“Captain, is there a problem?” said Toolbearer Hechec.
“Hechec, good man… so to speak–d’ye think you can put me in touch with Lt Brock?”
“The lieutenant has already spoken with G’Brozen Mav, Captain–she has an urgent task to perform and must observe comms silence until its completion.”
“Is that so? And am I permitted to know the nature of this off-the-books adventure?”
“Most certainly–it appears that a sizeable Earthsphere fleet will soon be arriving in the Warcage.”
Pyke’s heart leaped. “Well, I never thought I’d be cheering on the sky-blues but damn me if there isn’t a first time for everything.” He paused. “Did you say ‘in the Warcage’? But they’ll trigger those forcefield defences! We should be warning them.”
“Captain, I am on the bridge of the Scarabus, but despite all my attempts no subspace communications are functioning, which is why Lt Brock has undertaken to find the defence controls and neutralise their aggressive capabilities.”
“On her own? In this snakepit?”
“We were assured that she is being assisted by the Construct drone, Rensik Estemil.”
A Construct drone? he thought. Now where did that come from? Hope it’s loaded for bear, otherwise things could get ugly. For a moment Pyke was assailed by private visions of broken ships burning in the Warcage killing zone, spilling bodies and gouts of vapour…
“Captain–G’Brozen Mav is asking if your scouting team is ready to begin pathfinding.”
Pyke stretched, feeling kinks in his back and shoulders ease.
“Aye, we are that. Can you get onto Kref and the rest, tell ’em to meet me at the head of those bloody great stairs?”
“I shall.”
The stairs in question were two broad escalators which curved down to the next concourse level, although both had clearly been out of commission for a very long time. The level below had massive bomb holes in it but the next set of stairs was still in one piece and led down to the main concourse which ran straight along to the main entrance of the Shadow Bastion.
This whole place must’ve been like God’s own shopping mall before it all fell apart, Pyke thought as he leaned over a corroded rail to peer down into the gloomy depths. If they ever had anything as utterly decadent as shopping, that is.
Clumping footsteps announced Kref’s arrival. Over one shoulder the big Henkayan carried the cloth-wrapped portal device and perched on the other was a stubby-barrelled launcher of some sort.
“The moment he saw it he just had to have it, chief,” said Ancil. “Just lucky that Malginori quartermaster had another.”
“Nice, very nice, and here was I thinking that this was going to be a stealthy operation requiring subtlety and a certain degree of muffled prowling.”
Kref looked unhappy. “You want me to leave it behind, Captain?”
“Hold on to it,” Pyke said. “But try to carry it quietly.” He turned to Punzho and Oleg/Mojag–both were suitably body-armoured and Punzho even had a slot-blaster on his hip.
“Punzho,” he said. “You up to speed with the portal machine?”
“I am, Captain–I have studied the instrumentation and practised its operation, and am confident that I can swiftly deploy portal bridges to order.”
“That’s good to hear.” He glanced at Oleg, formerly Mojag. “And you’ll be watching his back, right?”
“On guard at all times, Captain.”
Pyke nodded, then glanced over his shoulder just as G’Brozen Mav’s voice spoke on the headset channel.
“We’re formed up and ready to move out, Captain.”
“No problems, there, Mav–we’ve got our creep-stomping boots on so we’re ganting to give the pusbags a good smacking. Best o’ luck to you.”
“Good hunting.”
He turned back to his crew and grinned widely. “All right, my lucky lads, time to kick some Shuskar arse!” And get to their command centre where I can hopefully unburden m’self of this alien crystal thing.
With weapons and equipment shouldered, they moved out, carefully descending the broad curve of the frozen, ancient escalator. Down on the next level, however, rather than continuing on down Pyke led them into the shadows of the damaged concourse. Huge holes gaped, the edges fringed with the remains of metal lattice reinforcements and here and there someone had laid down lengths of scavenged shuttering and shelving. Beyond the worst of the damage, this level of concourse ran straight along to the huge, well-like area where the Shadow Bastion tower rose up, tier upon tier. Their first job was to place spy-cams all along the outward surface of the concourse railing, thus providing G’Brozen Mav and the Malginori with good tactical views of the ground they would have to take.
Alternating between them, Ancil and Oleg took care of the cams while Pyke followed, pausing occasionally to peer over the rail, his suspicions populating the shadows near the debris heaps with imaginary hostiles armed to their imaginary teeth with imaginary death-dealing hardware.
He shook his head–no matter how bad he reckoned the situation was going to be, it generally turned out worse. Well, look, there’s an Earthsphere fleet on the way, which is good news–provided the lieutenant can stop the Warcage chewing it up and spitting it out!
He shook off the grim cast of mind and hurried to catch up with the others. Ancil and Oleg had nearly finished placing the cams, and a quick exchange with Hechec, now marching with G’Brozen Mav and the Malginori, confirmed that all were functioning. Pyke glanced back and downwards, and could see tactical advance units steadily moving forward along the concourse, using all and any cover to maximum advantage.
As Pyke and his crew drew near to the curved end of the concourse, they too adopted crouched postures and paused only behind pillars or other useful cover. Kneeling in the shadow of a decorative barrier atop a scorched dais, Pyke helped Punzho unwrap the portal generator, between glances out at the huge stepped tower, his keen eye noting the locations of several protruding balconies. Just then, Ancil waved at him from behind a shattered pillar and gave a thumbs-up–the last of the cams was now in place. He opened a comm channel to relay this to Hechec and found himself talking to G’Brozen Mav.
“Yes, Captain, the visual feeds are coming through; perfectly clear, too. Are you ready for the next stage of your mission?”
Pyke smiled sourly. Damn, but keeping up all this polite, nicey-nicey front is becoming a right lacerating pain. “Certainly am–we’ve picked out a few likely spots from where we can sow fear and chaos among those ugly maggots down there.”
“Grandiose claims, Captain. The Toolbearer has great confidence in you–I hope that it is well placed.”
“We’ll play our part, Mav, don’t worry about that–just you keep your beady eyes on how you’re doing… wait, what the…”
He broke off as light suddenly began flooding parts of the concourse, bright flickering bursts accompanied by hissing and crackles. The light came from entire wall sections, from huge hanging panels, from three-sided obelisk-like pillars spaced along all the concourses. Their dull grey appearance had, until now, attracted no attention.
A picture snapped into view, the surface of the Citadelworld as seen from one of the Bastion’s highest balcony windows, Pyke guessed. The perspective pulled back to show a large windowed chamber full of archaic, intricate apparatus, racks of cabled-up modules, a profusion of semi-transparent screens covered with glimmering symbols, banks of controls glowing and gleaming with power. Then a figure stepped into the frame and Pyke felt the blood drain from his face.
“My name is Xra-Huld,” it said. “Some of you may have heard of me and my eternal siblings, Xra-Vor, Xra-Uval, Xra-Shoaz, and Xra-Kebr.”
An inset showed four lanky yet distorted figures, each with a large, swollen arm whose flesh had grown around those sentient biomech weapons. The Gun-Lords stood in a row, surveying ranks of armed and armoured troops, who knelt before them with heads bowed.
Pyke scarcely saw them. From ever
y one of the scores of massive screens scattered around the concourses, it was Dervla’s face which stared out at him. Everything about her expression was anomalous–the slight forward tilt of the head, the hooded eyes, the cruel smile that twitched at the lips, all of it came from the thing that had invaded her.
The composite picture hung there for several seconds before reverting to the earlier head-and-shoulders shot.
“I know that it is you, G’Brozen Mav. I know about your filthy outsider friends, and I know that you dare to assault us in our citadel with puny allies scraped up from the last sewer you crawled out of and armed with pathetic weapons.” The sneering words boomed loud and clear all along the docking canyon. “And now you know what awaits you–a company of Avang Deathrend commandos, and a pack of Vastators from the Cregrin Host. Each and every one carries your death in their hands, and only one needs to be lucky enough to get through to you.”
Pyke’s anger boiled over and he threw a fist-sized chunk of rubble at the big screen that hung right over the concourse, big enough that it extended over three levels. The display flickered where the rock struck and the huge hanging panel swayed a little. He grabbed some more ammunition and began pelting the big display, yelling insults and blistering profanities. It had the desired effect–that huge face turned its attention to the concourse level where Pyke stood, openly defiant, ignoring pleas from the others to hide himself.
And there!–As the eyes of that possessed visage came round to see who was disrupting its egomaniacal tauntologue–there, just for a sliver of a moment, the mask wavered and the real Dervla stared down at him, then was gone.
“Ah, the bold Captain Pyke,” the biomech thing said with Dervla’s mouth. “Your feats and adventures have not gone unnoticed–in fact, my companion, Xra-Uval, has previously expressed interest in joining with you, embedding its body within yours, entwining minds and desires. Just imagine the ecstasy all four of us could experience were you then to embrace this body with all the enhanced senses that we can give you.” On all the screens, the possessed Dervla licked her lips while stroking her neck and upper chest. An incinerating revulsion coursed through Pyke, fuelling his fury, inciting him to wild audacity.
“Aw, come on, Huldy! Aye, you’re a terrible old thing, and no mistake, but we both know what lies at the bottom of all that persistent wandering, all those millennia without rest, eh? The challenge, the need to know who really is the best! So, what d’ye say? Right here, out in the main concourse, you and me, weapon to weapon, and damnation take the loser!”
The Dervla-thing’s laughter dripped contempt.
“Brave, daring words, Captain, but truthfully you’re not important enough that I would be forced to waste my time—”
“Then I’ll keep coming for you, ya bag of rust and pus!–I’ll never stop—”
“… but never let it be said that I am less than considerate towards the inferior orders.” The Dervla-thing smirked and beckoned to someone out of view. “I believe you’ve met my faithful servant.”
The Gun-Lord’s image dissolved into that of another, far more hatefully familiar–Khorr. The brutish features loomed large, staring grimly out of all the screens.
“Pyke, we have unfinished business, so no running away!”
Pyke went to the concourse railing, leaned over and shouted at the big hanging screen.
“I’m ready now, ya walking tumour! Ready to finish yer ugly boat with my boot!”
Khorr’s face filled the screen like a swollen parody of itself. Then he smiled a wide hungry smile that leered out unsettlingly all over the concourse for a brief moment before the image winked out.
Down on the main concourse, a wide hangar door was opening in the side of the Shadow Bastion and knots of heavily armed troops were rushing out to take up defensive positions. Watching this, Pyke felt oddly calm, even though G’Brozen Mav was at that moment yelling angrily at him over the headset. At the same time a cold shiver passed through his hands.
“Punzho,” he said over his shoulder. “Time to fire up the ould magic door machine.”
While following the tiny hovering tetrahedral that was Rensik 3.0, Sam was able to stealth her way into the huge tower via an unlocked sliding balcony door. After that they traced a route through the interior by way of the rooms, passages and staff stairways of abandoned, unpowered sectors. Which on more than one occasion meant using her belt tools to wedge open doors or adjoining hatches or to crack open a panel concealing a lever release for a ladder leading up to a maintenance cubbyhole or a supplies cache.
They reached the Warcage forcefield defence control centre with barely ten minutes to spare. In the interim, alarms had blared and the sounds of shouting and pounding feet had echoed along the empty corridors. The forcefield defence room, however, was nine floors above the main concourse where the fighting was taking place: here, all was peaceful calm where banks of golden machinery hummed before a wide window that looked out at the planetoid’s surface and the lattice array of the worlds of the Warcage…
Ping–forcefield control boards here.
Rensik 3.0 was hovering next to a clustered horseshoe of monitors, readout banks, module stacks, and a bizarre couch whose headrest looked like a big hand ready to grasp an occupant’s head. Similar side pieces seemed designed to curl in and restrain the torso and legs. Time was running out so she hurried across the room–just as a uniformed figure with a clipboard-like object stepped out from behind the banks of machinery near the great window.
Ping–enemy danger enemy danger.
Sam would have delivered an arch retort, were she not diving sideways into cover while grabbing the particle gun from her waist. A line of harsh cracks tracked her and she was quick to move behind several cabinets, changing position away from where the enemy had last spotted her.
Ping–time running out.
Part of her wanted to scream at the tiny idiot, but the rest of her was in charge and watching for her adversary… and she saw a shadow on the floor at the other end, cast by a ceiling lamp. Carefully, she gradually stood up, eyes scanning the vicinity, then in a quick, snap movement she put up her gun hand and fired a volley over the top of the cabinet line. There was a shriek of pain, a crashing sound as if something had been knocked over. Warily, Sam rose to peer over the shielding cabinet and caught a glimpse of a grey-overalled form lying still with a blood trickle spreading along grooves in the tiled floor.
But it was only the most momentary of glimpses because more energy bolts flashed, hammering against the shielding cabinets, and droplets of melted alloy casing flew, one or two stinging her cheek. Dammit, another hostile–this whole situation was taking too long!
Ping–taking too long–time running out.
“You don’t say,” she snarled under her breath.
Ping–keep adversary occupied–be ready.
The operator, or guard or whatever, was crouched down in a kind of small stairwell that led down below floor level, perhaps into a split level between the cabinets and the wide windows. Sam kept a bead on that spot, aiming along the particle gun’s sights, peppering it with the odd burst. She wasn’t that keen on Rensik’s idea of keeping him pinned there with suppressing fire, but then she didn’t know what kind of ploy the tiny bot had in mind. If only she had a throwable or two, even just a smoke nade–that would have given her a tactical edge…
And before she could snap off another haircut round, she felt it hit in her stomach first, then in a weird swift wave as the zero-gee took hold. Quickly, she brought up her legs into a crouching posture as she drifted free of the floor. With her empty hand she carefully took hold of the top edge of the nearest cabinet and pulled herself up to peer over once again. Her opponent, an oddly lanky biped, had panicked and was hanging upside down, holding on to the corner of an equipment rack with one hand while the other still gripped a blaster pistol of some kind.
He spotted Sam and whipped his gun round but lost his grip and began to spin, firing wildly. Sam calmly, coldly, ended him
with a single round to the head.
A few seconds later the gravity came back on and there were bangs and clatters all around as a swathe of objects rediscovered up and down. The second enemy’s corpse bounced off the cabinet and fell out of sight, but Sam was already on her feet and hurrying over to the forcefield control station.
Ping–lucky to have tower environmental and gravity in adjacent chamber.
She paused. “You mean the entire tower flipped into zero-gee as well as this room?”
Ping–unfortunate but necessary.
Sam allowed herself a wicked smile. “Bet Pyke wasn’t expecting that… right, how long do we have left?”
Ping–three minutes thirty-nine seconds.
Shaking her head she sidled into the cramped end of the forcefield control compartment then lowered herself into the couch. Three minutes, she thought. How can that possibly be long enough?
Responding to her weight, the couch gently took hold of her head and folded its soft-padded restraints across her body and legs, leaving her hands free. At the same time Rensik 3.0 buzzed into view and swooped swiftly around the nearby instrument panels.
Ping–not enough time to save all of ES fleet–wish to proceed?
“Yes,” she said without hesitation.
Two of the body restraints flipped open at their tips to reveal an odd handlebar arrangement with little sockets for thumb and forefinger. As soon as both her hands were engaged the headrest-cradle tightened slightly around her crown. A curious prickliness rippled across her scalp and, as she was half expecting, virtuality took over her vision, a blurring dissolve from the enclosing couch to… well, it looked like the pilot compartment of a single-person craft. Her body was visible, as were her arms, outstretched and grasping a control column, but garbed in shimmery blue, her hands covered in sleek black gloves. Outside was a strange backdrop, moiré swirls of purple and silver, not unlike the visible appearance of hyperspace, stippled here and there with pale bristly objects, hanging like 3D asterisks, receding into a silvery distance. A virtuality environment, but what was it for?
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