“Yeah, except that these skeletons will probably still work when you crank them up,” Sam ventured. “If they’re powered by aqua-cells as the commander hinted, we could have an alternate escape route off this rock, right there in front of us.”
“Link your HUDs together,” Mac directed, “capture everything you can. The guys back at base need as much live-time information as possible for an accurate review once we’ve wrapped things up here.” That reminds me.
Mac’s com-set was strapped to the inside of his left forearm. Using the keypad, he compressed the data into a condensed file, and prepared to send it back to Rhomane. Had he been on Earth, Mac would only have needed to enter the command ‘send’ and a satellite link would have completed the rest of the task. Here, he would have to transmit the information via the skidder parked out at the entrance.
He hailed the driver of that craft. “Nick? Can you hear me?”
“Yes, I’m here,” an anxious voice replied. “Do you . . . do you want me to come on through now?”
“In a moment. I’m sending you an important document for the operations room. Relay it on to them immediately. Once they’ve confirmed its receipt, you can join us.”
“Okay. You . . . you’re sending it now, yes?”
“It’s on the way,” Mac replied, as he pressed the button.
“Got it.” There was a slight pause as Nick transferred the information on as requested. “All done,” he confirmed. “S . . . so I can drive the skidder through now?”
Mac could hear how nervous Nick was. They’re not used to this kind of pressure. I’d better get them busy and take their minds off things. Aloud, he replied, “That’s right Nick. If you would be so kind as to take charge of your crew? Make sure they have their weapons ready, just in case, but leave the safety catches on for now. Fingers are to remain alongside the guard unless you know you need to fire. That’s not going to happen, though. The only Horde we’ve passed are all dormant within the confines of the subway, up on the gantries. A few have spilled out into the road, so travel slow, and keep between the flares.”
“Will do. I’m on my way.”
Mac had an idea. “I’m sending Jumper and Stu back down the tunnel to meet you. Their stealth armor will be active, but we’ll get them to trigger a green-colored glow-rod to mark their positions. They’ll walk you through the rest of the way.”
“Thanks, Mac. Much appreciated.”
Mac nodded toward his comrades, and they scuttled back into the underpass. Once they had disappeared from sight, Mac spoke quietly with Sam Pell. He indicated the second building along the eastern quarter. “That’s our target. The way looks relatively clear, so I don’t want to go snooping about in there until we have to. We’ve got a few minutes, how about we check out the nearest ship?”
“What, go off mission?”
“Not exactly. After all, we are here to gain intelligence as well.” Mac set his sights on a small shuttled-sized vehicle parked only fifty yards away. The front side hatch was open and a short platform had been lowered to the ground, presumably by its previous occupants. Directing Sam’s attention toward it, he continued, “It’s close. It’s open, and we only need take a look. If we can record the state of the interior and what controls it employs, someone back at base might know how to power it up and fly it. Just think of the tactical advantage it would give us. We’ll be in and out before Nick and the rest rejoin us.”
“What the hell,” Sam replied, “let’s do it.”
Scampering forward, the two men quickly closed on the abandoned craft. When they were ten yards from it, Mac made a looping gesture with the index fingers of both hands. They split up. Advancing in opposite directions, they commenced a slow circle of the ship.
Spinning constantly, Mac surveyed the area about him. The silence was otherworldly, and he had to fight down the feeling that something was going to jump out on him at any moment. The sensation increased as he met up with Sam below the open door. So where the hell are they? “Anything?”
“Not a squeak, Boss. For a place that’s supposed to be overrun with Horde, it’s a bit of an anticlimax.”
“Unless they’re taking shelter? Like back in the tunnel?”
“There’s only one way to find out for sure.”
“I’ll leave my camera on the rotating bandwidth,” Mac cautioned. “You switch yours to lowlight. Take in everything you can.”
Side by side, the specialists crept their way up the tiered ramp. Entering through the hatch, they emerged inside what appeared to be a reception area. A swift check determined the front compartment housed a spacious flight deck, while the first rearward section contained the crew’s quarters. A heavily armored archway led through to the back hold.
After ensuring to record anything that might be of value, Mac decided it was time to check out the cargo area. “C’mon, let’s get this finished and meet up with the others.”
Stepping forward, they discovered the huge doors were automatic. As he passed through, Mac staggered, overcome by sudden vertigo. Next to him, Sam also stumbled. Urging his colleague into a kneeling position, Mac whispered, “Check your radiation monitor. Something’s not right here.”
Glancing at his own patch, Mac could see the indicator was still showing green. Strange? Peering forward, he noticed the interior of the storeroom was masked by a large container. Squeezing Sam by the shoulder, he said, “You go left, I’ll go right. Complete a figure-of-eight sweep of what’s on the other side and then we’ll get out of here, just in case we’re being dosed with something that doesn’t show up on our monitors. Agreed?”
“Yes, yes.”
With infinite care, the two men shuffled forward.
Mac skirted the edge of the barrier and felt a tingling sensation in the air. He flicked his weapon’s safety to the off position. Discerning that nothing else was moving within the compartment, he lingered for a moment to take stock before pressing on. As Mac maneuvered past the crate, he was presented with a confusing spectacle.
A gray void hung in midair. An asperity, rent through the specifics of reality. Mac backtracked and hissed, “Sam, retreat now. Get out, get out.”
He’d only managed to take a few steps when the gyre flared, and a wave of dizzying proportions radiated from the anomaly. A sudden vacuum sucked the air from his lungs, and he was crushed to the floor. Forced to crawl, Mac scrambled into a corner and raised his machine gun into a firing position.
What the fu . . . ?
He froze as a shadow cast by an alternate dimension canted his senses like a ship in a storm. A twelve foot high apparition appeared. Sheathed in purple-blue radiance, and with a dancing coronet of violet and crimson flames above its head, it took a moment to gain its bearings before stomping toward Mac like an auger of doom.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Lessons
Marcus Brutus strode through the entrance portico, marveling again at the handiwork of the artisans who had fashioned the building directly from the fabric of the wall. Although completely unadorned, the grace and finesse of the joints and seam work was unlike anything he had ever seen.
Since his arrival, Marcus had done his best to accustom both himself and his men to their new surroundings. Their responsibility now was the defense of this city, and as such, he had insisted everyone avail themselves of the vast storehouse of knowledge contained within Rhomane’s Great Library. Especially where it appertained to lydium and its uses.
As he climbed the stairs, Marcus ran his fingers along the impossibly smooth texture of the edifice before him.
It’s without blemish. Not one nick or scar mars its perfection.
Created from super-dense, super-cooled, fermionic bombardment, lydium was impossible to manipulate once it was fashioned into its preferred form, and warmed above absolute zero. In the case of the Utility Archive he now found himself in, the matrix had been encouraged to flow out from the bulk of the wall to form the frame of the building itself. A procedure adopted at a number of import
ant structures around the outer rim.
Arriving at the level he desired, Marcus paused and removed his sword from its scabbard. Adjusting his grip, he slammed the pommel against the structure as hard as he could. A dull, metallic peal chimed along the hallways, causing a few men to pause in their work and look up. Ignoring them, Marcus peered closely at the area he had just struck.
Not a scratch. Fire doesn’t warm it. Bullets don’t shake a single fleck loose. Even acid has no sting against such obstinacy.
He stepped onto a raised gantry positioned between two towers.
The only exception is this one small area, here. The site of the impact.
Marcus placed his hand against the unyielding stone. Apart from an almost indiscernible difference in temperature, the wall looked and felt exactly the same as everywhere else. Both overwhelming and oblique.
I can’t even begin to imagine the power that would be needed to break something so solid. So permanent. But the majesty of the Horde’s focus is terrifying. Such strength and savagery. I daren’t leave anything to chance.
His fingers came away wet, stained in ochre.
Ah, the oxidized mix hasn’t dried here yet. I wonder if that has anything to do with the anomaly?
Turning, Marcus was caught in the rays of the setting sun, reflected from the citadel. Bathed in fire, he couldn’t resist closing his eyes and reveling in memories of better times. Of Gaul and Rome, and family and friends, sorely missed.
A shout from outside intruded on his solitude. Gripping the rail, Marcus strained to listen in on the exchange. He recognized the bark of one of his centurions, Decimus Martinas. Decimus’s voice was as deep as a bullfrog’s in heat, and three times as loud. Whoever was arguing with him was fighting a losing battle.
That’ll teach them.
Marcus grinned as he discerned the identity of the whiner.
Doesn’t that man ever run out of things to complain about?
Hurrying down, Marcus went to see what Houston had done this time.
*
The two entities suspended within the confining lattice strained for release. Although dulled by a seeming eternity spent trapped in isolation, their senses ached in the presence of so much eldritch life force. One such concentration of sustenance was tantalizingly close. If only it had been possible for them to just reach out and touch that elusive other, they would have gained the vitality needed to break free of their restricted existence. They groaned in mutual longing and agony.
Their memories were fragmented, reluctant to respond to mundane thought. Neither could remember how they had come to be in such a position, or for how long they had been there. Their only certainty was a vague knowing that there had been a time before this void when they had existed elsewhere. Such a notion felt right. Solid. Factual. But any attempt to capture and clarify such comprehension resulted in a stagnant splintering of focus that centered on their immediate need to feed. Here. Now.
Puissant resonances chimed among the energy nodes. Exerting its sight, one of the entities noticed a flaring outburst of passion congealing among the lesser lights nearby. The beacon was like a neon-red invitation. The captive mind tried to reach out and mesh with that other essence, to blend with it and convey the import of a message it felt compelled to utter. Yett no sooner had it made the attempt than it forgot what it needed to say.
Coldly, dispassionately, it consigned itself to wait.
There were many other sources nearby. Perhaps an opportunity to express itself would arise if it waited a little longer.
*
Everything turned white as a glaring flash claimed his senses.
A moment of dislocation followed and the world tipped alarmingly. The floor rushed up to meet him and Houston hit the ground, hard. He shook his head in a vain attempt to reclaim the wits that had just been knocked into orbit.
The ringing in his ears eventually subsided, only to be replaced by the throbbing ache of his jaw. Confused, Houston opened his eyes. Outlined by the illumination of solar beacons, a darkened cliff loomed before him, wavering behind a constellation of spangled stars. The more Houston blinked, the worse they swarmed his vision with glittering pinpricks of light that refused to dissipate.
Spitting out blood, Houston rolled onto his knees and tried to stand up. Unknown hands helped him to his feet. He heard a voice at his side, close to his ear. “Can you hear me, James? Are you all right?”
“Wilson? What in the. . . ?” His vision refused to clear.
The wall of rock dancing within his field of view rumbled forward, clarifying into a bull-necked man of impressive physique.
“What did you have to hit him so hard for?” Wilson Smith complained. “He’s a captain in the United St–”
“Was a captain,” Decimus Martinas barked, cutting off the younger man’s protestation, “just as I was a centurion. And while our hosts have extended us a degree of courtesy in line with our previous standing, those ranks don’t mean a thing here.” Glaring at Houston, he raised a great ham of a fist and snarled, “Here we earn our honor. Our names. And you’d better get that through your thick skull. Because if you don’t, I’ll be happy to educate you on the way things really are. You’ve upset enough people as it is. Don’t make things any harder than they have to be.”
Houston’s face burned crimson. He pushed himself away from his cousin, and attempted to stand unaided. Bastard! I won’t forget this. “Well, you’ve certainly shown everyone how a lack of education expresses itself,” he drawled, his voice laced with sarcasm. “Is that the only way you know how to settle a difference of opinion where you come from? ‘I can’t think, but look, I can hit?’”
Several other legionnaires standing close by bristled at the jibe. Decimus took a threatening step closer, his gazed turned to ice. “You seek to provoke me. That would be unwise, little man, for while I come from a simpler era than you, we didn’t lack for sophistication. You forget. Many of the great monuments of Rome were built by soldiers like me. And it would surprise you, the kind of things you have to learn to be able to complete such undertakings. The principles governing the use of alchemy and compounds, for example, are fraught with risk. Mixed in the correct sequence and right quantities, certain elements are quite safe to handle or imbibe. In the wrong measures, however, such substances may prove . . . troublesome.”
The menace in Decimus’s tone was evident. As was his meaning. He advanced on the hapless cavalry officer again, maintaining eye contact to add weight to his words.
Houston felt like a mouse caught in the gaze of a cobra. He stumbled backward. Don’t you dare, you swine. You’ve already shamed me in front of my men once. He struggled to keep the fear from showing on his face.
Decimus continued, “And we haven’t even considered the physical laws regarding inertia or fulcrums yet. My dear man, did you know that if you apply a minimal amount of pressure, in exactly the right place at the most opportune moment, seemingly immovable objects can be brought tumbling down?” His hand abruptly snaked out. Catching Houston squarely on the forehead with his index finger, Decimus caught his opponent off guard and dumped him onto his backside. The shock of the maneuver sent the wind whooshing from Houston’s lungs.
Cruel laughter split the thickening gloom.
The centurion looked around his men, and then back to Houston. Biting off each word, he snapped, “So no, little man. This isn’t the only way I know of to settle disputes. I can resort to any number of options, both physical and intellectual to put you in your place. Try my patience again, and I’ll demonstrate a more . . . inventive method to you.”
“Do what you want,” Houston retorted, “I’m glad I’ll never be like you. Lackey!”
The centurion shrugged, unconcerned by the riposte. “And so you should be, murderer. For under our law we would have gathered as a cohort to draw lots. Those chosen would have been given the responsibility of beating you to death. Only then would the reproach against our honor be cleansed. You might want to think on tha
t before you resort to subterfuge in future.”
Decimus turned on his heel and stalked away. He was quickly followed by a gaggle of his officers, many of whom congratulated him slapping him heartily on the back.
Houston was distraught.
Wilson Smith and a number of soldiers from Second Platoon rushed to their fallen commander’s aid.
“That was uncalled for, Sir,” Sergeant Adam Wainwright spluttered, “and cowardly. You did well to control yourself.”
Control myself, my ass. That gorilla would have torn me apart. “Thank you, Sergeant. It would seem not all officers are gentlemen. There’s a time and place to resort to violence. And that imbecile obviously doesn’t know the difference.” But I do.
Houston noticed someone watching them from back in the shadows, by the utilities building. Marcus Brutus?
Realizing he’d been spotted, Marcus strode confidently toward the tight knot of men until he stood before the disheveled captain. It looked to Houston as if the other man were on the verge of saying something, but then he obviously thought better of it. Sighing deeply, Marcus drummed the fingers of one hand against his thigh, and delivered a withering look that conveyed bitter disappointment.
Houston glanced down, noticing the action had left a smear of red and bronze paint on Marcus’s skirt. Before Houston could think of anything to say, Marcus shook his head, waved dismissively, and stalked from the scene.
“What do you make of that?” Wilson gasped. “Rudeness seems to be a requirement among their lot.” His sentiment was quickly echoed among the team.
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