War Machine (The Combat-K Series)
Page 23
“It would take more than armour-piercing bullets to pierce her armour,” said Cam. “Like, maybe a tank shell?”
“Wouldn’t that obliterate her from existence?”
“Exactly,” said Cam. There was a smile in his voice. “Somebody’s coming.”
Pippa emerged, a frown creasing her forehead, her cold eyes locking on Cam.
“I’ll go and check on the children,” said Cam, and left.
Keenan glanced up from the TuffMAPTM. “How’s the loading going?”
“Fine, except all Franco wants to take is tinned PreCheese and bloody CubeSausage!”
“Why?”
“Says it’s the best food a soldier can eat.”
“What about dietary diversity?”
Pippa held up her hands. “Hey, you invited him, you can sort the little bastard out. All I know is, for the next month we’re living off tinned cheese. Keenan, it’s like chewing rubber. And the CubeSausage! Jesus, it’s even worse, like swallowing a slab of pure gristle. Yum!”
“Tell Franco we need HighJ, and lots of it.”
“We’re doing some demolition work?”
Keenan nodded. “I think we might have to blow our way into the vault. This Fractured Emerald is still their prized possession, despite being unheard of across the Quad-Gal. They’re not going to have it on display in the main hall, are they?”
“Klik wants to speak to you, and... Rebekka.”
“OK.”
Pippa’s gaze lingered on his, and he felt uneasy, squirming a little in the tight-fitting WarSuit.
“Can I ask you something, Keenan?”
“Sure.”
“And you’ll be honest?”
“Have I ever lied to you?”
“All the time.”
“Shit, yeah, well I promise you this time. I’ll tell the truth.”
“Did you sleep with her?”
“Who?”
“Rebekka, you dumb-ass.”
Keenan considered this, eyes locked on hers. Then he gave a little shake of his head. “No, Pippa. I didn’t. I swear it, on all that’s holy.”
“I was convinced—”
“I’m not saying she isn’t attractive. And maybe, in a different time, a different world, who knows? We might have hit it off, but I believe the proxers are not able to make emotional attachments to humans, or other proxers for that matter. So it would have been purely sex, without any ties. That’s not me, Pippa.” He gave her a wry smile. “I’m an honourable man.”
Klik arrived at that moment, with Rebekka floating in behind him. The black boy had changed since Keenan last set eyes on him. His face was more alive, there was hope in his eyes, not the dull disease of defeat. He sat down beside Keenan, placed a hand on his, and looked up into the man’s eyes.
“Thank you,” he said, simply.
“It was no big deal,” said Keenan.
“But it was, Big Man. You saved us, saved all our lives. Now I am bound by Ket-i honour codes to give my life for you. I am yours to command. I am yours. I will kill for you, and I will die for you. You have saved my family. You have saved my soul.”
Keenan squirmed uncomfortably as Pippa moved away, presumably to discipline Franco, who was getting carried away loading enough food to feed an army.
Rebekka sat down facing Keenan. She had a strange look on her face, illuminated internally by an almost ethereal light.
“I know this place,” said Klik, staring at the map. “You aliens call it Amrasar; to us it is just The City of Bone.”
“Interesting name,” said Keenan. “Why do you call it that?”
“You will know when you see it! We call it The World Warrior. When he died, he settled into the Milk Sea and his flesh fell from his bones leaving them risen, like an island, exposed. On his back we built the city. When the Ket-i are threatened it is said he will rise again and grow a new coat of flesh. Then he will rain terror and molten fire on our enemies destroying them utterly.”
“So the city is built on... bone?”
“The whole city,” said Klik, settling down and making himself comfortable. “You seek to go there?”
“Yes.”
“You need me.”
“No.”
“Yes, I owe you everything, Keenan. I will take you there. Without me you will never make it alive through the eelmarsh.” Klik shivered. “Even with me we have only a slim chance. I have travelled it three times and survived. This is considered lucky.”
“Can we take a boat through this eelmarsh?”
“No. The World Warrior’s bones are too much in the way. Many thousands of little bones, they form the walkways through eelmarsh. The only safe traverse is by air, but we have no aircraft.”
“No.” Keenan’s face darkened. “We were shot down.”
“I can take you,” beamed Klik. “It is my pleasure, my honour. The least I can do. And Rebekka will stay here and look after my friends.” Klik patted Keenan’s hand. “It is the way, my friend.”
Keenan laughed, infused by the young boy’s charm and enthusiasm. His eyes strayed to Rebekka. “You are staying?”
“Yes. I think where you’re going is perhaps too dangerous. I used to run guns in The City, but I was surrounded by my family. Now they are dead. I think I will stay here a while; these children have touched me.”
“I thought you proxers had no emotions?”
Anger flared in Rebekka’s face. “No,” she said, her voice ice, “that is a misconception coined by you humans during the First Prox War; you sought to dehumanise us, making it easier for your soldiers to kill us in our beds. We have emotions, but not as you understand them. We do feel love, and hate, and compassion, and empathy.”
“I am sorry,” said Keenan. “I did not mean to offend.”
“Then do your research before offering insult. Your ignorance is awesome. But then, it is so with all humanity, even against your own species. I have read your history, Keenan. Never in the annals of any inter-galactic species have I experienced such fighting and despicable acts of atrocity committed against one’s own kind. Your animosity, apparent self-loathing and acts of genocide are legendary throughout Quad-Gal.” Her eyes were filled with tears. “Your Humanity—truly, it is something to be feared.”
Keenan, feeling cold and dead inside, simply nodded.
“It is right I should stay here,” said Rebekka. “These children need a mother.”
“Your choice is honourable, then,” said Keenan.
“Yes.” Rebekka lightened. “I am sorry. I have been a victim of human prejudice before. It does not sit well with me; shall we say humanity’s arrogance and abuse have hurt me deeply.”
“Again, my apologies.” Keenan stood, and with emotions raging inside him—including a burning shame at what his species had perpetrated in the name of war—he left the room.
She’s right, he thought as he mounted the ramp. Humanity is filled with decadence.
Despondency fell over him like a shroud.
Darkness filled his soul.
And, sadly, filled him with a desire to kill.
Franco hummed a little tune from the hit musical My Mamma’s a Whore as he loaded up the second WarMonger inflatable infiltration craft. He’d used an industrial inflation pump to get both boats full of air, then moored them at the jetty from which Betezh had stolen their Raptor. The first craft he’d loaded with weapons, and the second, larger craft, intended as a supply vehicle, he’d happily filled with crates of tinned PreCheese and CubeSausage. As a treat, he’d even loaded a single crate filled with jars of horseradish.
“What a feast!”he mumbled to himself, MPK slung over his back, open-toe sandals flapping across the rusting metal grilleworks. He hoisted the final crate onto the bobbing craft, jumped aboard, and manoeuvred it into position. “CubeSausage and horseradish! A meal fit for a prince!”
Happily, he surveyed the collection of stolen military food. Then he rubbed at his beard with a scratching sound of abrasive wire. Hmm, he thought,
I’m sure I’ve forgotten something.
Pippa jogged down the ramp and stared with undisguised loathing at the collection of crates. “Franco, what about the Dogs? Remember? We’re supposed to be dumping them in the sea? Unless you’d like to leave them on the Rig with the kids. After all, maybe they’ll unfreeze.”
“Hot goddam,” said Franco, slapping his forehead. “You’re right.” Then he stared at the crates. “Shit,” he said. “Something’s going to have to go.”
“Franco, how long do you actually think we’re going to be on this planet? It’s two days to Amrasar. Each crate contains a hundred and ninety tins. And you’ve loaded...” she counted, frowning, “ten crates. Mate, that’s nearly two thousand fuckingtins. Franco, you could feed a battalion.”
“Wouldn’t want us to go hungry,” he mumbled, kicking his sandal against the hard rubberised surface of the boat. “Nothing worse than being hungry. I was hungry as a lad, you know.”
“But Franco, this lot would keep us going for about five years.”
“You should always plan ahead.”
“And what’s this? Horseradish? Fucking horseradish? That’ll come in handy when we’re starving to death! A hundred and ninety jars of horseradish, yum fucking yum.”
“You’re being unreasonable, Pippa!” His voice was almost a wail.
“And you’re being a dick. You can take two crates. That’s final. So get unloading, and get those damn Dogs down here where we can see them. You got that?”
“Yes Pippa,” said Franco miserably.
Pippa stormed out. Franco stared at his stash. Then, with a long face, he began to unload the supplies.
Franco sat in the lead boat, ready to navigate, as Keenan stood on the platform facing Rebekka and a few of the Ket-i children who had come to say farewell. Pippa patted a few of the kids on the head, then jumped in beside Franco. The boat bobbed, and Franco fired twin engines. Water surged beneath the craft as the stealth engines settled into a quiet idle hiss.
Behind, linked by TitaniumIII cable, the larger of the two craft bobbed and tugged, and there, onboard, between two crates of tins, squatted the metal Dogs that had made the lives of the renegade children so miserable. Franco kept glancing back nervously, with his MPK not quite pointing at them and a grenade not quiteunclipped from his belt.
“I’m glad we’re getting out of here,” said Pippa quietly.
Franco glanced at her, saw her... fear?
“You OK, Pippa?”
“Yeah, I’ll be fine.” She glanced at Rebekka. Franco noted the contact, but said nothing.
Klik appeared, face one huge smile and two guns strapped across his ebony back. He wore shorts and nothing else. His bare feet found purchase, and he landed lightly in the boat, moving to sit at the stern. He carried a bottle of drinking water, which he sipped at thoughtfully, surveying what he considered to be the aliens.
Keenan stood, finishing a cigarette and patting some of the kids on the head. They giggled, and several swung on his arms as he glanced up, into Rebekka’s bright orange eyes.
“Seems like we’ve been through a lot together,” said Keenan.
“We have,” smiled Rebekka. “Listen, I’m sorry. About before...”
“Don’t mention it. You were actually right. Don’t apologise.”
“That’s extremely chivalrous of you.”
Keenan shrugged. “I’m a regular hero,” he said, voice sardonic, and he stamped out his home-rolled cigarette. “Listen... one day, one day soon, if I happen to be passing...”
“Call in,” grinned Rebekka, “if I’m still here. If I’ve moved on I will leave word with Fortune; you’ll be able to contact me that way. Although, I should be here for a length of time.” She glanced down at the children, and Keenan detected love in her eyes: love mingled with sorrow, and a need to do something good, a need to do something selfless. He had seen that look a million times on the faces of a million aid workers in battlezones across the Helix War. He appreciated it, even envied it, but he did not truly understand. The problem was, Keenan was a killer. Deep down, when you stripped away civility, society, honour... when things got dirty and brutal, Keenan was just a killer. He recognised this in himself, and it shamed him.
“Good luck,” said Keenan.
“I’ll stay armed.”
“Yeah, I’ll make sure these Dogs never bother you again.”
“Thank you.”
She stepped a little closer. Keenan could smell her scent, her natural perfume: the aroma of woman, albeit an alien woman. He felt his senses go a little dizzy, and grinned.
“Goodbye kiss?” she said, raising her eyebrows.
“Never say no.”
She leaned forward, her lips touching his. Their mouths opened, just a little, a symbiosis of breath, the most gentle touching of tongues. The kiss lasted not quite long enough to indicate love, but just a little too long for friendship.
Keenan turned, boots landing in the boat with a thud. “Let’s go,” he said.
Pippa glanced sideways. “Parting is such sweet sorrow.”
“Fuck off.”
“It was tender, Keenan, honest. I was quite moved; touched. Maybe you should stay with her? You could have a half-human half-prox family together.”
“I’m not in the mood, Pippa.”
“Are you everin the mood?”
Keenan said nothing, but lit a cigarette as the convoy buzzed through the Milk Sea, under the protective embrace of the Gem Rig, and out onto open waters. Waves slapped the boats’ hulls. Heat slammed them like a wall. He checked his maps, and nodded as Cam gave a tiny series of beeps; Cam was going on to scout ahead to try to work out just how dangerous the city of Amrasar was, and, more importantly, what kind of weapons they were stacking.
Cam disappeared, humming softly.
“Deeper into the lion’s den,” Keenan muttered, and watched the pink pastel horizon drift by.
Pippa killed the engines and they bobbed, riding gentle waves. There was nothing around them: no craft, no ships, no land mass. A soothing wind skimmed white waters. Franco, stripped to knife-hacked combat shorts and his sandals, clambered to the back of the craft, squeezed past Klik and a pile of RPGs, and tugged the two boats together. He stepped tentatively between the vehicles and looked back at Keenan. Keenan, as usual with bedraggled home-rolled between his lips, gave a single nod.
Franco moved to the first Dog, its twisted bestial face open in a frozen snarl of dripping mercury saliva. Franco grasped a plank of wood, levered it under the machine, and tipped it into the sea.
It made a thunk and a splash, and disappeared instantly. The waters rolled back in, surged. The Dog was gone. Franco tipped the second Dog into the Milk Sea, then moved to the third, a broiling frozen inferno. As he tipped the deadly, merciless machine into the white waters there was a sizzle. A cloud of super-heated steam shot up, and the Dog sank without trace.
“They’re gone,” said Pippa.
“Good riddance,” said Keenan.
Franco watched the sea, and was joined by Klik who stared down. He thought the young black boy was going to dive in after them, for a moment. Instead, he raised his hand in a military salute.
“What you doing, boy?” Franco’s voice was gentle.
“I am thinking of all those who died. It is right these Dogs were given a dishonourable death, not by blade or bullet, but by drowning.”
“So on Ket, to drown is dishonourable?”
“Very much so,” nodded Klik. He turned, and tears glistened in his deep green eyes. “You sink, you drown, you become a part of the sea. You are consumed by the World Warrior who condemns you to an eternity of pain and servitude.”
“Will that happen to us if we drown here?” Franco tapped the inflated wall tentatively.
“Yes.”
“Let’s go,” said Keenan.
Franco stared down at the opaque sea. He spat after the Dogs. “Rot in hell,” he said.
Their trip went smoothly for the next two days, as t
hey baked under the apparently endless Ket suns. Even Franco, a parallel to the most pasty of gothic game-playing indoor individuals, started to develop a tan, albeit the true lobster redneck tan of the ginger. Freckles rioted like measles across his shoulders, arms and forehead. The members of Combat K took turns piloting the boat and its trailer in order to relieve the boredom.
Keenan and Pippa navigated, checking one another’s directions and waypoints; Franco acted as cook, and everybody was heartily annoyed when they realised that his entire stock of food consisted of PreCheese and a whole damn crate of horseradish.
“I mean, horseradish,” said Keenan as he tucked into his third consecutive meal of tinned rubbery cheese smeared with horseradish. “I don’t even like horseradish.”
“It adds a harsh and fiery epilogue to any meal,” grunted Franco.
“One hundred and ninety fucking jars,” said Pippa, “you mental, drugged-up moron!”
“Hey, you were the one who said I could only bring two crates!”
“So?”
“Technically, it’s your fault.”
“My fault?” shouted Pippa, spitting out a mouthful of horseradish. “Come here, I’ll snap your damn neck.”
Franco danced back, making the boat rock, and spilling a long stream of PreCheese cubes to bounce rubbery around the floor of the boat. Keenan grabbed Pippa’s arm.
“Leave him be. We shouldn’t have trusted a lunatic with the food supplies. It’s all our fault. And, ultimately, it’s my mission; if you want to blame somebody, blame me.”
Pippa sighed, and softened. Her skin, now tanned a deep brown, glistened with sweat. She shook her head. “It’s OK, Keenan. I’m just hot, tired, and not relishing fighting these bastards. Maybe I’m just getting old. I no longer look forward to the contact.”
“You did real well back in The City.”
“That was different. I had no choice.”
“And we have a choice now?” Keenan’s voice was sharp.
“We do, Keenan. We can walk away. Hire transport; get the hell out of here. We don’t have to take on an entire bloody Ket city. God only knows what archaic alien weapons they’ve got; and that’s the problem: they’re aliens. We’re not really sure what to expect, despite our research; not sure what we’re going to find inside that city, inside the Metal Palace.”