Killzone, Ascendancy

by Sam Bradbury

  Chapter Forty

  Outside, the battle continued to rage, while in the corridor it was still empty. Empty apart from the angry, stalking figure of Autarch Orlock, bleeding from where the arc cannon bolt had nicked his shoulder, but otherwise unharmed and thinking only of finding and then very painfully killing Jorhan Stahl. Unfortunately he wouldn’t have the opportunity to torture him first. The time for the leisurely application of pain was over. He was going to have to satisfy himself with a simple kill. But at least there was that. Yes, at least there was that.

  ‘You’re bleeding to death, Stahl,’ he taunted. ‘You can’t hide forever.’

  He heard a sound and wheeled around, pointing with the cannon in the direction of the noise. Empty space yawned back at him. The silence pushed in, punctuated by the muffled explosions from the battle outside.

  Where was he? That fucker. Where was he?

  Meanwhile, Jorhan Stahl hid and he bided his time.

  He had not spent his formative years streetfighting and knew little about how to wield a knife effectively in combat. However, he was very good at hiding, a skill he was putting into practice at this very moment.

  Watching Orlock pace the corridor looking for him brought a smile to his face even as he winced at the wound in his stomach.

  Yes, the wound. Orlock was right about that. He was losing blood and would soon be too weak to move, let alone fight. He brought his hand away from the patch at his tunic and it came away red. When he looked down at himself, he saw the material darkening where the blood spread. He would need attention quickly. Couldn’t hide from Orlock forever.

  No, pleasing as it was to watch the autarch’s frustration build, he was going to have to face him at some point. What he needed was a weapon. The floor was strewn with them. Assault rifles and arc cannons. None, sadly, in his near vicinity.

  Something else then. Now his eye fell on a piece of coving that lay on the floor. Big enough and heavy enough to … he smiled, imagining it making contact with the autarch’s ugly bald head.

  Yes, that would do very nicely, thank you very much.

  Grimacing slightly with the pain, he crouched and his fingers felt for the coving. Further up the corridor Orlock had his back to him, still trying to tempt him out of hiding. Now he turned, just as Stahl’s fingers had closed round the piece of metal and he’d brought it to him, standing in his hiding place, waiting for Orlock to reach him. Stahl savoured the moment. The autarch was fat and slow and his arrogance made him careless; he expected no fight from Jorhan Stahl. He was to be disappointed.

  Now, in fact. This very second. For Orlock was level with him and Stahl chose his moment to spring out, one hand at the wound in his stomach, the other swinging the piece of coving.

  And, yes, it did make a highly satisfactory sound as it made contact with Orlock’s head: a sound halfway between a crack and a squelch. Stahl had swung the coving as hard as possible. Hard enough to send Orlock flying to the deck.

  Surely?

  But no. Orlock turned, dazed. His movements were slow, and blood was already beginning to ooze down his head. Yet he was still raising the cannon, about to fire on Stahl, and his teeth were bared in a grimace. Amazed, Stahl swung again.

  Then again.

  And again.

  Until Orlock was at last sent flying back, spitting blood and teeth, flesh hanging from his battered head in meaty flaps. He crashed into a console with his full weight and the huge thing tottered just as the space station also lurched, hit by yet another piece of debris, and Stahl was celebrating his good fortune as autarch and console both crashed to the floor and Orlock was pinned, helpless, beneath the unit.

  Stahl dropped the coving and wiped blood from his face, breathing heavily. Now he picked up his pistol and aimed it at Orlock, about to finish the job.

  ‘Wait,’ gasped Orlock.

  Stahl paused. He smiled superciliously and awaited Orlock’s next words, enjoying the sight of him flailing about, desperately trying to come up with something that might save his skin.

  ‘Stahl, think about what you’re doing,’ gabbled the injured autarch. ‘You’re going to leave Helghan defenceless.’

  Stahl stood there for a moment, expecting something more from Orlock and when nothing came snorted derisively, ‘That’s it? That’s the best you’ve got?’

  He raised the gun again. Time to get this over with, he thought. He felt a painful twinge in his belly.

  ‘Listen,’ shouted Orlock, the desperation plain in his voice, ‘even if you win, do you really think Helghan’s enemies will give you time to rebuild?’

  Orlock had seen an arc cannon nearby. It was, he thought, close enough to reach with his fingertips. All he needed to do was keep Stahl’s attention away from what his hand was doing.

  So he continued, ‘Look around you, Stahl. You’re destroying our people.’

  Stahl knew that Orlock was merely playing for time, yet it was undeniable that he spoke the truth – whether intentionally or not. Stahl glanced outside the window where Helghast was locked in deadly combat with Helghast in space. Men were indeed dying. Men who would be loyal to him, Jorhan Stahl.

  He thought about it for a moment. He let his gun arm drop and the pistol clattered to the floor. Orlock watched the internal conflict play out on his face.

  ‘Unless …’ said Stahl, the idea coming to him, everything seeming very straightforward all of a sudden, ‘what if I had no enemies left to fight? What if I used my weapons to kill everyone on Earth? The colonies would be terrified. They would fall into line.’

  He felt pleased with himself. Why invade and occupy Earth, creating a race of people united in their hatred of him, when it would be far easier to simply wipe them all out?

  Thinking about it, he very much liked that idea, and he looked from the prone, trapped body of Orlock to the Khage outside, proving itself in battle, its shield flaring as missiles bounced harmlessly off the hull. Yes, he thought, he had the weapons and the defences to take over the entire universe. And as for the senate? He chuckled to himself.

  ‘And I wouldn’t need your help,’ he said, pointing at Orlock who, in that moment, knew he was dead unless he acted straight away. And with a grunt of effort he twisted just enough to snatch at the gun by his side, sliding it towards himself as quickly as he could then half-rising to fire …

  … where Stahl had been standing.

  But was no longer there.

  From the other side came a low, febrile chuckle and Orlock looked over to see Stahl holding an arc cannon on him.

  Because Stahl had known exactly what it was that Orlock was doing with his pathetic creeping hand. Did he really think he could outwit Jorhan Stahl now? No, and as the autarch made his last hapless, feeble attempt to save his own greasy skin, Jorhan Stahl had skipped nimbly to one side and retrieved a much more powerful cannon, one loaded with irradiated petrusite – his baby – and brought it to bear on the autarch, enjoying the look of surprise on his face and snorting scornfully.

  ‘Like I said,’ he gloated, ‘you’re predictable.’

  Orlock saw his death and his mouth formed an O and in that second he at last knew fear as Jorhan Stahl chuckled and opened fire.

  A bolt of petrusite leapt from the barrel of the gun and Orlock was engulfed by it. His body began to vibrate, his fingers formed claws. His mouth opened in a scream, but it was as though he was in too much agony to actually form a sound.

  And then he simply exploded, leaving a Rorschach test of gore on the walkway floor around him.

  Jorhan Stahl dropped the arc cannon and chuckled once more, coughing a little and wincing, but even his own pain was not going to spoil his enjoyment of the autarch’s agony, and he looked over at the destroyed corpse of Orlock, slowly spreading across the metal walkway.

  ‘Now that must have hurt,’ he grinned.

  At that moment his strike ships docked and the airlock hissed open, his men rushing into the corridor, and immediately to his aid, seeing the bloodstain at his
stomach.

  His commodore came to him. ‘As per your orders, the weapons are primed for full deployment in Earth’s atmosphere. We are ready to jump the moment you’re back on board your cruiser,’ he said.

  Another troop urged him, ‘Sir, ISA troops are approaching.’

  Typical, thought Stahl. So much for Orlock’s commands that they should be stopped at all costs. And he looked over at the remains of the autarch contemptuously.

  ‘You couldn’t even do that right, could you?’ he spat. ‘Utterly useless.’

  Stahl went to move off, saying to one of his men, ‘The moment we’re off the station destroy it.’

  ‘But, sir,’ protested the grunt, ‘the men.’

  Stahl paused. ‘Fuck ’em,’ he said.

  And with that, he left, moving towards his ship.

  ‘We’ve lost gravity again,’ called Rico.

  ‘Forget it,’ insisted Narville, ‘the ships are dead ahead.’

  We’d been taking short, shallow breaths because the atmosphere was being leeched from the space station. We didn’t have much longer. Once again everything was floating: supplies, weapons, bodies, boxes, crates. It all hung in the air as we moved onward towards the strike ships. We came to some ladders and climbed up them, moving onto a different level. And finally we reached the strike ships, rushing into Pier Two just in time to see Stahl’s personal ship detaching from the space station and leaving, bound, presumably, for his cruiser.

  At the same time Jammer, Hooper and the rest of her team arrived, and I just had time to flash Jammer a grin before we were all boarding ships, a pair of bombers still docked. Jammer and Hooper took the cockpit of one, half the guys diving into the passenger racks; me and Rico went up front in the other, taking the rest of the guys – all that was left of us, about thirty ISA. The last few survivors.

  Rico took the pilot’s seat, using a keycard given to him by Jammer. I took the gunner’s seat behind him and turned to check that passengers were secure. Receiving thumbs-up I faced front, getting the feel of the firing controls as Rico commenced launch checks, the cabin systems booting up and humming around us.

  ‘Unlocking docking clamps,’ said Rico.

  Suddenly an alarm in the cockpit began sounding and I looked at a small radar display on my console, seeing a red blip moving towards our position. I looked up to see a strike ship moving towards us. Moving in for the kill.

  The alarm became more frantic.

  ‘Move,’ I shouted, so loudly that Rico practically jumped as he reached and shoved the joystick forward. Any clamps still secure were taken with us as the boosters roared and the ship shot away from its moorings at the same time as the strike ship opened fire and I twisted in my seat to look out of the cockpit behind us, seeing the pier burst into flames.

  Lucky escape.

  I looked over to see Jammer’s bomber moving away too. Over the comlink I heard a Helghast pilot shouting, ‘Negative impact. Targets escaping in a stolen tactical. Firing.’

  Negative impact. You better believe it, buddy. Now we’re coming after your ass.

  ‘There’s the cruiser,’ called Rico, pointing forward to where Stahl’s huge ship hung in space. ‘Plotting a course,’ he added.

  Next the sensors were going postal again as enemy ships – strike ships and bombers – began moving in towards our position. They were Stahl’s ships and the Helghast military ships, I noticed. We seemed to have united the fighting Helghast factions – at least temporarily.

  ‘The chairman is exposed,’ called a Helghast pilot over the comlink.

  Good, I thought, because we were after him now. I found myself grinning to hear Stahl next, scolding the pilot for talking over an open channel. I opened fire on enemy strike ships and bombers as they swooped in on us. Rico steered a path round the station and through enemy ships, using the confusion to find us a way through. Next we had visual on Stahl’s cruiser. Easily the biggest thing in the sky, it dwarfed all the other vessels around it, a huge coil in the middle. Stahl’s personal shuttle was heading towards it now and Rico brought us in behind it. Then the shuttle approached the green petrusite shield and passed through, and I swallowed.

  We’d seen a ship’s attempt to penetrate the shield and simply bounce off, and as our bomber and Jammer’s ship approached it I wondered if we would suffer the same fate. Would we be repelled, bouncing off dangerously into space, or would we simply explode on the shield’s surface?

  We sped towards the shield.

  ‘Rico, are you sure about this?’ I said to him, leaning forward.

  ‘No.’

  ‘Jammer, are you sure about this?’ I said over the comlink.

  ‘Negative.’

  I squeezed my eyes shut then – whump – we were through the shielding and opening fire on Stahl’s shuttle as it manoeuvred towards the rear of the vast cruiser and into a strike-ship bay on the underside.

  Jammer and Rico banked sharply, the engines humming happily as the two bombers nimbly diverted away from the main hull of the cruiser. Rico was looking at something on a read-out in front of him, frowning, and then said, ‘The warp drive’s online. He’s going for Earth.’

  Sure enough, the huge coil on the cruiser began to whirl, spooling up in order to power the FTL drive and creating a green vortex that was almost beautiful to look at. Rico was right. Stahl was heading for Earth. And if he reached it with that ship then it was sayonara Earth.

  ‘Not going to let that happen,’ I said. ‘Jammer, target the guns and the engines. We’ll take the other side.’

  We swooped away to begin our attack run.

  The Higs launched everything they could at us. But we were methodical, working on the ship’s defences and banking around. Trying to target the coil to stop the ship warping away. The air around us was hot. We were buffeted by explosions, trying to move beneath their tracking to under the ship. Missile after missile went in. We heard ‘hull breach on upper deck’ over their comms and then Stahl ranting at his men: ‘It’s two fucking ships. Get them,’ and that spurred us on.

  ‘T minus fifty,’ we heard. Warp launch imminent.

  Still firing. The Helghast fighters were in disarray. Their pilots knew that the ship was due to warp without them and their efforts to take us out were half-hearted at best, while we took everything they could fire at us and more. Still pummelling the ship with missiles. And at last it seemed to go up. Explosions began on the underside of the ship and gradually moved along, chaining, until it seemed that the entire length of the vast cruiser was blossoms of fire.

  It was a breathtaking sight: the cruiser, grey and monolithic, the green petrusite coil spinning madly out of control as around it the ship began to burn and then, very slowly, tilted forward and started to sink.

  Chapter Forty-one

  On the bridge of his ship Jorhan Stahl pulled himself to his feet. The FTL drive continued its countdown and as it reached the end he entertained the wild idea that the ship might simply warp, that the missile strikes had been less damaging than they’d first appeared. But then the countdown reached zero and nothing happened, and once again the Khage was shaken by a series of explosions. It lurched, everything on the bridge flying as it tipped. Ship-wide warning klaxons began sounding and the crew scrambled to emergency procedures, while on the bridge a second set of warning alarms bleeped, accompanied by the insistent blinking of lights across the displays as systems switched to cope with the power loss.

  Stahl looked from one side of the bridge to the other, willing the auxiliaries to engage. The most powerful and advanced ship in the galaxy, the Khage was equipped with enough emergency protocol programming to cope. Only if the main core was disabled would the ship be in trouble. And … He checked. It wasn’t. The main core remained online. The coil was still active.

  But it was overloading, and with its circuits destroyed by the ISA missiles, was still attempting to power the FTL drive. Unsuccessfully – the FTL drive was fatally damaged – but it continued to do so, unaware of the pow
er out across the rest of the ship.

  He needed to disable the FTL drive, realized Stahl. Systems would revert to conventional combustion, and the coil would cool. They could pull out of the dive. He scrambled to the warp console, keying the override panel open.

  ‘Chairman, you can’t stop it,’ shouted the commodore. ‘It’s too late.’

  ‘Watch me,’ snapped Stahl.

  He wasn’t going down, he’d decided. He was Jorhan Stahl and this was the Khage, and it was the most powerful weapon in the galaxy. It didn’t get destroyed by a bunch of ISA grunts in stolen bombers. That would be just … wrong. It simply couldn’t happen.

  The commodore thought differently. He cast his gaze around the bridge and, seeing the hatch to Stahl’s escape pod, considered simply taking it himself; it didn’t look as if the chairman would be using it, after all. But then he decided against it and abandoned the bridge for escape pods elsewhere, leaving Stahl alone.

  The Khage was re-entering the Helghan atmosphere now, listing at almost ninety degrees. Stahl hung on to the console. He initialized the override then raised his head to listen for the sound of the FTL drive spooling down. Still it screeched around him, and he swore and reached for a panel at the base of the console, yanking it open to reveal circuits beneath.

  ‘Come on, come on,’ he said, pulling at contacts desperately, taking it down the old-fashioned way, until suddenly the warp went offline and he was yelling in triumph as systems switched and the Khage began to right itself, the ground visible, moments away from impact with the space elevators and the crater on the planet face.

  And he had done it. Yes. He had done it. Fuck the ISA.

  Sensors bleeped, and he looked up to see incoming ordnance: a nuclear petrusite missile fired by one of the bombers stolen by … the ISA.

  Fuck … the ISA.