“Triumviri,” said Janosh, bowing his head in turn.
“How fares the Council?” Lein inquired, his frail voice trembling.
“As always,” Janosh replied, “It squabbles over insignificant matters when more important ones receive as much attention as a beggar on the streets of Rapa Lok Stad.”
“With what matter of great urgency do you call upon us?” Jace probed, ever to the point.
Janosh cleared his throat.
“I have confronted the Council on the matter of the Terrans. They were unable to come to a conclusion.”
“And this surprises you?” Jace sneered.
“They do not see the threat they impose!”
“Nor do we,” Lein stammered. “According to our reports, they are technologically far inferior to the Children of Gaia. Whatever threat you perceive is most likely in your head.”
Janosh bit his lip to control his anguish. Could they not see the Terrans for what they were? “Have you forgotten the words of our beloved Gaia?” he demanded, his tone harsh.
“The age of Gaia is past,” Jace retorted. “It is high time we decide our own fate.”
“I would not speak so lightly of our great leader!” Tysob roared, slamming his fist on his armrest.
“I meant no disrespect,” Jace insisted. “But I maintain that if we dwell forever on the past, then the future will escape us.”
“Exactly,” Janosh seized on the chance to further his argument. “The Terrans may not yet pose a threat, but given time, they will infect everything we hold dear.”
“If the Council will not heed your words, why then should we?” Lein scowled.
Janosh looked to Tysob for aid, a gesture of faith – and desperation.
“Perhaps the ambassador’s words hold some small merit,” the bearded man spoke, placating the other triumviri by belittling Janosh’s cause, yet sowing a seed of doubt in their minds by his very reasonableness.
“What do you propose?” Lein probed, raising an eyebrow in suspicion.
“Perhaps a lone scout, cloaked to gauge their strength,” Tysob presented. “Surely a mission to gather intelligence poses no harm.”
Lein looked towards Jace for guidance, as he often did when he was unsure of himself.
“Do we have the coordinates of their homeworld?” Jace demanded.
“I will acquire them,” Ambassador Janosh replied, trying to conceal his triumph. Once they saw the evidence for themselves…
“Then… I consent,” Jace confirmed, reluctantly.
“As do I,” Lein followed.
“You will not regret this,” Janosh smiled, thankful for Tysob’s subtle aid.
“For Gaia’s grace,” the Triumvirate spoke in unison.
“For Gaia’s grace,” the ambassador replied, bowing his head in veneration.
The image of Vale faded, replaced once more with the cold shimmering walls of the holographic suite aboard Semeh’yone. Janosh stood, stretching limbs he hadn’t realized he’d allowed to become so tense. He had work to do.
Chapter 46
Being cramped inside a crate and unable to monitor the driver’s heading did not make for a comfortable ride, nor did the anticipation of what awaited them upon their arrival. They knew that Kesha Kun’s bunker lay hidden in the mists beyond the city, but how far and what sort of resistance they could expect – remained a mystery.
Marcus pulled his knees as close to his chest as he could, given his restrictive armor. It seemed like they’d been traveling for an awfully long time, and his joints were beginning to ache. He wondered how the others were coping. Surely Jago would be in agony by now, particularly given that the huge man was still covered in the stinking blood and gore of the berserker he’d killed. At least the craft’s gravity repulsor offered a smooth voyage, free from contact with the rough terrain.
Fortunately, it wasn’t long after that that the squad could feel the hovercraft slowing down. A few seconds later, Marcus heard the hissing voice of Lishan’s contact, telling them that they were almost at their destination. The Sheshen warned them that the Dark Sun’s electronic defenses would prevent them communicating with anyone on the outside, so they would be completely on their own until he returned after an hour to collect them… if they still drew breath. The truck slowed once again and the muffled sound of a large mechanical door being opened in the near distance alerted them that they’d arrived.
The truck slid into the loading dock and before too long the door was closed behind them. As Marcus lay still in his crate, his heart thumping, adrenaline coursing through his veins, he heard their driver greet someone lazily in the fluid-sounding Sheshen language, and, with a jolt, Marcus realized that the squad was in the perfect position to be betrayed. What if Lishan’s goal was simply to deliver the crew of the Tengri to his father? The squad was now lying in crates, shipped to Kesha Kun’s own compound, and the rest of the crew was defenseless back at their hotel in Sheijan. Just as Marcus was about to jump out of his hiding place, carbine blazing, there was a thump as the contact began unloading his cargo, just as he’d promised he would.
Marcus suffered the heightened discomfort as his crate began to shake in stoic silence, grasping his carbine firmly as the carton rose up and out of the back of the truck, pulled by what he assumed was some sort of load lifter. After a second of lateral movement he was dumped to the ground, and he heard the faint whine of servos as the machine returned to the truck.
As quickly as Lishan’s contact must have finished his work, the time stretched unbearably for Marcus, cramped inside his crate. Eventually, however, he heard the sound of the hovercraft’s engine starting up and pulling away, followed by the double rattle of the large door opening and closing.
Everything was silent for some time after that. Marcus focused his hearing, straining to hear even the minutest of sounds outside his crate. He wasn’t sure, but he thought he could hear soft voices in the distance, speaking the ‘silver tongue’ of the Sheshen. He was listening so hard that he almost gave a cry of terror when there was a soft crackle in his ear and Captain Mitchell’s voice whispered through his earpiece.
“Nobody make a sound,” the captain ordered, as softly as he possibly could.
Cautiously, the grizzled officer raised the lid on his crate a finger’s width, peering outside into the space beyond, his sidearm clutched in his free hand. The loading bay the squads’ crates were sitting in was much larger than he’d anticipated, easily a hundred meters wide and half that deep, with enough bays to easily accommodate six or seven large cargo vehicles. Theirs were not the only crates resting on the loading platform. Hundreds of crates and barrels were neatly organized into stacks all around them.
A set of steps led up from the vehicle pit, running along the dark stone wall and emerging onto the platform where the crates sat beside a wide doorway. A pair of Sheshen guards in the blackened armor of the Dark Sun Empire stood before it, chatting lazily, compact rifles slung over their shoulders, oblivious to the infiltrators lying in wait. A small group of workers in drab coveralls and the ubiquitous Sheshen masks loitered about, carelessly rooting through crates.
Captain Mitchell lowered the lid once more, considering tactics.
“Right, listen in. Vehicle entrance to our north, two hostiles guarding a door roughly twenty meters to our east, and three or four non-combatants,” he whispered softly over the comms. “Lucky for us there’s a lot of cover, but we need to take them out quietly. If they manage to sound the alarm, we’re screwed, so I wa-”
His orders were cut short by the sound of Jago violently passing wind.
Marcus felt his heart stop momentarily, his eyes wide open in shock as he fought the urge to burst into hysterical laughter.
Mitchell silently cursed the huge clone’s lack of restraint before hesitantly raising the lid of his crate once more to see if anyone had noticed. To his horror, a lone dockworker stood with his back no more than a meter from his crate, creeping towards the box containing Jago, his bod
y language radiating puzzlement.
“Ape, stay still and bite your lip!” Mitchell ordered as he slid back down into his crate, hefting his sidearm.
No one dared make a sound. The tense silence seemed to last an eternity.
Jago held his breath, not so much to keep from making a sound as to prevent himself from inhaling his own noxious fumes. Marcus felt his heart pounding in his chest. Two guards and a few unarmed Sheshen weren’t much of a threat in themselves, but a compound on full alert was another matter entirely. The best course was undoubtedly one of stealth. If they were discovered, their entire plan would be thrown into chaos.
Just as Marcus thought they’d managed to escape detection after all, the silence was broken by Jago bursting out of his crate, screaming at the top of his lungs and spraying the loading dock with his machinegun.
“Damnit Ape!” Mitchell cursed, throwing the lid of his own crate open and executing the horrified dockworker with a single well-placed shot.
The captain was having trouble understanding how the squad had lasted this long, given the Ape’s lack of control. “Go, go!” he yelled.
Marcus sprang free, snapping his head around to get his bearings just in time to see Jago rushing at the astonished guards, still roaring like an enraged beast at the top of his lungs, firing wildly. As he tumbled out of his crate, he realized that the dockworkers weren’t as unarmed as the captain had suspected as they each withdrew a small sidearm from their belts and began firing at the squad as they emerged from hiding. Marcus dived behind a low stack of barrels and immediately began firing back at them, the recoil of his carbine reassuring in the rapidly deteriorating chaos of their plan.
“Serena, stay down!” he shouted, not that he had to. The linguist was still crouched in her crate, entirely too terrified to move.
Captain Mitchell had the best angle of attack, and he promptly emptied half a clip at the group of armed workmen, taking down two of them. Two more jumped into cover, laying down suppressive blasts of golden fire that forced Mitchell and Marcus to duck back into shelter themselves.
As he watched Taz and Doc Taylor tumble into cover a few meters away, Marcus thought Reid was still in his crate, until he noticed a shadow disappearing along the back of the service pit. The sniper had gone the other way, and was now circling back around towards them. Taylor sat on the ground, his back against his crate and his legs stretched out in front of him, clutching his carbine to his chest as he looked left and right, unsure how to react. Taz had landed on his feet behind a large stack of barrels and was training his carbine on their assailants.
“Taz!” Marcus shouted to the scout.
Taz heard him and glanced over as Marcus gestured towards Reid. Taz nodded, seeing Marcus’ plan of action. The two of them began exchanging single shots with the enemy, firing in turn to keep them pinned down and distracted from their impending deaths.
In the shadows, Reid climbed onto low a platform behind his squadmates, propping his long rifle on the edge of a railing. He held the weapon firmly in both hands, finger on the trigger, lining up his shot.
“Marcus, down!” He called.
Marcus ducked just as a slug tore through the chest cavity of one of the dockworkers. Barely a split second later, the remaining Sheshen slumped to the ground, a spray of blood covering the ground around him.
Once Reid called the all-clear, Captain Mitchell gathered them quickly together and proceeded towards the now-open doorway, where a long, tube-like corridor veered slightly to the right. The only sign of Jago were the corpses of the guards, each with several fist-sized bullet holes.
“Damnit Ape, get back here!” Mitchell shouted into the comms in sheer frustration.
The only reply was the behemoth’s barely audible roar, echoing back from further down the corridor.
“I’m gonna kill him,” Mitchell snarled, flush with anger.
The squad ran down the corridor as fast as their legs would carry them, Captain Mitchell dragging behind, on account of his motorized leg brace. The bottom of the tube was covered by metal grating, fitting over a series of pipes and wires, whilst the ceiling was made up of dark panels, broken up every so often by a square emitting a dim blue light. On either side of them, the walls of the corridor were clear as glass, opening onto the ruined landscape of Nos Shana. Marcus slowed his pace, coming to a complete stop as he peered out through the darkness.
This far outside Sheijan the lights of the city provided barely any illumination, but he could see that the ground was bleak and barren, shrouded in green mist, eddying gently in the sluggish breeze. A hundred meters or so in the distance, on the very limit of his vision, he could see the silhouette of an enormous towering compound. It was a rough dome in shape, its sides rising steep before tapering quickly towards the top, ridged trenches breaking up its surface. Light spilled from hundreds of elliptical windows, illuminating numerous dark, foreboding structures and installations crouching around the huge building’s perimeter. Some were bulky, made from blackened steel, with raised platforms upon which powerful cannons were aimed towards the sky. Others were no more than thin slabs of concrete carrying sophisticated antennae arrays that cleaved through the mist. Pipes and wires ran together in thick bundles, huddling around the rough terrain as they connected each of the structures and installations together.
This wasn’t a compound, Marcus realized, his mouth agape. It was a fortress! The others paused beside him, staring out through the window.
“What have we gotten ourselves into?” Taylor said, staring in wonder at Kesha Kun’s palace.
Captain Mitchell managed to catch up with them.
“We’ve no time to waste,” he snapped after a quick glimpse out the window. He stomped on down the long corridor that connected the cargo dock with the rest of the compound.
Jago’s roars had died down. Either he’d met with a force he couldn’t handle, or he’d simply wandered too far for the squad to hear him. As the squad reached the end of the corridor, they found another pair of guards lying dead on the metal grating. Bullet holes covered the doorframe behind them, and the sliding doors stood open, one torn clean out of its tracks.
Mitchell waved the rest of the squad to a halt, and they took cover along the walls of the corridor. Meanwhile, Taz scouted on ahead, deftly ducking under a shower of sparks as he snuck into what appeared to be a security station. Inside, the dim blue lights flickered, wires hanging from the broken doorframe, sparks flying everywhere. After a few seconds, Taz called back that the room was clear, and the others followed him in, stopping almost immediately, taken aback by the carnage that met them.
The chamber was split in two. The closest section was a circular pit, its outsides walled with a range of consoles, lockers and weapon racks, most of the latter standing empty. In the centre of the shallow basin, the bodies of at least a half a dozen armored guards lay strewn in front of the squad. Some slumped over consoles, others lay on the floor, clutching their weapons. Behind the circular pit, the chamber widened into a wedge, its narrow end falling away from the security station in a long, wide set of steps descending to an underground platform half-cloaked in shadows. A pair of steel pillars split the broad staircase in half, while another tubular corridor led straight to the right from the top of the stairs, no doubt heading off to the main compound. A smaller exit on the left was blocked by a heavy doorway.
Jago seemed not to have been concerned with accuracy during his mad assault. Most of the consoles in the room flickered chaotically, riddled with bullet holes and adding to the steady stream of sparks spilling from damaged cables and lighting panels overhead. He’d clearly strafed the room at large, spraying anything that moved with rounds. The air reeked of gunpowder and the bitter aroma of Sheshen blood. Marcus knelt by one of the bodies, turning it face up to inspect its wounds.
“I can’t believe the Ape did all this by himself,” he gasped.
“Taz, go check out the platform,” Captain Mitchell ordered. “Marcus, see if you can find
a working console. Perhaps we can find where they’re keeping Raven.”
“What about Jago?” Serena pleaded.
“The Ape will have to wait. He’s not answering his comms and I’m not running after him blindly. As far as I’m concerned, he just volunteered to play decoy,” Mitchell snapped exasperatedly.
Taz crept down the stairs ahead whilst Marcus went to work on the consoles. They were heavily damaged from Jago’s slugs, but after a moment of searching, Marcus was able to find one that had escaped his wrath.
“Serena,” he prompted. “Can you help me with this?”
She came to his aid, leaning over to read the alien interface.
“What am I looking for?”
“Something medical, or… surgical in nature,” Marcus revealed.
Serena’s head snapped around as she frowned at the thought. She’d assumed that Raven was being kept in some sort of detention facility.
It was slow work, and the squad was unnerved at having to stay out in the open for so long. There was no telling when a horde of guards could come pouring in from any direction. Mitchell posted the others at the various entrances to the room, but it didn’t take long before they were all on edge.
“Make it fast, Grey,” the captain urged.
“I’m trying,” Marcus answered. “This is a lot harder than it looks.”
They were fully immersed in their work when Taz came creeping back up the steps.
“It’s a kind of tram,” he shouted, a little too loud for comfort. “The tracks seem to go on for quite a bit.”
“How fucking big is this place?” Taylor moaned, lighting himself a cigarette and plopping down on a chair in front of one of the broken consoles.
“I think this is it,” Serena claimed, pointing at something that had caught her interest on the console.
“What is it?” asked Markus.
“The tram leads to a series of underground research laboratories.”
“Laboratories?” Reid repeated.
“Quite large too. There’s a whole bunch of them.”
Merillian: 2 (Locus Origin) Page 32