by Aeryn Leigh
"You don't sound too confident."
"We're kind of making it up as we go along."
"Are you now."
"Well, yes, we didn't even know you were here." Laurie suddenly felt like he was back in fourth grade primary school. "Ma'am."
"Is that so."
"Marietta — General Marietta Versetti — sent us here to obtain research documents. It was supposed to be an easy in and out. Kinda."
"My daughter sent you on a suicide mission, didn't she?"
"The odds weren't great, no. But Merrion believed the fortress could be taken."
"And here you are. Barely a squad. Vikings by your side."
"Bloody oath." The two groups stared at each other. "You want to take command, fine. But no one takes my weapons or my squad. Or breaks it up. General."
"If that is your wish, so be it." She marched right up to him. "Disobey my orders once more, however, and I will throw you down that hole. Understood?"
"Yes, General."
Her green eyes wandered down and saw the sword close up for the first time. One eyebrow raised. "The King's Sword of Hffylson. And not on his son, Beowulf," tipping her head to the Viking, "but on you instead."
"My father is dead," said Beowulf, bowing ever so slightly.
"King Beowulf Hffylson, here as he lives and breathes. How are you mixed up with this lot? Never mind. Lieutenant Colonel, what is the status of our enemy and weaponry?"
"We defeated one battalion upon arrival, followed by a second. The third, inside this mountain, is nowhere to be seen bar token resistance. We believe the rest of the division is at the base of the fortress gates. As for weaponry, well — a sizable Inquisition armoury is just behind the throne room. And outside is full of poison gas," said Merrion.
"I see. Merrion, a private word please. Thank you, Captain. Take your men and hold the entrance of this tunnel. Dismissed. Oh, King Hffylson, if you could help get my army up, by all means do so. And what are those ugly metal sticks you are carrying?"
MERRION STOOD in front of General Versetti, as the elevator creaked in the near distance, the two of them alone. The single oil lantern flickered on the far rock wall. "We all thought you dead. I saw the mass burial pits myself, General. With uniforms from the First and Proud." He dropped his head.
"And the Council? They approved of this mission?"
"The Council is no more. Their heads were sent back in boxes, and were most certainly genuine."
General Versetti's eyes widened. "So, who is in charge?"
"Your daughter was promoted to general by the remaining military nobles and proclaimed the new Commander of the Republic via popular vote."
"And the Republic and her territories?"
Merrion sighed. "Only Fairholm remains. The Second Army was destroyed covering the retreat. An invasion fleet stands off the Bay of Harmony. We barely repulsed the first wave with the reserve Third, with the newcomers help, nine months ago. We sustained severe losses, the Third is effectively no more."
The words bounced off the stone. "Only Fairholm." Her lips snarled.
Merrion, a man not wholly unaccustomed to people's rage, shrank back as Sarah Versetti's anger turned ice-cold. "Marietta's plan was to steal the poison gas blueprints and use it against the Emperor. At this point, based on my projections, there is no way we can defeat the Inquisition given their resources and military personnel. It is a desperate plan, and foolish, yes."
"The act of pure desperation can sometimes show the path, dear nephew. Merrion, your calf dagger and holster. Thank you." She strapped the weapon to her bare right leg. Her voice a monotone. "I cannot stand half-measures, treating us as forgotten vermin, or such treachery at the Truce Accords. They should have killed us when they had the chance. And for that, and their sick tortures, Gods help me Merrion, I will exterminate every single last one, just like my daughter intends."
She reached down and pulled out the dagger, its blade gleaming in the soft light. "Major?" Brutowsky made his way over, and saluted. She began cutting off her dreadlocked hair, until only stubble remained on her head. "We are not the First and Proud anymore. As of this moment, we are the First and Last. Pass the word." She sheathed the dagger, and dropped the last section of matted hair. "Vale the First and Proud."
Chapter Seventy-Nine
IT ALL ENDS NOW
FIRE. Flame. An inferno of pain. Her life amounted to nothing. Dying in the depths of hell, betraying the trust and responsibility of those who loved her. Amelia begged her to stay, yet she left. Helena begged her to stay, and still she broke her heart, as her girlfriend cried at the train platform in London, as Ella departed with Amelia and Victoria, in the spring of '38.
And because of that, Helena and her child Elizabeth returned to her birthplace in Hamburg, to be closer to her. Them.
Dead, because of her.
The daemon came toward her, glowing in ethereal green bioluminescent majesty, a picture of primal horror. Upside down on the roof of the tunnel, the giant half-spider half-mantis-cicada moved each of its eight limbs, with six on the roof — the front pair of limbs dangling all the way down to the floor where razor-sharp bones, wait, no its elbows scraped across the stone as in its hands, with opposable thumbs — it held the ripped off limbs of its smaller brethren like swords.
The nightmare was real. She couldn't move. The nightmare approached, and she tried to whimper but no sound came out then it was overhead and — it kept on going. A cluster of one thousand shining eyes gazed right at her and swivelled tracking her as it moved past, down the corridor, the sound of its rhythmic clicking like daggers in her mind.
She breathed out in relief. It turned, then stopped. The bulb eyes never broke eye contact as it moved back toward her, and the radiant glow faded as Ella scrambled backward, over Rob, moving on her hands and knees dragging the gun with her as those razor limbs opened wide as all faded to black —
Wait.
The gun.
She had a gun.
Ella Gruder carried a gun.
Her girlfriend was right with her, loyal even in death. Her girlfriend was the most beautiful, loyal, trusting, gentle lover of life she'd ever known but now she was the gun. The gauntlets on her hands. Helena was the protector of life, of love. Air rushed past her face as the daemon moved to point-blank range and Ella Gruder raised her girlfriend and whispered her name as her gloved fingers pressed both triggers and the Drilling spat violence. The explosion of light shattered the dark as two solid shotgun slugs and a large-bore rifle round bored right through the cluster of eyes and the daemon burst into green light as its momentum slammed into her side spinning her around.
Ella sprang upright as her leg glowed white-hot in pain. She didn't register the fact that she hadn't stayed upright as she fell back down bringing the butt of the hunting rifle down upon the daemon's head, and kept smashing it flat repeatedly as the daemon's hot liquid blood sprayed over her face. She screamed her lover's name and yelled into the abyss I am Ella, I love women, I will not hide it anymore. The lies end the deceit ends. It all ends now. I am sorry I am sorry.
And the abyss whispered back: thank you.
Ella Gruder slipped back into unconsciousness, her body shining.
HER EYE FLICKED OPEN. The body of the dead daemon filled her vision, glowing softly, bathing the tunnel in soft blue. She pulled herself upright, noticing she too, glowed where the blood had sprayed. One of its broken limb swords had pierced her calf, her left calf, the limb as thick as her big toe and covered in black furry spikes like a boar-bristled hairbrush.
It wasn't coming out. Her hands went to touch it, but something made her stop. Ella grimaced. She dragged herself and the gun over to Rob through the tangled limbs, through a narrow gap, and checked on him. Still breathing. The splatter of liquid covering her, and Helena glowed softly too.
Verdammt it hurt. Everything hurt.
She hadn't been dreaming. The monster was real.
The monsters were real, and they could be killed. She p
ulled out the metal case under Rob's head, lifted the lid and broke open Helena's stock, removed the empty shells and cartridge, and reloaded the gun, putting the empties back in the case.
The other gun. She swore as she realised the PPK pistol had been strapped to her right calf the whole time. Terror had insidious ways of messing with your logical self. OK, woman, you have two guns. Not that the Walther PPK would do much damage, looking right at the alien carapace, but still, better than nothing. With effort Ella replaced the case under his head, and fished out the last skin of fresh-melt. She gave some to Rob and took a mouthful just as the shakes started, as the trauma physically and mentally caught up to her and said hello, time for a good kicking.
The wormhole. Another world. Two suns. Giant metal robots and insects. Ella tried to shrug the avalanche of bizarre off, but it smothered her. The corpse of the massive alien creature lay just like a dead spider on a windowsill — upside down and legs up and bent.
She opened the duffel bag and rummaged around for the last remaining wad of painkiller leaves as the pain rolled across her in ebbs and flows. Munching on them, she used Helena as a crutch to get off the ground, and with the glowing limb stuck in her calf as light, dragged both her speared leg and the sled once more down the tunnel, chanting her daughter's name through grinding teeth.
Chapter Eighty
SO BE IT
ELLA FLITTED in and out of consciousness. She could no longer hold her weight standing, as her leg with the alien spike had gone completely numb. But she kept moving, pulling the sled and Rob on her hands and one knee whenever she came round, the dim green light now feebly lighting the tunnel. Had she been down here for years? Months? Pain was her only friend, every time she awoke on the warm stone floor, her face smashed hard against it.
Pain. Moving. Amelia. Who was she? Another corridor, another bend, another blackout. My daughter. An illusion. There is just pain, and me.
It couldn't be long before she'd fall asleep and never wake up. Or was she already dead? Is this purgatory?
Just one more corridor. Didn't I say that last corridor?
Ella went around the corner, and saw the light. The pinprick of light an eternity away.
AS THE LIGHT GREW LARGER, the corridor's floor deteriorated, the polished, smooth surface pockmarked with craters no bigger than a pea, and the tunnel begun to hold the bones and carcasses of the long dead.
The light. Ella towed Rob along the tunnel with renewed vigour even as the sled caught repeatedly on potholes. Weaving past the bones of humans and monsters, past dust-covered weapons, past other tunnel openings, until they reached the source of the light.
A massive doorway, and what lay inside sent the last vanguard of adrenaline shooting into her system, snapping her awake.
She stopped at the threshold.
A cathedral like no other lay before her, columns towering far into the air. A dozen Sistine Chapels would fit inside the space. At the rear, on the far end of the space, lead-light windows showed murals that would make Michelangelo weep in joy. Some were broken, and sunbeams streamed through, falling upon the centre dais.
And between the threshold and the dais, a mausoleum of the dead, hundreds and hundreds of the spider-things, some large, some small, but all just as capable of killing twenty-fold men in their sleep.
All around the cathedral, the signs of battle, broken pillars, bullet holes the size of her head taking chunks out of stone everywhere to be seen.
But the dais. The elevated dais which held a throne. A throne for a God. A silver-white armoured God sat in the mighty chair, surrounded by grey-black armoured figures ten-feet tall.
Next to the God, they looked like toddlers.
It looked like their last stand. Surrounding the dais the bodies of the vanquished.
There was no clear path to pull the sled. Leaving it, Ella crawled along the hallway, dragging her dead leg, one hand holding Helena, under arches of dust-covered limbs and over mounds of bones, in and out of craters, making her way to the dais.
The figure on the throne became clearer. It sat in the chair weary, but victorious. A wolf's head and pelt draped around one shoulder, a wolf large enough to give pause, as big as a mammoth’s skull. And the weapon it held across its lap. Mein Gott. In contrast to the giant god, of sleek lines and beauty, the weapon screamed Death with a capital D. Ugly as hell, pure, utter function over form.
Two-thirds across, Ella made a detour around an armoured spider — tank? so big it competed with the silver figure for sheer maddening size, a foot-wide hole vaporising, piercing right through it end to end. Through the hole, she could see the God's weapon of destruction.
She finished navigating the distance, and at last Ella reached the base of the platform.
On her hands and elbows, she fought the incline, and pulled herself along, up each step. The dais was clear of bodies, and in the shadows of the gigantic figures above she crawled. They too were covered in dust.
And so was the God, as she collapsed onto her back upon reaching the top. Everything in this room, was dead, long dead. She tried to laugh but couldn't. All this way, for help. For nothing. Her bones would join them.
The nearest armoured figure stood only meters away. A figure of engraved-metal death, holding in one steel fist a massive warhammer. The other arm had no hand, instead a sword ringed with thousands of tiny blades protruded outward, and an inbuilt Gatling-type gun in the forearm.
You. You bastard. You and your Gott summoned me here, and for what, to die? She shuffled sideways, until she came to its metal boots. You bastard. She slammed her fist against it. The pain was but a blip. Why?
Ella started crying. Her head fell upon the top of its boot, her hair spilling out, and tears fell for the first time in eons.
She halted the tears. It was silent, dust motes played in the sunbeams above.
So be it. Today is the day I die.
She closed her eye, and reached for her necklaces. One fell from her, oh, so tired fingers.
Her gift from Amelia brushed past her cheek in a warm caress, and tinkled against the figure's armour.
The armour came alive.
Chapter Eighty-One
METAL EYES
ELLA TRIED TO SCRAMBLE AWAY, as the armoured knight's torso swivelled to match the forward orientation of its legs. The sound of pressurised air as seals broke, little white jets erupting all over it and as Ella scrambled backward on her butt dragging her dead leg the armoured suit dropped to one knee, and burst open like a flower, metallic petals unfolding.
Inside was a cockpit.
A cockpit like no other and through Ella's single open eye, even taking in the complete bizarreness of the technology that's what it was. A pilot sitting inside it.
Supernovas of pain exploded in her left forearm. In her mad scramble backward, a few of the inch-long black spikes from the buried spear pierced the thin leather sleeve of the flight jacket.
Ella screamed. The scream ripped from her stomach and diaphragm.
A soft humming sound came from the suit as the pain surpassed Ella's ability to issue sound. From its warhammer-holding forearm, small flaps opened, like a tiny bomb-bay and an ornate dagger emerged, glowing with faint blue light, somehow floating by its own accord.
If Ella hadn't been in so much pain she might have found the sight fascinating, even awe-inspiring. The pain. Her arm was molten lava.
A voice came from inside the depths of the suit. She stared blankly. It repeated the phrase again, a string of vowels and consonants that sounded, funnily enough, like the language the Vikings spoke natively, but even more foreign. She shook her head. Through gritted teeth she barely got out in German. "I don't understand."
The hovering dagger shrugged.
Only much later when she had time to think about it, did she realise how weird it was for her to know it shrugged.
Something stung her neck. Immediately the pain stopped. All of it. And with it, Ella's ability to control her muscles because her torso fell
back onto the stone dais. Ella could only blink and watch as the metal dagger moved to over the centre of her body, rotated so the hilt faced her, and projected a conical blue beam that spread and enveloped her entire body, waves of stronger blue beams starting at her feet and moving up the length of her prone body.
The cone of light vanished.
A noise behind her.
At the same moment, a small blue light appeared at the dagger's tip then exploded in an ever-increasing circle of blue and from the corner of her eye Ella watched the light illuminate the entire cathedral then pass right through the walls.
The dagger made a long drawn out sound, and now with the absence of pain replaced by sheer terror Ella discounted the possibility that it just sighed. She tried to gulp as a huge blue screen projected right over her, directly in front of her vision.
Ella had seen nothing like it. The display was slightly see-through, and right in the middle an outline of a human figure. A graphical representation of a human figure. All round it streams of Viking text and symbols scrolled down and off the screen. On the human drawing, multiple areas flashed red.
More now of the foreign language she couldn't understand boomed from the suit. It took a few moments before Ella realised the diagram represented her. The left leg glowed red. Its forearm also pulsated red. Her head was a lighter shade, but still red.
The fourth red dot right where the lower abdomen would be.
A croak came from her lips. Instantly the diagram zoomed in right onto the lower torso and the childlike lines grew ever more detailed, then the inside of the display bulged to show a three-dimensional reproduction of the inside of a human body.
Her female body. Ella saw her hipbones, spine, her pelvic floor, and her reproductive system in perfect detail. The same anatomy diagrams as in her mother's textbooks. It pulsated, and Ella saw what should have been normal-looking fallopian tubes and uterus were — rotten, deformed, covered in cancerous, bulbous growths.