Divine Born

by O. J. Lowe

  “No arguing there, Brennan,” he said. “Okay. Armoury. Let’s get there. Hopefully she hasn’t gone too far.”

  “Helga’s a sensible woman,” Frewster said. “She can survive a siege in that armoury. There are weapons in there. Old, but still serviceable. The old ones are those that pack the biggest surprise.”

  Egotistical old bastard. Nick wasn’t entirely sure he was talking about blasters any longer. Not with that smile on his face.

  They’d run into resistance twice on their way to the armoury, the first instance being a pair of sentries who’d allowed themselves to relax at an inopportune moment. Nick had shot them both through the head at short range, one after the other they’d hit the ground. Recognising them was going to be a challenge for whomever was paid to care about it. He didn’t know who they were, just that Coppinger likely had something to do with it.

  The uniforms, he’d never seen anything like them before. When she’d made her assault at Carcaradis Island, her troops had worn black uniforms with body armour. They’d made no show of attempting to hide their faces. Given what they’d since found out about her troops being supplemented with clones, it made sense. They wouldn’t be in any sort of database; therefore, they had no need to hide.

  Then there’d been the people like Ulikku. Those who Caldwell had told them about. The conscripts. The ones that Rocastle had been put in charge of turning into an army of the outcasts. An army of people just like him. The freaks and the deviants, the weird and the social misfits. The ridiculed becoming the rulers. An unsettling idea. They went through the same training as the clones, years of training condensed into weeks and months. It made sense.

  Didn’t matter right now. They were dead, and they weren’t getting back up. He considered taking their weapons, decided against it. Wouldn’t have put it past someone on Coppinger’s side to booby trap the weapons, just in case they were ever turned against them. He didn’t want a hand getting blown off because the weapon backfired and exploded. Or a paralysing shock because someone had a sick sense of humour.

  Sick sense of humour was probably a job requirement if Rocastle oversaw training them. It’d probably be their only way to get through the day. Nick remembered fighting him, he’d have to be doing a better job with them than he had in his own efforts at fighting. He’d nearly concussed himself in that fight and he’d still done little more than toy with him.

  The second lot had been tougher, they’d been spread out and the three of them had been on him and Frewster before they’d been able to ready a defence. Nick had hit the ground, felt the shots go high above his head. Frewster had yelled in pain, the boom of his kinetic disperser had taken one of them down, their arm blasted away from the rest of their body. Blood stained the carpet, the soldier’s face twisted in pain. He wasn’t going to be fighting back, the colour draining from his face. Already he was going into shock, he wouldn’t last long.

  Two of them left to disable. He was younger than Frewster, best that he be the one to deal with them. Nick sprang to his feet, weapon came up. His blaster spat energy towards the closest, they dropped into a crouch, he covered the distance and drove a kick into their face. They reacted just a little too late. The impact that jarred up his leg was satisfying, they crumpled under the blow and he turned to face the other. This time, he wasn’t underestimating any of them. That one woman had nearly done for him. How good they might be, it was time to remind them that he was better. The other soldier facing him was female, something vaguely familiar about her. Maybe he’d seen her at the Quin-C. Maybe. Either way, it wasn’t something that meant he was going to hold back. She pointed her weapon at him, he lunged forward, dropped and rolled under the blast as it screamed above his head. Before she could readjust her aim, he hit her in the stomach with a shoulder. Nick felt her crumple, a knee came up, caught him in the cheek. Stars exploded across his vision, the grunt of pain escaped him. The side of his face was on fire, it had been a whiplash blow, thrown with power rather than accuracy. She brought down both fists onto his back, he pushed through the pain, rose to his full height. She’d tried to block the punch he’d thrown, only partially successful in her effort, and he’d tagged her with his left hand. Anger creased her features, she threw herself at him, he twisted out the way and watched her sail past. He’d even helped her, thrown a kick at her spine as she stumbled, saw her fall flat on her face.

  He couldn’t help but wince at the crack that ruptured through the room as he brought his foot down on her neck. She wouldn’t be getting up again. Ever. Once more, he retrieved his blaster. Frewster shook his head at him, the sleeve of his jacket ripped and smoke gushing from it. Underneath it, he could see the skin was red and blistered.

  “Little bitch winged me,” Frewster said. “You lose your weapon a lot in a fight, Nicholas, do you know that? Unarmed combat can only take you so far.”

  “I’m three for three, you know that?” Nick replied. The other invader hadn’t gotten back up, he wouldn’t for a while Nick guessed. The kick had been well placed, driven right into his nose. Might not even get up at all. “These guys aren’t messing around.”

  “Of course, they aren’t, whoever thought of an invader who did play games,” Frewster chuckled. “I merely advise you that proceeding with caution might well be the more prudent approach. You know that in your profession, a blaster is just as important as a hand or a foot.”

  Nick had heard that comment before, he hadn’t bought into it then, he wasn’t buying into it now. If you didn’t have hands or feet, you wouldn’t be working in the field for Unisco.

  “You’re more than welcome to put them down,” he said. “You’re not doing too bad with that thing.” He nodded to the weapon in Frewster’s arms, the disperser cradled lovingly like a favoured child.

  “Dear boy, I was a surgeon with this weapon in my younger days. We have a long acquaintance that I did not think I was ever going to get the chance to renew.”

  “I’m glad you’re having fun.” Nick found it hard to keep the sarcasm out of his voice. If Frewster was bothered by it, he didn’t show it. “Anyway, cut the chatter. We need to find your housekeeper and get out of here.”

  “My dear boy, Helga is so much more than that.”

  The time came that Nick thought he might have to agree on that. Frewster had gestured to the armoury, he’d prepared to lead the way in when the doors had shattered through, one broken body hitting the ground in front of them. Still clad in her uniform, Helga strode out like a hardened combat veteran, a blaster in hand. Nick could see that despite the grievous injuries, the figure on the ground still twitched, some part of them still alive. Helga saw it too, one long step, one slight adjustment of her aim as she pointed the weapon at the fallen man.

  The sound echoed through the hallways, Nick saw the head snap back and he hadn’t realised he’d been holding his breath. One long exhalation. Cold. That was cold blooded. It made tactical sense. Finishing them off when they were badly injured stopped them from taking revenge later. It just took a special sort of human to be able to pull the trigger when their enemy was like that.

  Throughout his career working at Unisco, there’d been a handful of incidents when he’d killed in cold blood. Jeremiah Blut had been unarmed, but he’d needed to die. Lucas Hobb had been helpless but no less a threat when Nick had suffocated him. They bore unpleasant memories he was never quite happy to repeat. They stained him far more than those where the killing had been justified. There was no honour in killing someone who couldn’t fight back, even if it made sense from an operational point of view.

  “Helga,” Frewster said, his voice jovial. He strode over, embraced her. “We have to leave now.”

  She didn’t look impressed. Nick didn’t care. To hells with what the help thought. If they stayed here, they’d die, there was no other way of looking at it. He didn’t care if Helga stayed or went. That was a lie, he realised quickly. They had a better chance with her on their side. There was something about her. She knew her way aro
und a fight. Plus, her name sounded familiar, it struck a chord he couldn’t ignore.

  “Here’s the plan,” he said. Someone had to take charge of this sorry shower of shit and it might as well be him. He had no delusions of grandeur over his own importance, just that they needed a plan. If they didn’t stick to it, they’d be dead. “We get to the garage, kill anyone in our path, get a speeder and leave. I’ve got a plan to deal with the aeroship out there but…”

  “Are you concealing anti-aircraft weaponry in your pockets?” Helga inquired. Nick ignored her. She didn’t look like she was going to let it go. “Explosives up your sleeve?”

  “Something like that,” he said, deciding to keep it cryptic. The less she knew, the better. He didn’t want to keep them in the dark, but at the same time, her attitude annoyed him. “That’s need-to-know.” Normally, he hated those words. Now, he appreciated them like no other. “Just trust in me. This isn’t my first siege.”

  “It’s true,” Frewster said sagely. “They do teach you about siege-craft at the academy. Never know when it’ll come in handy.”

  “They do like their contingency plans,” Nick said. “Any situation they can think of.”

  “Nice to see that some of my legacy remains then,” Frewster replied. “That was all me, dear boy. I instigated that too many moons ago myself.”

  Not that anyone remains alive to dispute it, Nick thought. He held his tongue. Calling Frewster on some of his statements wasn’t going to get them out of here. Instead, he glanced past Helga, into the armoury. He’d seen war dramas that had less bodies in than that room, he wasn’t squeamish but some of them no longer looked entirely human. They’d suffered. That much was clear. “Any weapons we can use in there? Few blaster rifles, maybe?”

  Frewster hadn’t been kidding when he said some of the stuff in there was old. Most of them were projectile weapons, gone out of fashion years ago. An old Femble snipers rifle lay at the back of the room, the barrel bent out of shape. He had some personal experience with that weapon, none of it pleasant.

  “Sorry,” Helga said. “I had to make do with what was in there. Empty now.” No hint of emotion in her voice, just certain statement. She’d done a job, she almost sounded proud of it. Nick said nothing. He held up his blaster, ejected the power pack and examined it. He had a spare in his pocket, three quarters of a charge here. Thirty-five shots. He’d have to make them do. If it came to need more than that, they were screwed. It was indisputable.

  “Let’s do this,” he said. “I’ll take point. Helga, take the rear.”

  She looked like she wanted to argue, he stood his ground and kept his eyes locked on hers. If she wanted to argue, he wasn’t backing down. “I know I’ve got no authority to order you around, I’m thinking of him.” He jerked a thumb towards Frewster. “We need to get him out of here. If he’s between us, he’s got more of a chance of getting out unscathed.”

  Helga didn’t blink. “I’ll take point,” she said. “I know this house better than you do. You bring up the rear.” She dropped the pack of her blaster rifle, inserted a fresh one, locked it into place with a brisk slap of her palm against the metal. The thud sounded like a challenge in the silence of the hallway.

  “You’re a civilian,” Nick said. It sounded half-hearted, he couldn’t muster much more of a defence. If she wanted to lead, she could. He didn’t care either way. Long as someone took point, someone kept an eye on their rear, kept Frewster safe, it’d be golden. “You sure you know what you’re doing.”

  She smiled for the first time. It might just have been the single scariest expression he’d seen on any human ever. “Do you? These people invaded my home. Killing them all is the very least I can do. It sends a message to the others about not repeating the insult.”

  “She’s exceptionally loyal,” Frewster said. “I couldn’t ask for a better companion. Believe me, Nicholas, she’s qualified.”

  “You teach her some of your old tricks?”

  “I didn’t need to,” Frewster said solemnly.

  They’d run into resistance once again on their way to the garage, if it could be called that, resistance that had barely had the chance to put up much of a fight. For an invading force, their attention wasn’t what Nick would have expected. They’d been caught by surprise far too often. If these were Coppinger’s elite forces, then he’d have been amazed. There was always going to be a certain amount of wheat and a certain amount of chaff but not like this. Individually they were good, as a team they had something lacking.

  That was what made him think that maybe they just might get through this after all. A well organised smaller force trumped a disorganised large one every time, given the right strategy. Between the three of them, their kills had to number double figures now. Helga had opened fire the instant she’d seen them, her weapon dancing in her arms. Nick brought his own blaster up, hadn’t fired, just watched her. She was good, he realised that very quickly. She didn’t waste shots, others with a weapon like that might have gone fully automatic and laid waste to the entire room. She showed discipline, fired in bursts of twos and threes that found their targets more often than they didn’t.

  Finally, he fired, drew a bead on the one target left standing, pulled the trigger and watched the head bounce back. He went down, and Nick blew the smoke away from the barrel of his blaster. Five more bodies to add to the kill count.

  “Terrible,” he muttered.

  Frewster looked at him. “You can’t have sympathy for them, surely?”

  He shook his head. “Just waiting for the other shoe to fall. This is too easy.” Frewster grunted at that comment. “I’d have expected more resistance,” Nick added.

  “Don’t question it. Enjoy it while it lasts,” Helga said. “We don’t have much further to go.”

  He’d never seen a garage quite like this, two speeders as promised. Neither of them looked desirable, built far more for luxury and status rather than speed. That wasn’t good. Swiftness was what they needed to get away, a far more useful quality than looking fancy while they were killed.

  There were more of them here, the realisation hit him a damn sight faster than it might have done, and it undoubtedly saved his life. Five, six, seven, eight of them at least. They’d been waiting, the group had already moved to set up an effective firing line. Helga fired into them, weapons burst to life and Nick pulled Frewster down with him to avoid their blast, the old man cursing and moaning as he hit the floor. Tough old bastard as he might be, the indignity had to hurt. “Damnit all to hells,” Frewster spat. “Leaping around like this is a younger man’s game!”

  “Getting shot is a dead man’s game,” Nick retorted. It wasn’t helpful, it took the bite out of the situation. “You’re welcome.” He rose, pointed his blaster over cover, fired again and again. Somewhere, he heard a yell and a thud. He still had it. Across the room, Helga had dropped, sliding a fresh power pack into her weapon. He didn’t know where she was getting them from, she looked like she had enough to repel an entire army. Maybe she did, it’d be helpful, but he doubted she had much left. Frewster’s kinetic disperser boomed again and again, Nick reached out and snatched it from him before the weapon’s charge cells went dry. “I’ll need one shot, Brennan. Save it. Trust me. I’ve got this.”

  He looked at the old man. “On the count of three, I need you to get to the closest speeder. Fire up the engines. We’ll cover you.” Nick looked across at Helga, saw her listening to them, even above the roar of blaster fire. They were hitting everything, bar their targets. Above them, the walls had been torn to shreds, thick blasts of laser fire ripping gouges into them. “Cover!”

  Helga nodded, raised her weapon. Deft fingers ran across the slide, she ratcheted it back and grinned at him. Still a scary expression.

  “One.”

  The fire lulled to a silence, Nick shot a glance at Helga. She shrugged, kept an even tighter grip on her weapon. If she wasn’t being fooled, neither was he.

  “Two,” he muttered. Frewster gave
him a thumbs-up. A dozen feet to the closest speeder. He didn’t want to think about how quickly a blaster bolt would cover the distance. Maybe he should go himself. Have Helga cover him. She looked like she knew what she was doing.

  “Three,” Frewster said, finishing the count for him. The old man was gone, he might have been shoving ninety, but he didn’t look it with the way he shuffled across the floor. It wasn’t the swiftest of runs, not entirely surprising, but he could hustle with the best of them. Nick rose, his blaster dancing in his hands, shots finding targets. The low roar of his weapon beat a nice concerto with the high chattering of Helga’s rifle. A shot caught her in the side, Nick saw the acid green blast rip through the air and she staggered, a barrage of shots from her own weapon peppering the ground in front of her as her aim went wild.

  “Go!” she shouted, her voice barely audible. She sounded in pain, a croak of agony layering her voice. Concentration etched her face as she dropped to one knee, brought the weapon back up. “Get Brennan out of here. Protect him!” Anything else she might have said was lost behind the blast of rifle fire.

  To hells with that, Nick thought. He dropped, let his empty power pack spin away out of his blaster and he slammed the replacement in. He had Frewster’s weapon, he had his ace in the hole. It needed to be good.

  More of them were coming, he could see that. They were filtering in at the back of the garage, coming in through the sliding doors. At least they had an escape route. Frewster had the door of a speeder open, had fallen into it. One of the windows blew out above him and Nick heard him bellow as glass cascaded down onto him.

  “Go!” Helga repeated. Crimson stained her clothes where she’d been shot, a ragged hole that caused him to wince as he looked at it. He wasn’t a stranger to injuries on the battlefield, it never got any more pleasant though when you had any experience of them. He’d had a hole like that himself before and he was still kicking. Nick glanced about the area, saw a pile of cleaning rags above him that looked sterile enough. He grabbed a handful of them, shoved them into his jacket, rammed them hard into a pocket.