Quest For Earth

by S. E. GILCHRIST

  Data spooled before her eyes. The enemy was gaining ground.

  A few clicks of her fingers and the display disappeared. She ducked her head back down and flexed her thigh muscles, so tight with tension they felt as if they were locked in her crouching position. She sensed the intensity of Maaka’s gaze and looked down at where he stood at the base of the ridge, his strong legs braced apart, his arms hanging loose at his sides. Their eyes met.

  They will be upon our men soon. His words stole into her mind and panic rose, beating against the walls inside her head, desperate to flee the oncoming madness. You have my heart.

  As if it had never been, her fear vanished.

  This is where I’m meant to be, Maaka, standing by your side. No matter how this day ends, never forget I have been truly blessed to have found the love of my heart.

  Eyes twinkling, he grinned, kissed his fingertips and blew on them. The next instant, she was staring at his back. He released his plitza gun from its holster, gripping his sword in his other hand. The metal of the compu she had given him, encircling his left wrist, flashed in the bright sunlight as he lifted his sword.

  Somehow the sight of the weapon with its row of jagged teeth on one side of the blade, the other honed to lethal sharpness, brought home the magnitude of their goal. Destroy the enemy, find and release the prisoners, secure peace with the Corporation, repair the Quinnie … but for Sherise, everything faded to a single resolve.

  Protect him.

  Sweat trickled under her armpits.

  The clang of metal against metal told her the forward squad of the Half-dead had reached the farming plot and had engaged the Lycaneans in fight.

  When not moving, remember to stand side on to the enemy, ordered Maaka.

  Sherise flipped open her holster, the plitza gun sliding into her hand as she imitated Maaka’s stance. Side on, legs spread apart with her weight balanced evenly, arms loose by her side, her fingers tight around the butt of her gun. She counted her heartbeats, concentrating on keeping her breathing even.

  Ready for the charge.

  A horn sounded.

  Three short blasts.

  Maaka bounded forward up the ridge and over the other side.

  Sherise followed, her gaze fixed on his back. With each step, tiny shock waves vibrated up the backs of her legs and her shin bones, as she raced down the steep side, then ran over the unyielding hard-packed ground. The battle cries of their army as they poured forward combined with the thudding of feet. The shrill yells of the Half-dead consumed her head. Her lungs worked in manic unison and she sucked in air that, even through the filters of her suit, stunk of dust and sweat-soaked fear.

  By a miracle of Cercis, she kept one pace behind Maaka as they surged straight and sure towards the line of approaching Half-deads. She would guard his back or die in the attempt.

  They were so close; within firing distance, and still the order had yet to be given. She could see the horde now and leaped over a pile of concrete rubble partly hidden beneath a clump of weeds. The creatures’ gaping mouths revealed rows of jagged teeth. Flesh hung raw and red from their torsos. Although hunched-back with spindly physiques, they were leanly muscled and carried a rage in their eyes that packed a powerful punch. Their claws gripped shields, swords and poleaxes. A few carried furlon blasters and plitza guns, firing in all directions, not caring if they cut down their fellow creatures.

  Maaka roared, ‘Fire!’

  In her ears, the clash of weapon against weapon and creature against man was like an explosion.

  Her gun vibrated in her hand. Charged and ready. She fired. The green energy burnt a hole the size of her fist in a Half-dead’s chest. It collapsed to the ground. She fired again and again and again, following in Maaka’s footsteps as he slashed and hacked a path through the wall of death.

  Another Half-dead fell to his sword, yet another to his gun. Sherise lengthened her stride and jumped over the still twitching carcass. She drilled a shot into its head.

  Just to make certain.

  She heard the hum of a shuttle’s engine and glanced into the dust-filled sky. The shuttle flew into her field of vision, and she ducked when it skimmed mere centons over her head. Maintaining a forty-five degree angle, it laid down a stream of blue laser-fire cutting a swath through the Half-deads’ ranks. Head down, firing as she ploughed past, she shouldered aside the shield of another creature. She hoped the other shuttle performed its part in decimating the rear.

  The slam of furlon fire into her chest sent her reeling on her feet, but her armour protected her. She regained her balance and blasted the creature in her path. He went down amid an explosion of blood and bone where her fire cut through his gut.

  The shrill sounds of incoming nix missiles pierced the turmoil of battle.

  ‘Maaka, get down!’ she shouted. Her heartbeats echoed the rapid spat of plitza fire.

  He whirled around. Blood dripped from his sword. The Half-deads broke through the front line, surged forward, hacking at anything that moved in a frenzy of blood-fuelled rage. They surrounded him.

  Maaka, where is he? I cannot see him! Time slowed. Panic swarmed in her mind like a million trapped tikka birds. I must reach him. With a whine her plitza gun died. She threw it at the nearest creature’s head and wrestled the sword from its claws, ramming it deep into the Half-dead’s chest. She choked down bile as it slid smoothly into flesh, and warm blood sprayed over her fingers. With shaking hands, she tried to prise the sword out, but it was stuck fast.

  The sky was full of screaming missiles deafening her. Louder and louder.

  Ours or theirs? Get another weapon, quick. She spun round and tripped over a creature bleeding out on the ground. Flailed.

  Metal glinted as something flashed towards her. Pain splintered her head and body.

  And the world exploded into a brilliant flash of white light.

  ***

  Maaka shook his head to clear his vision and heaved to his feet. He stood, swaying, knees shaking, ears ringing from the explosions, his weapons still firm in hands, slick with sweat and blood. Out of the smoke swirling around him leapt a Half-dead. Maaka fired the gun. Nothing happened. He snarled, dropped it, swung his sword in a diagonal arc and sliced the creature from ribs to shoulder. He stepped over the carcass and hefted his battle axe into his other hand.

  He heard the drone of the shuttle overhead and the rapid fire of its guns. How anyone could see in this hell was a wonder. He spat a mouthful of blood from his split lip into the dirt and sank into a crouch. Crablike, he inched step by step, retracing ground his men had taken.

  Where is she?

  A shape. He swivelled upright, raised his axe to deliver a felling blow when the smoke cleared briefly.

  ‘Kondo,’ he croaked through a parched throat. He swiped his forearm over the sweat trickling from his forehead. His arm, when he dropped it to his side, was coated in blood.

  The other warrior reached out and gripped Maaka’s shoulders.

  ‘A creature took her. I have failed to protect her as I vowed to do. She is lost to us,’ said Kondo.

  Maaka shrugged off the other’s touch. Never would he accept such a thing.

  ‘There is still time. They will take her into their barrows.’ His glare drilled into Kondo’s face. ‘We will take this hunt into their territory. Victory or death.’ He grabbed the arm of a passing Lycanean and told him to pass the order on.

  ‘Wait,’ Kondo stayed him. ‘The angle at which the missiles fell suggests the creatures have flying crafts they used to launch the weapons. We need to locate and destroy these ships first. From the sound of their engines, I suspect they are using hover crafts.’

  The Relic warlord’s words made sense, but Maaka smacked his hand away. The howling in his soul for his mate beat with all the fury of a mega storm front. ‘Deal with it.’ He wrestled with his inner demons of panic and fear. ‘Then deal with the hordes above ground.’

  Maaka whistled; the sound rattled low from his raspy throat.
They needed the were-dogs to compensate the vast and unexpected numbers of their foe. He could only hope the were-dogs were within distance to hear his call. Ignoring the pain assailing his battered body, he ran into the smoke, using his second eyelids as a film protecting his eyes. It would protect and improve his vision. With each step he lengthened his stride, a weapon of destruction as he slashed his way clear. The Half-dead faltered on seeing him; enough hesitation for Maaka to cut them down where they stood.

  He raced on.

  He centred his breathing, straining his ears for any foreign sounds that would detect the location of hover crafts armed with alien technology.

  The smoke dissipated and the main bulk of the Half-dead army lay behind him. Any stragglers he came upon were dealt swift justice with his axe and sword. Rises of rubble and earth choked with grey, brittle weeds lay before him. Somewhere in the labyrinth of tunnels and caves beneath his sweet Sherise was imprisoned.

  A hover craft zoomed towards him. Twin propellers at the rear spun so rapidly the blades were a blur, driving the craft faster than a man could run. A rounded black fabric that looked as tough as leather completely encircled the craft and bulged from beneath. It was similar to the craft that had haunted him since the darkest day of his life.

  Till now.

  By Leon’s beard, could the Teacher be here? Was it he who had given the alien weapons to the Half-dead?

  Maaka’s blood charged hot in his veins. A red mist of fury flooded his mind.

  If he has hurt her, he will pay for eternity.

  The craft changed direction, tilting sideways; he recognised the tactic. It was lining up to fire. The vehicle was so close he saw the grinning features of the pilot in the cockpit and the Puridean soldiers manning various weapon stations along both sides. Then the Corporation is aiding the Half-dead. He increased his pace. His legs working like machines, he covered the short distance between them and leapt.

  Straight into the open cargo area of the hover craft.

  He landed on both feet, knees slightly bent, body curved into a half-crouch. One step forward and he swept his axe in a horizontal line. The heads of the soldiers closest to him loped to the ground. Blood and body fluids splattered the surfaces like sluggish raindrops.

  The craft jerked and tilted in the opposite direction.

  Impact punched into his chest. Sufficient to send him reeling on his feet. Plitza shot, deflected by the tikka armour.

  His sweet Sherise.

  He smiled, regaining his balance. He would give no quarter. The blade of his sword flashed as he whirled his weapon. First left, then right.

  Seconds later the cargo area was awash with a scatter pattern of blood, fragments of limbs and broken bodies, like a grotesque painting. The stench of spent body fluids was so ripe even his hardened stomach churned. He spun to face the pilot who shot him a terrified look and dived off the craft. The craft jolted, angling towards the earth.

  Time to leave.

  Maaka jumped. He landed, rolled on his shoulders and pushed to his feet in one swift movement. He sheathed his sword, looped his axe to his belt and raced off, following the trail of several Half-dead as they retreated to their barrows.

  Behind him, the hover craft slammed into the ground and exploded.

  Chapter 25

  Sherise regained consciousness to find she was slumped over a creature’s shoulder. Her head thumped against its back as it loped in an uneven gait. Pain slashed across her temple. She squeezed her eyes shut. Her head whirled and throbbed in equal measure. A sickly sweet stench mixed with the smell of decay and damp earth filled her nostrils.

  Maaka, had he fallen?

  By burying her pain, she delved deep into her empath ability. He was not near but she sensed the comfort of his essence. Whether it was the truth or her inability to accept anything less, she knew Maaka still lived. She opened her eyes a tiny centon and lifted her head, clamping down on an ache that would surely split her head in two.

  A tunnel. Shadows flickered on the rock walls cast by the light from burning torches wedged into fissures. She heard the scrape and shuffle of many feet mingling with the wheezing breaths of creatures and shuddered.

  I am in one of those mounds, no, barrows, Maaka called them.

  Moisture dripped from her scalp. A droplet ran into her mouth as she laboured to fill her lungs with air. She recognised that metallic taste; blood. Any minute now she would vomit.

  Her body pulsed with pain but she suspected her full body armour had taken the brunt of the blast. Hanging half upside down and being jolted as she was carried added to her misery.

  She attempted to push the pain to one side of her mind and herd her disjointed thoughts into a cohesive pattern. White hot agony splintered like a jagged sword through her head and she sucked down a scream. The faintest of whispers, a tender caress of concern swept through her mind and Maaka’s essence reached her heart. The fog of pain lifted. Her thoughts crystallised.

  Locate Maaka.

  Her nano blade snicked into her hands. She raised the knife and prepared to strike it into the Half-dead’s arse.

  The creature stopped. The next instant she was thrown through the air. She landed hard. Pain streaked through her body, temporarily blinding her. Her weapon slipped through her limp fingers. Gasping, she curved into a foetal position and rolled onto her side to protect her damaged ribs, expecting to feel a rain of fists and boots. But nothing happened.

  They have left me alone. The roar of her heartbeats diminished. Sharp rocks dug into her body but failed to penetrate her armour. Her body was one heaving mass of pain and her teeth clattered together in an uncontrolled symphony of noise. The stench she drew in with every breath stung her nostrils. Beneath her tightly squeezed lids, her eyes watered and moisture dribbled down her cheeks.

  Her arms wrapped about her ribs, she prised open her eyes to take stock of her surroundings. Her sensors were totally damaged now, nothing but horizontal lines. She inched her hand from her side and flicked off the display. When she activated the comms she heard the crackle and hiss of white noise. No way of making contact with the others. She tapped in another sequence and her helmet flipped open and retreated inside her armour.

  The armour encasing her right hand had ripped apart near her knuckles and there was a long jagged tear from the palm of her left hand to her wrist, rendering her nano gloves all but useless. But they had protected her hands and fingers from any broken bones. She tugged them off and tossed the remains aside.

  Tiny, feathery pricks scurried across her forehead. She reared up, sank her teeth deep into her lip to capture her squeal of surprise, then brushed her hand over her face.

  What was that? Oh Cercis, is it in my hair?

  Sherise brushed at her hair, until a movement caught her eyes. A tiny insect with multiple furry legs scuttled under a rock. She sucked in a short, shaky breath.

  Focus. Assess my injuries. Plan an escape.

  It took her several attempts of fumbling in her satchel, but she retrieved her shayote and activated the sensors. White noise added to the confusion in her mind. Disjointed data scrolled down. It fuzzed and zapped, hurting her eyes, then steadied.

  Thank you, Cercis. One badly bruised rib which accounted for the fire in her chest and bruising from head to toe; but she was relatively unhurt. She shoved the shayote back into her bag and jabbed a pain med into the side of her neck. With the edge taken off, she was able to concentrate.

  The wavering torchlight cut the darkness revealing moss-covered rock walls. Her gaze travelled over the ground. A chill slivered up her spine at the gleam of bones amidst the pebbles and clods of earth that littered the cave floor. Another captive lay within touching distance, his hands bounds, crusted blood dried to his white face. Beneath his ragged, brown tunic the man’s chest rose and fell with each shallow breath.

  At least I have found one of the people taken from the settlement. More may be close by—more may be alive. A shadow crossed the wall and she spun round, hissin
g as fire streaked like a lightning burn over her breast bone. The Half-dead paid no attention to her as it hurried past, carrying a metal box. What did it contain? Was there a cache of blasters and plitza guns hidden here? She frowned. The creature appeared to be retracing the way Sherise had come … heading for the surface?

  If weapons were stored here, then she must ensure they were destroyed. Perhaps the tide of the war raging above might turn in their favour. From the sound of footsteps, she surmised there were quite a number of Half-deads roaming the tunnels. Why where they not involved in the battle? What if they were the second wave and were busy arming themselves at this very moment? Outnumbered, the Lycaneans and her people could be over-run and all would be lost.

  Time was not on their side.

  She sank her teeth deep into her lower lip when the man stirred. The weapons could wait a while longer.

  On her knees she shimmied closer to the injured man. A quick analysis with her shayote revealed his injuries to be non-life threatening and uttered a brief prayer of thanks. That lump on his head was no doubt responsible for his lack of consciousness. Her fingers fumbled with the knotted rope but she soon had his hands free. From her satchel she produced a small vial. Unscrewing the lid, she held it under his nose. The man snorted and opened a pair of blood-shot eyes. When she placed a finger on his lips, he managed a nod of understanding. Sherise administered an injection for his pain and quickly repacked her satchel.

  She leaner closer and whispered, ‘Can you walk?’

  In response, he rolled onto his side and pushed to his knees. His breathing was laboured but Sherise was certain he would be able to walk unaided.

  ‘Are there others?’

  ‘Yeah.’ The man jerked his head towards the dark entrance of the tunnel closest to them. ‘I was down there, too, but managed to crawl this far before I passed out again.’