Wrath of the Lemming-men

by Toby Frost

  Leighton took a massive, wheezing breath. ‘Ant-people left me to die. . . with ghosts. . . and now a goddam rodent hits me with an axe.’ He swallowed hard, and blood ran from the corners of his mouth. ‘Typical!’ His chest fell and the axe shuddered as the life sank from his eyes, deep into his head.

  Smith reached out and shook Carveth by the arm.

  ‘Carveth? Go upstairs and check on Rhianna. Go on!’

  She blinked and looked at him. ‘Right. Right, Boss.’ She took two steps away and turned. ‘What’ll you do?’

  Smith stood up and readied his sword. Suruk waited on the other side of the barricade.

  ‘Come, Mazuran. We have business with the lemming men.’

  *

  ‘Forward!’ Wainscott cried, and he shot out the window and charged into the hall. Dreckitt rushed in behind him, Nelson tossed a grenade and the Yull turned from the stairs and ran at them.

  It was murderous. The Yull rushed in like a wave of fur.

  Wainscott’s gun stuttered as he flicked from one target to another. Dreckitt blasted shells into the horde, too panicked to aim properly. ‘They’ll surround us soon,’ Wainscott called, as if pointing out an interesting wild bird.

  ‘What?’ Dreckitt yelled back, hoping that he hadn’t heard the major right, but by then the Yull were in full attack.

  The lemming peasants died fast: in nothing more than forage caps and dyed green fur, they fell in droves. But among them were armoured nobles, hiding in the scrum.

  They shouldered their way through the pack, using the peasants as cover, holding up bulletproof shields like riot police. The Yull closed around the raiders.

  Wainscott’s Stanford gun was dry, so he tossed it to Craig – ‘Reload, please’ – kicked a Yullian officer in the chest, drew a sword and ran it through. Craig slapped a new magazine into the side of the gun and threw it back – by then in a blue-steel blur Wainscott had cut down three more lemming men. He caught the gun and went straight in, firing with the left, slicing with the right, teeth bared in a mad grin, his men covering him as he carved his way through the squeaking horde.

  Figures bounded down the stairs behind the Yull. ‘It’s Smith!’ Dreckitt yelled, pointing.

  ‘Super!’ Wainscott raised his sword in recognition.

  ‘We’re surrounded!’ Dreckitt shouted back.

  Wainscott looked mildly perturbed. ‘Of course – right where we want them. Hammer and anvil.’

  ‘What?’ Deckitt called back, and a bright light arced out of the side of the hall. A low thrumming accompanied it, and as light sliced through the Yull, he realised what it was: Susan’s beam gun. Wainscott might be crazy, he thought, but he was smart.

  *

  462 lowered his binoculars. ‘The allied rabble is being rapidly depleted.’

  Eight shrugged. ‘Mere serfs.’

  They stood several hundred yards away, in the shadow of Number Eight’s personal shuttle. A bio-brolly spread its curved wings overhead. Gunfire flickered in the main lobby of Ballad Point.

  A praetorian lumbered over to them, dipped its brutal head and snarled into 462’s earhole.

  ‘Excellent!’ 462 barked. ‘I am informed that the psychoscopic scanning has confirmed my suspicions: the Vorl are here. Seismic charges have been placed. All we need is to move clear and fire the main explosive.’

  Eight nodded. ‘Proceed,’ he said. ‘Bring specimens to me. I will be in my shuttle, sitting on the biosplicer.’ He turned, paced up the ramp and disappeared inside.

  *

  Smith stood on the stairs, firing into the lemming horde.

  The Yull were outflanked, pinned between Wainscott and the beam gun. It was an ugly business, but Vock’s men were doomed.

  Carveth reached the offices. Rhianna sat cross-legged on the floor in Leighton’s room, her hand resting on one of the Vorlian crystals. Her eyes were closed and she was humming. Carveth paused, not sure whether Rhianna was achieving anything or just powering up. She hoped that Smith and Suruk were alright. She sat down and started to reload her gun.

  Suruk was having a splendid time. He sprang into the rear of the horde and his spear sang in his hand, felling the enemy on all sides. A Yullian noble charged in, armour glinting, and Suruk dodged his axe, kicked him over and leaped onto his chest. One good push and Suruk shot forward, riding the fallen noble like a skateboard. He whipped his spear left and right, leaving a trail of decapitated lemming men behind him as he headed towards Wainscott’s team. Heads for the house of Agshad!

  Smith raised his pistol and put two shots into Vock’s standard bearer. Wainscott was either conserving ammunition or just enjoying himself, dodging and cutting with his sword, fast and deadly. The Yull still yelled their battle cry and attacked, but there was despair in their voices now, not glee. Smith lowered his gun and suddenly a Yull stood frozen before him, blinking and astonished.

  As battle raged behind them it said, ‘I give up.’

  Smith thought, I could kill him. One less furry bastard in the world—

  ‘Civilian!’ the lemming cried, throwing its hands up.

  The weapon flew out of its grip, whirling end over end like a shotputter’s hammer. He gave up, Smith thought, a Yull bloody surrendered, to me! – and as the flying mallet reached its apogee, he noticed that the end of it looked curiously like a tank shell. Strange, that—

  The ground rippled like a shaken rug and Carveth flew into the air. She floated for a moment and then – bang! –the floor hit her and she was lying flat on her back, battered and confused. In front of her a crystal pulsed, queasily out of time with the throbbing in her brain. She sat up, and for the second time in a day looked into the face of the Vorl and screamed.

  ‘Oh, for heaven’s sake, not you again,’ it said.

  She got up. Rhianna was waking from her trance, blinking uncertainly. The crystals glowed brighter than before, and in front of them was the Vorl.

  It was a thing of smoke and dust, a bluish, luminescent blur with an upper body that tapered into a genie’s tail where the waist should have been. There was a face, of sorts: the upper lip was very long, the nose a six-inch spike upturned with arch distain. Wispy arms formed from its shoulders and it put its hands on its insubstantial hips.

  ‘What a ghastly place,’ it said. It had a very nasal voice. ‘So to speak. Very naff, I must say.’

  Weakly, Carveth said, ‘You’re the Vorl?’

  ‘One of ’em.’ It gestured to itself with a long-fingered, languid hand. ‘C’neth. Very pleased to make your acquaintance. Pardon the not shaking ’ands, but I’m insubstantial and I don’t know where you’ve been. And as for her, goodness knows,’ he added, nodding at Rhianna.

  ‘ Namaste,’ Rhianna said. She looked round suddenly, as if startled, and said ‘Isambard and the others! What’s happened to them?’

  She started to rise, but Carveth shook her head. ‘It’s not safe.’ She turned to C’neth. ‘Did you make the room shake like that?’

  ‘Me? I thought that was you,’ said the Vorl. ‘You’re the belligerent one round here. Every time we meet you ’owl blue murder at me.’

  ‘Look!’ Rhianna said, and pointed at the window.

  A chasm ran through Lloydland. The ground had opened down the main thoroughfare, swallowing rides and exhibition domes, leaving broken joists and rollercoaster tracks reaching for the sky like great steel fingers. Carveth saw arches and spires of blackened crystal at the bottom of the hole, delicate structures like frost on spider web.

  ‘Well, good riddance Lloydland,’ C’neth said. ‘Art Nouveau? Art Nouveau Riche, more like. Nasty place, terribly gauche.’

  Carveth shook her head. ‘Listen. We need your help. We’re humans, from the British Space Empire – well, Rhianna isn’t, and she’s actually half Vorl and I’m an android, but we’ll deal with that later – and we want to civilise the galaxy – not just us two, but the whole Empire.’

  ‘Oh really?’

  ‘Honestly. Out there are our enemies
the Ghasts, who are sort of ant-people in trenchcoats: they want to eat the galaxy and shoot everyone. They’re bad. And then you’ve got the Yull, who are lemmings. They’re mental and bad.’

  ‘Like that one?’ C’neth said, pointing.

  ‘Bloody hell!’ Carveth cried, and before she could raise her gun a Yullian noble in full plate armour came bounding up the stairs, axe raised above its head, howling

  ‘ Yullai! ’ Instinct took over: Carveth leaped out the way, Rhianna sidestepped with surprising elegance, and the noble raced past, ran straight through the window and dropped screaming into the night.

  ‘Yes, just like that,’ Carveth said.

  ‘What about the grey thing with tusks?’ C’neth inquired.

  ‘That’s Suruk,’ Carveth said. ‘He’s – well, actually he’s mental and bad too, but he’s on our side.’

  ‘C’neth,’ Rhianna said, ‘please help us. Polly’s right: our way of life is threatened by oppressive people of alien origin. We seek only to bring love to the galaxy—’

  ‘Oh, we know all about your love,’ C’neth said darkly. ‘Half Vorl, she says!’

  ‘—and it is vital that together, we unite in the name of peace and freedom.’

  ‘So will you kill all our enemies for us?’ Carveth finished up.

  C’neth drew back: his wispy face looked appalled. ‘You’re ’aving a laugh! I’m not going out to fight people!’ he exclaimed.

  ‘Please,’ said Rhianna, ‘just let me talk to you. We can build up a dialogue—’

  ‘Hear her out,’ Carveth added. ‘Listen to her for five minutes and you’ll be well up for violence. Wait – it’s gone quiet.’ She picked up the shotgun. ‘I’m off to check on the others. Stay here, Rhianna – make friends,’ she said, and she scrambled down the stairs.

  *

  The main hall was ruined, its edges hidden in a soft snow of fallen plaster. The ceiling had partly collapsed, and a bunch of joists jutted through the roof like a massive claw reaching in from above. The Yull lay in the wreckage at awkward angles: the covering of dust made them look like stuffed polar bears.

  Smith stood on the stairs, rifle in hand, white with plaster. An unconscious, spectacled Yull lay at his feet. He looked around as Carveth bounded to the bottom of the stairs. ‘Boss!’ she called. ‘Are you alright?’

  He nodded. ‘Good to see you. How’s Rhianna?’

  ‘She’s fine. Boss,’ Carveth said, ‘we’ve found a Vorl. He’s upstairs, talking to Rhianna.’

  ‘The Vorl? Excellent! Is it the arch-Vorl?’

  ‘Oh, he’s arch alright.’

  ‘Splendid. Let’s go and talk to him.’

  ‘I’ll – ooh, it’s Rick!’

  People waved from the back of the room, Dreckitt amongst them. Wainscott stood next to him, beside a heap of lemming men, sword in hand. His men wore space armour, Carveth saw, their fishbowl helmets clipped to their packs.

  Dreckitt spat out a wad of plaster. ‘Hey.’

  Carveth embraced him and stepped back looking as if she had fallen face-down into a snowdrift.

  ‘Hello girlie,’ Wainscott called, ‘how’s tricks? Brian’s copped a spike in the thigh. The rest of us are good as new.’

  Smith surveyed the room. Dead Yull lay around the Deepspace Operations Group, some in pieces, all dusted in a snowdrift of plaster. It was probably a lot like Suruk’s idea of Christmas. For that matter, where was Suruk?

  He turned as Suruk stepped into the room. ‘We’ve found the Vorl,’ Carveth said.

  ‘Indeed,’ Suruk replied. ‘So have the Ghasts.’

  *

  Something hit Vock in the ribs and he came round. The first thing he saw was the sky above him: the second was 462, kicking him lightly in the side.

  ‘You were thrown clear by the explosion,’ 462 explained. ‘Your legion is destroyed.’

  Vock sat up and gazed along the chasm. As he watched, the remnants of his army stumbled out of Ballad point and ran towards the gulf. The war god had revealed a greater destiny to them.

  ‘Get back!’ a praetorian snarled as they rushed past it. ‘Get back to the battle!’ Its voice was lost amidst squeals of glee. ‘Anyone jumping into the hole will be shot! Get away from me! I order you to – aargh! ’

  462 watched the lemming-soldiers fling themselves into the crevasse. The praetorian fell with them, screeching.

  ‘You cannot understand our way,’ Vock replied. He stared into the sky: it was almost night. ‘It is a beautiful evening. Now I will butcher the House of Agshad. That is all that matters.’

  Far away, automated lights were blinking into life.

  Neon dolphins and dancing girls appeared on the sides of domes. A light wind caught the leather coats of 462 and his guards, slapping the hems against their stercoriums.

  They walked to the edge of the chasm and stared down into the gulf. Among the crystal spires, nothing stirred.

  ‘Nothing! All across the galaxy – for nothing!’ Vock threw back his head and laughed. ‘You are very silly off-worlders!’

  And then, at the bottom, there was a tiny, distant flash of purple lightning. 462’s entourage stepped back from the edge.

  Light blossomed down below: blue, cold light that spread like radiation. The edges of crystals appeared in the glow, winking up at them. Things flitted between the crystals like dust-devils, scraps of cloth tossed in a hurricane. From up here they were tiny.

  ‘Commander 462!’ one of the Ghast technicians rasped. ‘We have readings!’

  462 smirked. ‘Watch closely, Vock, as we turn mankind’s puny technology against itself. My troopers will use modified Earth technology in order to restrain specimens of the Vorl for molecular analysis and gene-sampling. My soldiers are equipped with instruments of cleansing, originally devised by the human secret policeman J Edgar Hoover, and now enhanced for warfare by superior Ghast engineering. Minions, ready your vacuum cleaners!’

  Every second praetorian along the edge of the chasm pulled a long tube into its hands. Each tube had a flattened end, leading to pipes that ran to the tank on its user’s back.

  Vock gawped at him. ‘You mean to capture those devils?’

  ‘Of course.’ He flicked a hand. ‘Spotlights!’

  A dozen massive lamps boomed into life. Suddenly the chasm wall was an angular mass of bleached rock and hard shadow, and across the stone darted the translucent bodies of the Vorl.

  ‘Beautiful,’ Vock whispered.

  ‘Mark your targets!’ 462 called. ‘Three capture-teams to each spotlight! Suck them up!’

  *

  ‘Hey, Isambard.’ Rhianna looked startlingly bright against the ruined hall, as if the colours of the room had leached into her tie-dyed skirt. ‘Are you okay?’

  ‘Fine, thanks. And you?’

  She stood at the bottom of the stairs. ‘Cool.’ She stepped over and kissed him.

  ‘Good work on finding the Vorl. Have you got them on side yet?’

  ‘I’m kind’ve working on it.’

  ‘Righto. Keep going. Maybe I should come up and explain why they ought to join the Empire.’

  Rhianna frowned. ‘Let’s use that as a backup plan.

  Please be careful.’

  ‘Saddle up, Smith.’ Wainscott turned from the window and lowered his binoculars. ‘We need all hands on deck. Gertie’s turned on the Vorl.’

  They stood at the window, passing Wainscott’s binoculars and Smith’s scope between them. A strange sort of battle raged outside: a praetorian had folded over under one of the searchlights, crackling with static electricity. A second Ghast shook and melted like an ice-cream in an oven, dropping into a helmet and a soggy coat.

  ‘What are those things?’ Wainscott muttered.

  ‘Ghosts,’ Carveth said.

  Smith glimpsed a Vorl disappear into some kind of suction-tank on one of the soldiers’ backs, hands clamped to its head. It reminded him of an Impressionist painting he’d once seen of a screaming man – Van Gogh, he thought, trying to f
ind his ears. He shuddered. ‘Good God. Gertie’s collecting the Vorl like frogs in a jam jar. Looks like he’s taking them into his ship. . . Men, we have to move fast. This has all the hallmarks of evil science.’

  Susan crouched down to check Hephuc’s bindings.

  He was tied to the remnants of the banisters, looking downcast but surprisingly relieved to be alive. ‘Let’s get going,’ she said, picking up the beam gun.

  ‘A distraction is required,’ Suruk said. ‘Wainscott’s men, together with Piglet, must assault the enemy and slow their schemes. Then, whilst their spirit-sucking is hindered, Mazuran and myself will creep into the vessel and destroy it.’

  ‘Destroy an entire spaceship?’ Carveth said. ‘Is it just me, or are you mental?’

  ‘It is just you. The rest of us are quite sane,’ Suruk replied, readying his spear.

  *

  ‘This is so amazing,’ Rhianna said. ‘It’s like, two cultures coming together and sharing with each other.’

  ‘The only thing you’ve shared with me is an odour,’ C’neth observed, tilting his nose up still further. ‘Are you made from joss? Still, it won’t matter soon. There are more important people than me to talk to, believe me.’

  ‘Really?’

  ‘Oh, naturally. I am a mere underling. You need to talk to the overlord I under for, so to speak. You’ll be hob-nobbing with the big cheese before you can so much as blink.’

  ‘Incredible,’ she whispered. ‘That is so. . . amazing.’

  C’neth shrugged. ‘Don’t get your hopes up. Still, who knows? Maybe the Archpatron does want to exchange the secrets of the galaxy for the Clannad back catalogue. Oh!’ C’neth paused, head tilted. ‘He’s right here!’

  Rhianna glanced at the window. Something swirled outside, like smoke, and in the smoke, a face. Wispy fingers tapped the glass; a hand like mist made a sign.

  ‘He says to meet him on the fire escape,’ C’neth explained.

  *

  Wainscott opened the door and the night air rushed in, close and warm, and with it the sounds of battle. He pushed his targeting monocle into place and grinned.