The surgeon returned, barely glancing over to where he lay as he resumed his work, cutting through sinewy muscle and bone with no more regard than a mechanic would have exercised when picking apart an engine. Marcus panicked. He screamed at the top of his lungs, crying out hysterically. He had never felt so alone, so helpless, in all his life. He wailed and shouted for what felt like a long time, but inevitably silence finally overcame him.
It wasn’t so much death that he feared. He had long since come to terms with the inevitability of his own demise, given the nature of his existence as a cloned soldier in a hostile universe. What he feared was the mask that death had chosen to wear when it came to claim him.
The Hrūll’s heartbeat was growing stronger, more frequent. Seemingly alarmed, the surgeon grabbed a new set of tools and began probing and prodding, attempting to prolong the inevitable. Not long afterwards, her heart simply stopped.
The surgeon slumped back, the clanking sound of his tools dropping to the table echoing throughout the chamber. Without so much as a hint of remorse, he turned towards Marcus, pausing momentarily at the sound of what Marcus thought sounded like gunfire from outside the chamber.
The surgeon shook his head, seemingly in resignation, as he pressed a button somewhere on the side of the table’s frame. Almost immediately, the horrendous mechanical arm relinquished its hold on the Hrūll’s flesh and bones with a sickening series of crunches. Its agile fingers sprung inwards and upwards, like the legs of a nightmarish metallic crab. The entire contraption then slowly began to slide along rails in the ceiling to rest right above Marcus’ midsection.
“Shao manshin logasho ang shabinoi,” the surgeon whispered, holding up a fresh serrated scalpel, “hut shito manshin banshan adisho yagosh.”
The mechanical fingers sprung to life once more, descending slowly upon his chest. Marcus screamed in terror. He tried as hard as he could to muster enough strength to pull his head far enough from the table to get a proper look at what he thought had to be the exit, a featureless metal door somewhere beyond the foot of his operating table, but he couldn’t manage it.
Suddenly, he was hit by an unexpected revelation. As he bent his neck to look down along his own trapped body, he saw two fleshy mounds protruding from his chest. It wasn’t him after all. It was Raven.
* * * * *
“Wake up Marcus,” came Reid’s familiar voice, stirring him from his restless slumber.
The dark-skinned sniper had been standing over him and trying to shake him out of his turbulent dreams. Marcus flailed his arms violently as he awoke, almost knocking Reid to the floor.
“Marcus, Marcus, relax! It was just a dream,” Reid shouted.
Marcus breathed a gasp of relief as he recognized his surroundings. Taz and Doc Taylor were both sitting at the foot of their beds rubbing their eyes, having been awoken by Marcus’ screams.
“What the hell’s going on?” Taylor demanded.
“You were only dreaming. Go back to sleep,” Reid told Marcus.
“I was her,” Marcus gasped. “I was Raven.”
Reid stared at him in bewilderment.
“You’re supposed to dream about touching naked girls Marcus. Not about being one yourself,” Taz groaned as he crawled back into bed, turning his back on them and pulling his covers over his head.
Taylor lit himself a cigarette, rolling his head as he peered through the darkness.
“I have to tell the captain!” Marcus proclaimed.
“I don’t think the captain wants to be woken up just to hear about your wet dreams,” the medic objected. “It’s the middle of the night, and we’ve got an important day tomorrow.”
“No you don’t understand,” Marcus insisted. “It was more than just a dream! I could see what they were doing to her.”
Shaking his head in disbelief, Reid took a step back.
“I know you’ve had visions before, but are you sure this wasn’t just a dream?” Reid asked, half trying to convince him. “We’re all under a lot of stress, especially you, after that incident at the foreman’s office.”
“I’m telling you Rev, this was no dream! They’re experimenting on her, cutting into her,” Marcus yelled. “I could feel everything! Her fear, her pain! I don’t think… she has much time left.”
His pronouncement was met with a horrified silence from his squadmates.
“From what I understood of your earlier visions, they’re more like premonitions, signs of things to come, right?” Reid said thoughtfully. “So what you saw doesn’t have to be happening right now, does it?”
Marcus didn’t reply, just stared up at his friend.
“Listen,” Reid sighed. “There isn’t really much we can do about it now anyway. We have no idea where she’s being held, but we have our meeting with what’s-his-face tomorrow. Until then we’ll just have to wait and pray to God to keep her safe.”
Marcus considered Reid’s wise words. He knew he was right. So far, his visions had always preceded the events themselves. With luck, and perhaps some help from Reid’s God, they might be able to reach her in time.
“Do you think your God would listen to my prayers even if I don’t really believe in him?” Marcus asked.
“He’s not my God. He’s everyone’s God,” Reid countered kindly, “and of course he’ll listen to you. He’ll listen to anyone who seeks his guidance.”
“Hmpf,” Marcus smiled, taken with the idea. “So… how does it work?”
“I’ll show you.”
They put their hands together, resting their foreheads against one another’s. Marcus listened at first as Reid began to recite his prayers, then began repeating them. Even though he found it somewhat strange to be pleading with an imaginary being for the safety of their friend, there was something comforting in the whole experience.
The tension in his body began to dissipate and his mind became clearer, more focused on the task at hand. When he eventually laid his head back onto his pillow for what he hoped would be a more peaceful slumber, he was filled with a renewed confidence. Wherever they were keeping her, her brothers would find her.
Chapter 40
The next morning, Captain Mitchell did not take the news of Marcus’ vision lightly. If he’d had any reservations about going after Raven before, they were thrown out the window by what Marcus told him.
“Damn this whole God-forsaken planet!” he had roared, kicking over his bed in a fit of rage.
Waiting for the clock to strike eight proved difficult.
As far as the squad was concerned, they were preparing for war. There was no telling what would be waiting for them at the Guahashou Bath House. For all they knew, it could very well be a trap, but it was a chance they could not afford to dismiss.
When Mitchell had broached the subject with him, Dasaan had elected not to accompany them, fearing the outcome of the engagement. Though he was indeed grateful for being offered a place on the crew, volunteering for a possible suicide mission was not something he believed fell under the duties of the ship’s cook. Fortunately, Serena had been more than willing to go with them to act as interpreter, should the need arise.
They spent most of the day cleaning and oiling their weapons, stripping their firearms down to their component pieces on the cleanest of the bed sheets the hotel had to offer, filling every single magazine they’d brought with them from the Tengri with rounds from a case Jago had stashed under his bunk. They donned and adjusted their armor, tightening straps and reattaching equipment pouches, jumping up and down to make sure everything fit tightly without restricting their movement. Serena even appropriated the suit belonging to Raven, which had seen little use. Marcus was against the idea of her coming along, but her persistence quickly wore him down, and he eventually helped get her equipped.
Meanwhile Jago was using straps cut from the crews’ rucksacks to create a sling for the huge laser cannon he’d acquired on the Hrūll gas refinery, wanting to wield his powerful machinegun for its superior cyclic rate, but s
till have the heavy alien weapon available to him. Reid had taken apart his sniper rifle and was carefully polish the lenses of its scope, the long barrel of the weapon propped up against the bed beside him glistening with oil. If there were to be any surprises at their meeting that evening, the squad was determined to be ready for them.
* * * * *
From the outside, the Guahashou Bath House was an amazingly conspicuous structure, built on the roof of a small decaying skyscraper. Pillars of stone lined a flagstone path leading to a series of marble steps which climbed up to a tall arched doorway, fill with a pair of heavy metal double doors. The gothic façade resembled an uninviting cathedral more than a place of tranquility and cleansing. The only means of ingress was an extendable mechanical bridge which spanned an urban chasm between two rooftops, soaring above platforms and walkways. Further below, the unforgiving shroud of poisonous gas awaited those who failed to navigate its narrow path.
Outside, an honor guard of eight Nerokan mercenaries stood at attention, wielding serrated spears and dressed in the red and black of the Dark Sun Empire. Two of them barred passage on the public side of the chasm while the other six were stationed between the towering pillars.
When the Terrans approached, the guards crossed their spears in a clear sign that none were allowed to cross the bridge. Captain Mitchell produced the note he had received from Lishan’s bodyguard, and, after careful scrutiny, the reptilian aliens stepped aside to allow them passage.
When they reached the pillars, the guards barked at them in Sheshen, which Serena interpreted as meaning that only one of them would be allowed to enter. Without waiting for Mitchell’s answer, the beautiful linguist pleaded with the guards to allow her to accompany the captain as his interpreter. She was promptly informed that their master was well versed in the Gaian tongue.
Captain Mitchell weighed his options and finally decided that if the Nerokans insisted he had to go it alone, there really wasn’t much they could do about it. Though they were fully armed and armored, there was no telling how many guards could be stationed inside the premises, and if Lishan was in fact willing to render assistance to their cause, going in guns blazing was a sure-fire way of changing his mind.
As he prepared to enter, the Nerokan guards confiscated his weaponry and performed a thorough search of his person for any signs of trickery. The thick reptilian arms were less than gentle, tossing the captain back and forth as they pushed and pulled each piece of his armor to see if anything would pop loose. He felt like a marionette at the mercy of their powerful grip. When they were satisfied, the doors began to part, creaking loudly as they slowly swung open, releasing billows of steam into the dusky evening air.
The captain passed into the veil of mist, each step echoing through the massive chamber beyond. He paused briefly, turning to send his team a reaffirming nod before disappearing from view.
Inside, he was greeted by rows of massive ornate pillars along each side of the huge room, around which lay pools of tranquil waters shrouded in a thin layer of mist. The slanted ceiling above was easily thirty or forty meters tall, rising to a shallow point at the center. Striking statues, hewn from the finest marble, rested in alcoves in the walls, depicting various creatures in erotic poses.
With not a single guard – or any other living creature – in sight, he proceeded hesitantly along a broad path, which lead to a large central pool. Copper pipes poured billows of steamy vapors onto the pool’s surface, creating waves of milky clouds which crept along the serene waters. As he ventured farther into the chamber, a lone figure began to take shape in the center of the pool, silhouetted against the stark light source behind it.
The naked figure rose from the gentle waters, exposing its sickly brown skin and weirdly slender limbs. A round, white mask seemingly of fragile porcelain, painted with golden circles around the mouth and eyes, floated about the twisted body. A thick mane of white hair flowed from the very back of the figure’s skull, like a writhing nest of serpents poised to strike.
Captain Mitchell paused at the bank of the pool, where a few wide steps descended into the waters.
“Welcome,” the creature spoke, its soft, husky voice barely carrying across the water. “I am Lissshan, ssson of Kesssha Kun.”
Mitchell looked left and right, peering into each and every dark corner. Surprisingly there were still no guards in sight. Judging by his host’s lineage, he would have expected an entire platoon of servants and guardians. As a psiops he’d been well trained not to let down his guard. He reached out with his mind, focusing his will so that he could feel every living being in his surroundings.
“We are alone,” Lishan assured him, seeing his hesitation. “You ssseem rather sssurprised.”
“I-” Captain Mitchell began, but he was cut off.
“You thought sssomeone of my ssstature would be lessss… vulnerable,” Lishan offered. “I am the youngessst of my brethren. I am not afforded the sssame luxuries asss the othersss. That isss not to sssay that I find myself wanting. On the contrary, I rather enjoy the lack of… sssupervision.”
“Why did you agree to see me?” Mitchell asked hesitantly.
“Why not?” Lishan countered. “There are few thingsss in thisss world that I find entertaining. Meeting new and interesting people isss one of them.”
“Why do you hide your face behind a mask?” the captain blurted out, regretting the question almost immediately as he remembered Serena’s experience with Roshana.
“Have you any idea what it isss like having othersss grimace at the very sssight of you? My people are very aware of how the other racesss perceive usss. We go through life terrified of the ridicule we are made to endure if ssseen for what we truly are,” Lishan stated, sounding oddly resigned.
“You mean kidnapping scum?” Mitchell snapped, angered by the Sheshen’s calm confidence.
“Mossst amusing Captain,” Lishan sneered. “I can assssure you, your pilot isss not in my possessssion. It isss my father who hasss that honor.”
“I don’t give a rat’s ass who has her!” Mitchell bellowed. “I want her back, now. I will not allow her to become part of your father’s collection!”
“Collection?” Lishan chuckled. “I believe you are misssinformed. My father doesss not collect. He wantsss her powersss.”
“Her abilities?” Mitchell asked nervously.
“Precisssely. My father is obsessssed with finding the answer to unlocking the powersss of the mind. He believesss that through… unressstrained exxxperimentation, he will find the way.”
“Over my dead body!” Mitchell proclaimed defiantly.
“You care for her?” Lishan probed.
“I care for all of my crew.”
“Ssso you are a man of honor?”
“What do you know about honor?” the captain spat. “Your people don’t seem to know the meaning of the word!”
“That isss where you are wrong,” Lishan announced calmly, wading through the pool to approach him, his long flowing locks writhing in the mist.
Chapter 41
The proprietor of the hotel had his hands full trying to appease the raging squad as they scurried back and forth between rooms, preparing for the assault. Given all they’d already done in preparation for their meeting at the bath house, there was little left for them to do, which only set them even more on edge, and they wanted to get going as soon as possible.
Lishan had proved most forthcoming. In addition to giving them the location of his father’s hidden palatial compound, he had promised to provide them with a means of entry to the secure stronghold. Still, the task seemed almost insurmountable. The compound was a veritable fortress several kilometers outside the city, shrouded in the toxic mists of Nos Shana.
“And you really believe we can trust him?” Reid asked, apparently unconvinced.
“If you have a better idea, then let’s hear it,” Mitchell snapped. “The guy seems to have a real problem with his father. One thing’s for sure, we’re not going in th
ere without plenty of firepower.”
He tore open a case of grenades and proceeded to hand them out to the squad.
“I’m not saying the information he gave you wasn’t correct,” Reid persisted. “I’m just saying that there has to be a better way to get in. Going down to the ground level and through the… what did you called it?”
“Urdak Nor,” Mitchell answered, furrowing his brow.
“What’s that?” Jago probed as he clasped his grenades onto his belt harness.
“It’s some kind of game. They play it on the lowest level of the city,” the captain explained.
“Wait. Do you mean that thing where they beat each other to death over some medallion?” Taz asked, suddenly remembering the holograph of the game he’d seen in the bar on their first trip out in Sheijan, just before his fateful argument with Kaiden.
The captain nodded grimly.
“Captain, that’s not so much a game as it is a warzone!” Taz yelled.
“Well, in that case I’d better come with you so you don’t get scared,” Taylor joked.
“How are we even allowed to go down there?” the scout demanded, clearly desperate to avoid the brutal arena.
Mitchell didn’t reply, merely fixing Taz with a cold stare.
“You’re not serious?” the short clone whined.
Without taking his eyes off Taz, Mitchell unlocked the safety of his weapon to show that he was indeed dead serious.
* * * * *
Staring down into the abyss, Marcus shuddered at the thought of what awaited them below. The platform the squad was traversing wound its way gently downwards around a cylindrical tower, ending abruptly at an opening in the side wall onto an open platform hanging precariously between two towers, where a pair of other contestants were awaiting their turn to join the game. Descent to the arena below was made possible by three rusting cages, suspended on chains, each of which appeared ready to crumble to dust under even the slightest of pressures.
Merillian: 2 (Locus Origin) Page 28