They got moving again. Talia had seen one of the contraptions veer in this direction, but she had no idea who was inside it. It had been too far away for her to make out a face inside the cockpit window. That being the case, she wasn’t sure if it was Knile or Remus, or perhaps even Roman who was out there.
As she and Holger reached the edge of the terminals, she saw the Redman grappling hand-to-hand with the contraption not far away on the platform. She heard a voice through a loudspeaker, a grunt of effort, and that left her in no doubt as to the identity of the occupant.
It was Roman, and he was in trouble.
Holger raised his assault rifle and took aim at the two of them.
“Wait!” she shouted, yanking at his arm. “You might hit Roman.”
“If that thing can take a pounding from a pulse rifle, it’ll stand up to this.”
He raised his sights again, then a second Redman appeared in view, on his way to assist the first. Holger made a sharp, precise shift with his shoulders and opened fire on the newcomer, peppering him with bullets. The Redman swivelled and returned fire, and both Holger and Talia were forced to dive for cover.
Talia heard Roman’s voice again, this time a cry of anger, pain, and fear all mixed into one, and then there was another explosion, followed by metallic scraping, and then a terrified scream.
Holger picked himself up, then offered a hand to Talia.
“Get up,” he said. “I think someone just went over the edge.”
Roman swung the arms of the RECS at the Redman, who moved lithely to one side. The blow glanced off his armour ineffectually, and then the Redman danced closer, inside the arc of the machine’s elongated limbs. His gasmask-clad face pressed close, filling Roman’s view, and then he shoved his weight against the RECS, forcing it backward.
Roman knew that he should avoid tussling physically with the Redmen, as Remus had suggested, and yet here he was, heaving against one like a sumo wrestler. It was not like he had much say in the matter. The Redman had come at him, and he had been too fast to outrun, too agile to keep at bay with the ungainly arms of the RECS.
There was no choice now but to flail away at him from close range.
Roman scraped a claw at the Redman, scratching his armour, and then the Redman twisted to one side, clenching one arm of the RECS with both hands. He yanked savagely, using all his strength, and Roman felt the machine lurch to one side in response.
The Redman ducked another blow, then pulled again, and now Roman could see what was happening. The edge of the platform was perilously close.
The Redman was trying to throw him off.
Panicked, Roman directed the controls away from the drop, but the Redman cunningly used the momentum shift to swing him around like he was performing a hammer throw. Roman found himself teetering closer to the edge than before.
Suddenly he remembered the stout gun that he had found earlier, the one that was built into the hull of the RECS. He had drawn it on Duran but not fired it.
Maybe that was his last hope.
Roman rotated the weapon forward as he spun, directing the broad, curving muzzle at the Redman. He pulled the trigger, but instead of firing immediately, a charge indicator began to fill, and then a moment later it went off.
There was a loud bang, and the Redman stumbled backward, a look of surprise on his face, but otherwise unharmed. Confused, Roman tried to figure out why there had been no sign of bullets or any other projectiles leaving the weapon, and then he noticed the label beneath the trigger, which read: Air gun.
His mind raced. What had Remus called these things? Riot Engagement Systems, or something? The air gun must have been used for crowd control, to force rioters backward, but not to kill or even to cause injury.
Terrific. Just what I need.
Somehow he doubted blowing air at a Redman was going to do any harm.
Even so, as the Redman recovered and came back at him, Roman instinctively pulled the trigger again. As the air gun charged, the Redman swung his arm and drove a gauntleted fist into the opening. He struck with such force that the RECS rocked backward, and when it righted itself, Roman could see that the gauntlet had become wedged in the mangled remains of the gun. The Redman attempted to wrench himself free once, then again, then reached up with his free hand and flicked a clip at his wrist. He drew his hand out of the gauntlet, freeing himself again, then rammed his shoulder into the RECS once more.
Roman cried out as he was jostled about, and now alarms began to sound in the cockpit. A series of messages appeared on the console in front of Roman, including Master Warning and Pressure Cavity Malfunction. The hull of the RECS began to creak and shake as if it were about to split apart. The power meter associated with the air gun was also flashing, but Roman didn’t know the system well enough to understand what any of it meant.
All he knew was the Redman was still dragging him closer to the edge of the platform, and in moments there would be nothing under his feet but air.
Roman cried out desperately as he struggled at the controls again, and then the Redman swung the RECS around one final time. Roman felt himself spinning out of control, and then there was an almighty wrenching sound, and the hull buckled outward. As the pressurised air was expelled through the remains of the air gun with explosive force, the RECS flew backward and off its feet, rolling across the platform.
As it came to a shuddering halt, Roman looked and saw the screaming Redman spinning through the air and out into the abyss beyond the edge of the platform.
Murtas glared at Lazarus and drew himself up to his full height. He ripped the gas mask from his face and tossed it away, and then a disparaging sneer spread across his face.
“Your moral corruption knows no bounds, Lazarus,” he said. “Betraying the Crimson Shield itself, now?”
“I see no Crimson Shield here,” Lazarus said. “Just dogs. You and these others are pathetic distortions of what the Crimson Shield truly represents.”
He ripped away the bindings across his chest, revealing his own crimson breastplate beneath. It was charred and melted in places, the result of his battle in the Infirmary. He drew his sword from its sheath and held it at the ready.
“Take that off. You do not deserve to wear the crimson,” Murtas spat.
“Nor do you, and yet here we are.”
Murtas picked up his own sword, which lay close by, and began to circle the other man.
“What are these scum paying you?” Murtas said. “Have they promised you another whore? One even prettier than…” He smiled mockingly. “What was her name?”
“Do not speak it.”
“Edyta. That was it, was it not?” Lazarus said nothing. “Ah, yes, I remember her well. In some ways I do not blame you for becoming enraptured with her, brother. After all, I tasted her myself. I cannot deny the sweetness of her skin.”
“You are a liar,” Lazarus grated.
“I swear in the light of the Holy One,” Murtas teased, holding up one palm as he uttered the oath. “She came to me in the days after your sentence of Landfall was carried out, after you were cast down into filth. Into muck and shit with the peasants of this world. She begged for her life, and for yours as well. Most ardently, I must add. There was nothing she would not do in her quest for forgiveness.”
Lazarus snarled and sprang forward, but Murtas was quick. He stepped lightly out the way and slashed with the sword, landing a blow heavily across Lazarus’ breastplate.
Lazarus grunted and staggered backward. “Enough talk.”
“I have to admit that, when I took her, I was not gentle. I fucked her within an inch of her life, using her in every way a man can use a whore, and yet that only seemed to spur her onward to greater heights. She came back the next night, and the night after that, and I punished her in every conceivable way–”
Lazarus ran at him again, and this time Murtas’ sword bit into the flesh of his opponent’s shoulder. Lazarus cried out and wheeled away. He stood there enraged, panting as blood
trickled down his arm.
“I will admit one thing, though, brother.” Murtas began to circle him again, twirling the sword extravagantly in one hand. “I did lie. When she first came to me, she begged for her life. That much is true. However, she did not beg for yours. Thoughts of you were discarded the moment you were out of her sight.”
Lazarus felt the rage bubbling up inside him again, the years of pent up fury that had festered within threatening to explode. To hear him utter these words against his precious Edyta was like a knife in his heart, and now he could bear them no longer.
He knew what Murtas was doing, how he was goading him and forcing him into mistakes, and yet he couldn’t seem to do anything about it. He seemed powerless to contain his emotions.
His grip tightened on the sword.
Think of Edyta. Picture her in your mind as she truly was. Her purity will act as your guiding light.
Lazarus closed his eyes. His mind crept backward through all that had happened to him: handing Edyta’s diary to her mother; the fight in the Infirmary; meeting Knile at the chapel in Link. The years spent in solitude and in prayer. Further back, he remembered hearing the news of Edyta’s death in the Cellar, learning of his sentence of Landfall.
Amongst it all, he found another memory. He was lying on the bed in Edyta’s apartment, and she lay with him, her head resting on his bare chest. He remembered the feeling of her fingers tracing lazy patterns on his belly, the smell of her hair. The feeling of bliss as they lay together after making love.
She had looked up at him and smiled sadly, perhaps knowing that what they had together would soon end.
“Whatever happens, they can’t take this day away from us,” she had said.
It had been their last happy moment together.
Lazarus opened his eyes, and now the fury had fled. He was filled with calm.
He was ready.
Murtas danced inward and slashed again, and Lazarus parried the attack with ease. He parried a second and a third blow, then delivered a stunning strike that knocked Murtas backward. The Dux gasped as he stumbled, then steadied himself. He gritted his teeth and came again.
Lazarus attacked, heaving with such might that Murtas’ sword was knocked clean from his grasp. In the same motion, Lazarus swung his free hand and hammered the Dux in the side of the head, sending blood flying from his mouth. He followed up with another blow, then another, knocking out two of Murtas’ teeth, and then rammed his fist into his nose, squashing it against his face.
Murtas went down in a heap.
Lazarus stood there, breathing heavily, savouring the moment. Murtas raised a shaking hand in submission as he spat out a mouthful of blood.
“Please, lord,” he croaked through his ruined teeth. “Please have mercy on me.”
Lazarus took a step toward him. “Mercy?”
“Yes, lord,” Murtas said, spitting again. “Give me your judgement. I will accept it with all of my soul.”
Lazarus paused, his eyebrow cocked. “You would have me sentence you?”
“Yes. Show me your mercy, lord. Banish me if you must. Strip me of the crimson.”
“It is not my place to pass judgement.”
“The Council is not present,” Murtas gasped. “I will accept your sentence in their stead. Show me your mercy.”
Lazarus considered this for a moment as Murtas lay before him, trembling. Then he nodded.
“Yes, I will pass judgement. I will banish you.”
Murtas wiped at his mouth. “Yes,” he said feverishly. “I accept. I will leave this place–”
“I sentence you, Murtas Dux,” Lazarus said, reaching down and clasping Murtas, one hand at the collar of his armour and the other at his crotch. He heaved the Dux mightily above his head. Lazarus opened his mouth and bellowed. “I sentence you to Landfall!”
The muscles in his arm bunched, and he heaved Murtas into the air with a roar that encompassed all of the pain, the sorrow and the emptiness he’d felt since Edyta had gone. As Murtas’ body arced out over the edge of the platform, his armour glinting softly in the fading twilight, Lazarus experienced a kind of catharsis, as if he were not only hurling his sworn enemy to his death, but casting aside all of his hurt along with him. Murtas seemed to hang there for a moment, a shocked and disbelieving look on his face as he stared back at Lazarus, and then he disappeared from view without a word.
Crouched on the narrow path that led to the elevator, Duran had witnessed the demise of the first two Redmen, both launched over the edge of the platform in spectacular fashion. The third Redman had slipped into the network of machines near the railcar and promptly disappeared.
“The last one,” Zoe said at his side. “Where’d he go?”
“Beats me. Either way, we should find cover. We’re sitting ducks out here.”
“Right.” Zoe sprang forward and hastened over to one of the shields that the Redmen had activated when the fight began. She ducked in behind it, and as Duran joined her, she began to survey the platform from this new perspective.
One of the RECS appeared nearby, and Duran saw Knile’s face inside. Zoe raised one finger, then jabbed it toward the railcar. Oberend nodded.
On the other side of the platform, Roman, along with a broad-shouldered man and a woman, came into view. The kid was limping, looking somewhat bruised and dishevelled after his ordeal in the RECS, but he otherwise seemed okay. Zoe caught their attention with a wave, then pointed to indicate the position of the final Redman. The three of them held a brief discussion, then proceeded into the cluster of terminals.
A few moments later there was a cry from over near the railcar, and the Redman appeared with a hostage clutched protectively to his chest. It was another youth, not much older than Roman, wearing spectacles and cradling a holophone in one hand like his life depended on it.
“Hey!” the Redman roared as he moved away from the railcar. “Put down the weapons, right now, or this kid gets a lethal dose of plasma.” He shoved the muzzle of the pulse rifle against his hostage’s neck.
Oberend moved his RECS forward to intercept the Redman with a series of rapid, thumping steps.
“Stay calm, Aksel. This bastard isn’t taking you anywhere,” Knile said.
The Redman sneered at Knile and continued to walk forward. “You think I’m bullshitting you? Try me!” The guy seemed edgy, most unlike a member of the Crimson Shield, but Duran supposed that he’d never been exposed to this kind of situation before. Men often reacted in strange ways when presented with this kind of stress. He’d seen it plenty of times among the Enforcer ranks, and it wasn’t a huge stretch to imagine it could happen to the Crimson Shield as well.
The others began to filter through the terminals to surround the Redman, and Zoe ducked her head behind the shield.
“Keep down,” she hissed at Duran. “The Redman hasn’t seen us yet.”
Duran did as she suggested, keeping one eye just above the shield so that he could see what was happening before them.
“Let him go,” the woman with Roman said calmly. “There’s no need for this. It’s over.”
“It’s not over till I say it is,” the Redman said. “Now, listen up. I’m walking out of here. The kid comes with me. Once I’m safely through the Atrium, I’ll send him back up.”
“Like hell,” Oberend said. “Let him go right now and you live. That’s the only deal we’re prepared to make.”
The Redman stopped, glaring at the RECS. “Move that Frankenstein thing back. Get out of my way.” He gripped his hostage roughly around the throat and pushed the rifle harder against him. “Do it now.”
“Do what he says, Knile.” Duran looked to see a dark-skinned man standing not far away, an assault rifle in his hands. Slowly, he knelt and placed the weapon on the ground. “Everyone, do what he says.”
“There we go,” the Redman said. “That’s more like it.” He looked around at them expectantly. “C’mon, I don’t have all night.” Slowly they began to comply, reluctantly drop
ping rifles and handguns and whatever else they were carrying. “And you,” the Redman said, jabbing a finger at Knile, “get the fuck back.”
Oberend glowered at him through the window of the RECS, then forced it to take a few plodding steps backward. The Redman advanced, nodding in approval.
“Yeah, that’s good. Wasn’t so hard, was it?”
As the Redman passed Knile, he turned his body so that his hostage, Aksel, remained between him and the rest of the group. In doing so, he pointed his back at the shields behind which Zoe and Duran had positioned themselves.
Zoe gave Duran a surreptitious glance over her shoulder, as if to say get ready.
“I don’t know how you turds managed to get this far,” the Redman shouted at them, “but you were never going to get up the Wire. Not in a million years.” By the tone in his voice, it was clear that the trepidation he had felt moments before was now giving way to anger. “I mean, who do you think you are? You can’t come up here and raise your fists to the Crimson Shield. You can’t kill my brothers and expect to walk away.”
The door of the RECS opened, and Knile stepped out. “Let Aksel go,” he said. “We’ve done what you asked.”
The Redman shook his head, continuing to back away. He was almost level with Duran and Zoe.
“You’re not leaving here,” the Redman said, shaking his head, resolute. “Not a fucking chance.” He swung the pulse rifle away from Aksel, lifting his hostage even higher, then pointed his weapon dead ahead. Duran looked, but couldn’t see who he might be aiming at.
“Put him down,” Knile said, but the Redman only laughed.
“Fuck you,” the Redman said bitterly. He let rip with the pulse rifle, launching a barrage of shots over Knile’s head. For a moment, Duran thought his aim was off, but then he realised what he was shooting at.
He was attacking the railcar itself.
Gouts of flame erupted from several places on the vehicle, and there was a loud electrical zapping sound. The broad-shouldered man next to Roman dived for his discarded assault rifle, but hesitated with the hostage between him and the Redman.
Skybreach (The Reach #3) Page 28