Hellworld (Deathstalker Prelude)

by Green, Simon R.

  None of them felt much like sleeping, but they knew they ought to at least try. Come the next day, they’d need all the strength and stamina they could muster. The Captain had sounded calm and reassuring when he contacted them just after their supper, and DeChance had done her best to sound the same. Corbie had thought seriously about breaking into the conversation to say how worried he was about the monolith and the sphere recording, but in the end he decided against it. The Captain wouldn’t have understood. Maybe when they reached the city tomorrow… Corbie had a really bad feeling about the city.

  Surprisingly enough, the esper fell asleep almost immediately. Lindholm lay on his back with his eyes closed, looking as calm and unperturbed as ever. Corbie glared at both of them. He’d never felt less sleepy in his life. He gave it a while, hoping he might drop off. Then, still wide awake, he sat up quietly and hugged his knees to his chest. He’d hoped the monolith would seem less forbidding once he’d spent some time in it, but it hadn’t worked out that way. The ceiling was too high, the light from the lantern couldn’t seem to penetrate the corners, and even the smallest sound echoed endlessly on the quiet. He drew his disrupter from its holster and checked the energy level. It was reassuringly high, but even so it took real strength of will before Corbie could make himself holster the gun again.

  “Getting jumpy, Russ.”

  Corbie looked round quickly. Lindholm was sitting up on his bedroll too. Corbie smiled and shrugged. “I don’t like this place, Sven,” he said softly, keeping his voice low to avoid waking the esper. “Mind you, when you get right down to it I’d be hard pressed to name one thing about this stinking planet that I do like. I hate it here, Sven.” He rubbed at his mouth with the back of his hand, and wasn’t surprised to find his hand was shaking. “I’m dry, Sven. I need a drink. I could cope with all of this much better if I could just have one good stiff drink.”

  “Sorry, Russ. Don’t use the stuff myself. You should have smuggled a bottle onto the pinnace.”

  “I did. They found it.” Corbie shuddered briefly. There was a faint sheen of sweat on his face, despite the cold. “I hate this world, Sven. I don’t want to be here. It doesn’t want us here. I mean, what am I doing in a Hell Squad? I was never meant to be a colonist. I’ve been in the Fleet since I was sixteen; never spent more than two years running on the same planet. I liked it that way. The only reason I’m here is because it looked a better bet than spending the rest of my life rotting in a military prison. Shows you what a fool I was. This place is worse than any prison.”

  “Take it easy, Russ.”

  “That’s easy for you to say. You saw that forest, Sven. And the things that came up out of the ground. I’ve been on more worlds than I can count, seen some pretty strange things in my time, but at least they made some kind of sense. This world is insane. Like some nightmare you can’t wake up from. And tomorrow we’re going into a city full of buildings just like this one. I don’t think I can do that. I don’t think I can.” He rubbed at his mouth again, and looked pleadingly at Lindholm. “What am I going to do, Sven? I can’t stand it on this world, but I can’t get off it. I’m trapped here. I can’t face going into the city tomorrow, but I couldn’t stand being left on my own. What am I going to do?”

  “All right, Russ, calm down. I’m here,” Lindholm cut in quickly as Corbie’s voice began to rise hysterically. “Just remember you’re not alone in this. We’re all in the same boat. We can cope with anything, as long as we stick together. Think of all the different worlds we’ve seen; they all looked pretty bad at first. This is just another world, Russ; that’s all. Just another world.”

  Corbie took a deep breath, and let it out again in a long, shuddering sigh. He shot Lindholm a grateful glance, and smiled shakily. “How do you do it, Sven? How do you stay so calm all the time? Is it something you learned in the Arenas?”

  “You could say that.” Lindholm stared thoughtfully out the open doorway into the darkness. “You can learn a lot in the Arenas, if you stay alive long enough. You learn not to be afraid, because that can get you killed. You learn not to make friends, because you might have to kill them the next day. You learn to take nothing for granted, not even one more day of life. And finally, you learn not to care about anything. Not the killing, not the people, not the pressure, not even your own life. When you don’t care about anything, you can take any risk, face any odds. Because nothing matters anymore. Nothing at all.” Lindholm looked across at Corbie. “The trouble is, Russ, even after you’ve left the Arenas, what you learned there goes with you. I don’t feel much of anything anymore. I don’t laugh, or cry, or feel scared or good. The Arenas took all that from me. There’s just enough of the old me left to appreciate what I’ve lost. It’s hard for me to get really interested in anything, Russ, because nothing really matters.”

  “What about me?” said Corbie slowly. “Do I matter?”

  “I don’t know,” said Lindholm. “I remember the years we served together in the marines, but it’s like remembering a dream I had long ago. Sometimes the dream is clearer than others. The rest of the time I just go through the motions. Don’t depend on me, Russ. There’s not enough left of me for that.”

  The esper moaned in her sleep, and the two marines looked across at her. DeChance was stirring uneasily.

  “Nightmare,” said Corbie. “Can’t say I’m surprised.”

  The first proximity mine went off like a thunderclap, followed by two more in swift succession. The brilliant light flared against the darkness. The marines scrambled to their feet, guns in hand, and DeChance came awake with a start.

  “What the hell was that?” said Corbie.

  “There’s something out there,” said Lindholm. “Must have got too close to the mines. Turn off the lantern, Russ.”

  Corbie reached over quickly and turned it off. Darkness filled the monolith, as though it had never been away. Corbie tightened his grip on his gun and waited impatiently for his eyes to adjust to the gloom.

  “Whatever’s out there, it’s not alone,” he said softly. “It’d take more than one creature to set off all those mines.”

  “I can sense… something,” said DeChance, frowning harshly. “It’s hard to pin down. I’m picking up multiple readings, too many to count. They’re moving, circling … they’re all around us. We’re surrounded.”

  Another mine exploded, piercing the darkness with brilliant light. Corbie caught a brief glimpse of dark uncertain shapes milling around the monolith, outside the perimeter, and then the night returned. There was a loud, dull thudding, like a giant heartbeat, as something began to pound against the force screen with horrid patience and determination. Corbie licked his dry lips repeatedly, and glared frantically into the night.

  “Take it easy, Corbie,” said DeChance. “The force screen will keep them out.”

  Bloody hell, thought Corbie. Can everyone tell I’m a bag of nerves, even in the dark?

  “She’s right,” said Lindholm calmly. “The force screen was designed to stand against anything, even disrupter cannon and atomics. Nothing’s going to break through the screen by brute force.”

  As if in answer to his words, the hammering suddenly stopped. Silence fell upon the night again, charged with hidden menace. DeChance stirred uneasily.

  “They’ve stopped moving. They’re just… standing there, as though they’re waiting for something… Wait a minute—there’s something else, something close….”

  The floor bucked suddenly under their feet, and split open with a deafening roar of rending stone. Cracks darted here and there across the broken floor as DeChance and the two marines fought to keep their balance.

  “They’re tunnelling up through the earth!” yelled the esper. “They’re coming for us!”

  “Somebody find the lantern!” roared Lindholm.

  “Stuff that,” said Corbie. He got down on both knees, riding the bucking floor, and thrust his disrupter into the nearest crack. He pressed the stud, and a blast of searing energy shot do
wn into the earth. Far below, something screamed shrilly and then fell silent. Lindholm and DeChance fired their guns into the cracks, and the floor heaved once and then was still. For a long time there was only the darkness and the silence, and then DeChance stirred slowly.

  “They’re leaving,” she said quietly. “They’re all leaving.”

  Lindholm found the field lantern and turned it on again. The pale golden glow was a comfort after the panic-ridden dark. The floor was a mess of cracks and broken stone.

  The walls and ceiling weren’t much better. Corbie and Lindholm looked at each other and grinned.

  “Nice shooting, Russ.”

  “Yeah, well,” said Corbie. “You know how it is. Some things you never forget, no matter what.”

  CHAPTER THREE

  * * *

  The City

  Captain Hunter and his team reached the outskirts of the alien city by mid-morning. The brilliant silver sun was high in the chartreuse sky, and the light reflecting from the city’s towers was almost too bright to look at. Streamers of grey cloud sprawled across the sky like characters from an alien language, and the still air had a cold, cutting edge. Hunter hugged himself tightly, not just because of the cold. He’d been standing and staring at the city for some time, but he still couldn’t get used to it. It lay spread out before him like some giant puzzle, the answer to which would make no sense to him even if he knew it.

  The sheer aberrancy of the city swept over him like a numbingly cold tide. The huge buildings were jagged and asymmetrical, with sharp edges and distorted, scalloped roofs. Strange lights shone in empty windows, glaring like watching eyes. Bulky stone monoliths stood next to towers of shimmering crystal and twisted glass structures too intricate for the eye to rest easily on. There were open doorways and windows, their scale suggesting that whatever creatures used them had to be almost twice the size of Hunter and his companions. Gossamer metal threads hung between the buildings, forming slender walkways high above the ground. There was no sound on the still air, and no trace of movement anywhere in the city.

  Hunter looked from one strange edifice to another, trying to find some familiar sight to rest his eyes on, but there was nothing his mind could comfortably accept. The alien architecture was subtly disturbing on some very basic level. It didn’t follow any human rules of design or meaning.

  The sheer size of the place gave him a bad case of the creeps. Whoever—whatever—had built this city had lived on a larger scale than humankind.

  “We’ve been here almost an hour, Captain,” said Investigator Krystel, “and there’s still no sign of the other team.”

  “Perhaps something’s happened to them,” said Williams.

  “They would have contacted us if they’d run into any trouble,” said Hunter. “But you’re right, Investigator. We can’t wait here all day. I’ll contact them and let them know we’ve arrived.” He activated his comm implant, his eyes still fixed on the city before him. “Esper DeChance, this is the Captain. Report your position.”

  There was no reply, only an ominous silence, unbroken even by static. Hunter and Krystel looked at each other.

  “Esper DeChance, this is Captain Hunter. Please report your position. Can you see the city?” He waited, but there was no response. “Lindholm, Corbie. Can you hear me? The silence dragged on. “Investigator, can you hear me through your implant?”

  “Loud and clear, Captain. There’s nothing wrong with our equipment.”

  “Then there must be something wrong at their end.”

  “Unless the city’s interfering with the signal,” said Williams.

  Hunter frowned thoughtfully. “Esper DeChance, if for some reason you can hear me but cannot respond, we’re about to enter the city. Somewhere near the centre is a huge copper tower. Try and join us at the tower. If you’re not there by the time it gets dark, around 1900 hours, pinnace’s time, we’ll return to the western boundary of the city and make camp there. Captain Hunter out.”

  He shut down his comm implant, and looked unhappily at the city. “We’ve done all we can here. Let’s go and take a closer look. Draw your guns, but no firing unless you’ve got a specific target.”

  He started to lead the way forward, but stopped as Krystel raised a hand.

  “I should go first, Captain. I am the Investigator.”

  Hunter frowned slightly, and then nodded. She was within her rights. They were entering her province now. He gestured for her to proceed, and she led the way down the short slope that led to the city. Hunter followed her, and Williams brought up the rear.

  The city seemed to loom even larger and more menacing as they made their way through the broad streets and alleyways that lay between the massive buildings. Towers dark as the night, studded with jagged crimson shapes, thrust up around them like imploring arms. The huge scale and overpowering size of the structures made Hunter feel like a child wandering through an adult world. The party’s footsteps hardly echoed at all, the sound swallowed up almost immediately by the huge walls to either side of them. Hunter stood the silence for as long as he could, and then looked at the Investigator.

  “You’re the expert, Krystel. Any comments?”

  “Just the obvious ones, Captain. Apart from the occasional exotic exceptions, most of these buildings are nothing more than huge slabs of stone. Judging by the battered and weathered appearance of the stone, they must have stood here for centuries. The complexity of the other structures suggests a high level of civilisation, so why did the city’s occupants retain the primitive stone buildings? A reverence for the past? For their ancestors? Too early to tell, as yet. Maybe they just thought working in stone was artistic.

  “Something else interesting. We’ve been walking for the best part of half an hour now, and we’re well past the outskirts, but I still haven’t seen a single sign to show this place was ever inhabited. Whatever happened here, it was over and finished a long time ago. Perhaps there was a war, or some kind of ecological disaster. Maybe they all committed suicide. It could even be something we don’t have a name for. Understanding an alien culture takes time, Captain. Their minds don’t work like ours.”

  “Perhaps we should take a look inside one of the buildings,” said Williams diffidently. “There’s only so much we can tell from the buildings’ exteriors. There could be important clues inside. Who knows; we might even get lucky and find some kind of computer records.”

  “I’d prefer to keep moving,” said Krystel evenly. “We haven’t seen enough of this city to be sure it’s deserted. I don’t like the idea of being caught by surprise because we weren’t thorough. Still, you’re the Captain, Hunter; it’s your decision.”

  Hunter stopped in the middle of the street, and the others stopped with him. He looked across at the nearest building, which appeared to have been carved from a single huge piece of crystal. Its jagged edges looked razor-sharp, and there was a crimson tracery in the smoky crystal that looked disturbingly like veins. The huge doorway was blocked by a single slab of dull metal and there were no windows. Hunter gnawed at the inside of his cheeks. There could be anything in there, watching and waiting. He didn’t like that idea at all. If something or someone was watching them he wanted to know about it. And yet the more he looked at the huge crystal structure, the more uneasy he felt. He realised suddenly that he didn’t want to get any closer to the building. It was too strange, too different. It felt… wrong. Insane.

  Alien minds don’t work like ours.

  Hunter swallowed hard. He could feel the familiar panic building within him, the fear that whatever decision he made would be the wrong one. He had to make up his mind quickly, while he still could. “All right, people; we’re going to take a look inside. Krystel, you go first. Williams, stay close to me and don’t touch anything.”

  The Investigator nodded, and approached the doorway. Williams made as though to follow her, but Hunter held him back. The metal slab that served as a door could be booby-trapped. Krystel stood a few feet away from the do
or and studied it carefully. Eleven and a half feet high, seven feet wide. No handle, and no sign of any locking mechanism. There was no doorjamb; the metal butted cleanly against the crystal. She kicked the door lightly, twice. There was no response. She reached out cautiously and touched the dull metal with her fingertips.

  It felt unpleasantly warm to the touch. Krystel pulled her hand back and sniffed at her fingers. There was a trace of odour, but nothing she could identify. All right; when in doubt, be direct.

  She stepped back from the door, raised her disrupter, and pressed the stud. The energy bolt smashed the door inwards, leaving a jagged hole in the crystal. The Investigator moved forward slowly, stared into the opening, and then stepped through. After a moment, Hunter and Williams followed her.

  It was fairly light inside the building, but it was a strange kind of illumination—the crystal diffused the daylight, giving it a smoky, dreamlike glow. The metal door lay in the middle of the room. It was twisted and crumpled, but otherwise intact. Hunter whistled silently. There wasn’t a metal in the Empire that could stand up to a disrupter beam at point-blank range.

  He looked slowly around him. The chamber was huge, easily fifty feet by fifty. Curved and twisted shapes dotted the crystal floor. The shapes were detailed, but essentially meaningless. They could have been furniture or statuary, or even some form of high tech for all he knew. Without a context to put them in, they could be anything. Long curving lines had been etched into the crystal walls, stretching from floor to ceiling. They served no apparent purpose.