrast to the air of tension around him. I’d seen photographs of him before, of course, in military briefings, but that was years ago and he had aged since then. He was greying, even more gaunt. He looked more like his father now, Khage Stahl, the great Helghast industrialist, founder of Stahl Arms. As we moved across to the cannon, he opened his eyes and gave us a theatrical bow. A deep bow, intended to acknowledge us not just as executioners but as specially chosen executioners.
Yeah, what an honour. I felt a droplet of sweat make its way down the inside of my mask. That was the kind of honoured I felt right now.
His acknowledgement was the extent of his gratitude,
though, for Stahl was almost ready to begin. The camera operators were busy finishing making adjustments, whatever was in the box having provided the final piece. And now Stahl turned in the direction of his two prisoners.
‘Captain Narville,’ he said, ‘do you know who I am?’
Narville raised his head to look at Stahl, watching him as he walked towards them and then behind them. Narville stayed silent.
‘I said, “Do you know who I am?” ’ repeated Stahl.
Narville turned his head away.
Stahl snorted. ‘Typical,’ he said, then put his StA-18 to the back of Scanlon’s head and pulled the trigger.
The report echoed around the room, bouncing off the walls at the same time as Scanlon’s brains slapped to the floor and he pitched forward, blood already spreading from a ragged hole at the front of his skull.
There was a moment of shocked quiet, the only sound the sticky spread of blood on the floor and the death rattle of Scanlon’s boots scuffing the floor.
‘We are prisoners of war,’ shouted Narville suddenly, his face drained of blood. ‘We have rights. You just violated the Stockholm treaty.’
‘Stockholm?’ Stahl sneered. ‘What planet do you think you’re on?’
Just then the camera operators completed set-up and motioned Stahl, who looked delighted, clapping his hands together and stepping over the still-twitching corpse of Scanlon to take centre stage.
‘Showtime,’ he said, grinning.
Now the camera operator began counting down. On the screens the people of Helghan gathered around their monitors and Stahl watched them from the corner of his eye, a satisfied smile on his face. A smile like things were going his way. Like nothing could stop him now.
We’d see about that. I looked down at the arc cannon. People were about to die in this room. Just a question of who.
‘Broadcast is now planet-wide,’ confirmed the camera operator. ‘We are live in five. Four. Three. Two. One …’
Helghan stopped as the logo of Stahl Arms appeared on their monitors. The seated senators leaned forward.
And Stahl began.
‘Goodday, my fellow Helghast, I am Jorhan Stahl,’ he said, with a self-deprecating smile. ‘This is something of a rarity from me because speeches are not my forte – but honesty is …’
I looked at Scanlon on the floor, Narville kneeling next to him, his shoulders slumped. Surreptitiously I reached to the arc cannon and very gently tried to swivel it one way or the other, instantly glad I’d checked because it was fixed in place, pointing forward, for display only.
Meanwhile, Stahl continued. ‘I believe that what I have to say today you will find very refreshing,’ he said. ‘My father and Visari, both great men, built this country from nothing using sharp minds committed to our future. Together they built a nation: Visari gave us purpose and hope, my father’s factories gave us the most powerful army the universe has ever known.’
He reached a crescendo, sounding like a true fanatic, the colour rising in his face and spittle flying from his mouth.
All the grunts in the room were watching Stahl, rapt. They were off-guard. My eyes went to the release mechanism of the arc cannon. They wouldn’t be off guard by the time I got that puppy free, though.
‘But that army has failed us.’ Stahl was shouting now. ‘They have allowed themselves to become fat, lazy and careless.’
On the screen I saw great uproar at the senate. Stahl saw it too, revelled in it. ‘But that changes today,’ he continued, and it was almost as though he were addressing just them now. ‘The time has come for some new fucking management,’ he said, threateningly. ‘I know what this nation needs and I will cut out this disease of compliance and subjugation. So to honour Visari tomorrow we launch the greatest military campaign in our nation’s history …’
The greatest military campaign in our nation’s history? What the fuck? My mind raced. I thought of the battleship, the mainframe. I thought of the irradiated petrusite and the weapons we’d seen. Tomorrow? Now it began to make sense. How come we’d met so little resistance. They were too busy preparing for something major.
But now Stahl was indicating us and I opened the release on the cannon stand, pulling the weapon free and hefting it. Christ, this thing was heavy. Holding it, I crossed the room.
‘… and to celebrate that I will give you justice, revenge and the death of his killers,’ finished Stahl.
The camera swung to see Narville kneeling on the floor and for a second I had a weird, dislocated feeling as I watched myself on TV dressed in a Helghast uniform, holding a huge arc cannon to the head of my captain.
I released the safety. The cannon thrummed and streaks of energy began escaping from the main housing. It was green, I saw, just like I’d seen used on Bandit Four back in the jungle. Now sparks flecked the barrel as I brought it close to Narville’s forehead, thinking, Sorry, sir, but it’s got to look convincing.
And Narville could feel the electricity building, the charge increasing. He could feel his death seconds away and he closed his eyes, ready for it to come. Now the weapon was virtually jumping in my hands, desperate to discharge.
So I put it out of its misery.
I swivelled and the look on Stahl’s face made everything worthwhile as I ripped off my helmet and mask and grinned at him: Tomas Sevchenko, king killer, at your service.
Stahl’s eyes widened as he recognized me.
‘You,’ he started, but you’re dead …’
‘Wrong,’ I said, and pulled the trigger.
But Stahl was suddenly fast and though the arc cannon was powerful – the most powerful weapon I’d ever fired – it sure wasn’t quick, and as the tendrils of electricity reached from the barrel Stahl grabbed one of the unsuspecting grunts and dragged the man in front of himself, using him as a shield. The greedy emerald bolt found its target, instantly enveloping the grunt, who rose into the air, seeming to expand within the shining, oily bubble of light, then bursting, splattering the room with bloodied meat.
I glanced at the screens to see a scene of complete panic as I swivelled towards another of the guards, one who’d recovered enough presence of mind to reach for his assault rifle. He never got to pull the trigger before I unleashed more green death on him and like the first guy he dissolved into a scarlet shower of body parts. Too late I saw a pair of guards bundle Stahl out of the door, just as the sentries from outside began pouring in. At the same time, Rico was grabbing an assault rifle and opening fire on the other guards, two of them going down instantly as I took out the next one, leaving him to rush to Narville. I saw him grab a combat knife from one of the fallen Higs and was just about to use it to release Narville when one of the guards was upon him and he was twisting, slashing at his attacker’s respirator and sending him tumbling to a wall, where he lay writhing, not quite dead. Next Rico slid on his knees to Narville, slicing his hand restraints and pulling him roughly up by the shoulder.
‘Rico,’ exclaimed Narville, ‘you’re alive.’
‘Yeah, no thanks to you,’ snapped Rico in reply. One thing about Rico, he really held a grudge.
Now Narville rushed to my side, snatching up an assault rifle and opening fire on the sentries as they came hurtling through the door. Only a couple even made it across the threshold. Between me with the arc cannon and Rico and Narville with assault rifles we took out the entire squad, and as the last of them fell the room was suddenly quiet, settling in the wake of the short battle. For a moment or so Narville and I stood catching our breath and he clapped a hand to my shoulder, looking at me.
‘Thank you, Sev,’ he said
‘No one gets left behind, Captain,’ I replied. Gradually we became aware of low conversation followed by an agonized squeal at the far wall where Rico was bending over the grunt he’d wounded with the knife.
And it looked like he was finishing the job.
‘What are they doing to them?’ he was saying through gritted teeth, and the Hig managed something in reply, a single word
, before he lost consciousness – probably blacked out with the pain – and his body went limp.
Narville went to move over there, but I stopped him with an outstretched hand, shaking my head no. I guess I didn’t like what Rico was doing any more than the captain did, but … I don’t know – I’d just seen Scanlon get his brains blown out and we needed to find the rest of our men. I wasn’t about to stand around debating ethics. Rico turned to face us, wiping the bloodied blade on the leg of his pants, his face grim.
‘Hig tells me that they got some of Bandit Recon in the holding cells below,’ he said. ‘Got some down in their labs too. Let’s go. He told me the way.’
‘In the labs?’ said Narville. ‘What are they doing to them there?’
Rico looked back at the body on the floor, leaking blood. ‘Scumbag just said “tests”.’
Narville looked at Rico and Rico returned his gaze defiantly.
‘You realize you just violated the Stockholm treaty?’ said Narville.
‘Yeah, and what of it?’ said Rico.
There was a pause.
‘Nothing of it,’ said Narville. ‘Good work, soldier. Let’s rescue our boys.’
Klaxons began sounding, alarms going off. We made our way up the corridors, taking down Higs who tried to stop us. Civilians cowered as we ran, the entire place in uproar. Now we moved out into the hub, firing indiscriminately and panicking civilian workers, Rico shooting the hell out of an operations desk, hoping to disable their surveillance, before we headed towards a set of doors and from there worked our way down to the labs – and there were greeted by a scene straight out of hell.
Higs in lab coats scattered and ran as we entered, leaving behind inspection tables with corpses of ISA laid out on them. The bodies were in various states of mutilation. Some almost recognizable as humans. Others missing limbs. Others who looked as though they had exploded from the inside, their torsos caved in. They’d been doing tests on our boys. Or that’s how it looked. Tests similar to those I’d seen in the jungle. I recognized one of Bandit Recon, his mouth open in a final scream, his hands formed into agonized claws.