The IX

by Andrew P. Weston

  Eyeing the distance between the injured men and the howling ghouls, he assessed their chances of reaching the dyke safely. Thirty, perhaps thirty-five feet? They’ll never make it.

  “What are you doing?” he bellowed to the catapult captains. “Waiting for a bloody invitation? Fire!”

  As the officers turned to reissue his command, they were staggered by a blast of immense proportions. A huge front segment of the Horde ranks abruptly disappeared amid a blinding inferno that forced most onlookers to duck down behind the buttress.

  What in the name of Mars was that?

  Ears ringing, Marcus looked around and noticed everyone had been frozen to the spot. He glanced up. Flyers? “Flyers!” he shouted, pointing into the air.

  A cheer erupted from the gathered defenders as the squadron of drones dropped from the sky. Splitting into two formations, one flight continued to harry the monsters gathered before the inner gates, while the other divided into smaller groups and made a beeline for the Bosses scattered throughout the arc and along the battlements.

  Further detonations rocked the city. Marcus felt the familiar tug of the pressure variance caused by the activation of the strange, futuristic weapons. Reality bent and warped in one place after another as hundreds of monsters were crushed out of existence.

  He peered over the top of the battlements, using his binoculars to zoom in on the far wall. And still they pour through the magic breach. Is there no end to this perversion?

  He jumped as the heavy cannons beside him went into action. The deep thud-thud-thud-thud of their cyclic pattern created a distinctive counterpoint to the higher tones of the lighter machine guns that quickly joined in.

  Scanning further along the buttress, Marcus espied several familiar faces. Ah, I see Lieutenant McDonald has spared a contingent of his men to come to our aid.

  He gazed back down into the horror of no-man’s-land, relief flooding through him as he realized a number of flyers had taken up holding patterns above the heads of the fleeing survivors.

  They’re going to make it after all.

  As if in answer to his prayer, a cluster of reverberating booms and flashes of lightning broke out at various points along the main parapet.

  “The beast masters are thwarted!” someone shouted.

  Sure enough, when Marcus surveyed the region of each outburst, he could see the widespread panic the drones had caused. A number of Controllers had obviously perished, and the aftermath of the gravity fluctuations were still wreaking havoc on Horde and environment alike.

  The few Bosses still remaining began to flee.

  As the last one disappeared into a portal, the glittering curtain protecting the front of their army frittered away. The massed ranks of the Horde stalled, as if robbed of their motivating force.

  A moment’s silence ensued. Then a twang from somewhere further along the barbican announced the release of an arrow. Burning with pitch, it arced through the air and fell squarely in the center of the secondary moat. The iron and tar mixture blazed into life, and the survivors making their way toward the gates shouted in jubilation. The sound of their voices jarred everyone back into action.

  The ghouls moved first.

  They hadn’t taken more than a few steps before the robot guns adjusted their targeting trajectory and started decimating the center mass of their ranks.

  Then the archers and ballistae operators opened fire.

  The air was filled with a lethal mixture of spiteful-looking barbs, three-foot long steel bolts, and thousands of rounds.

  Down below, a swarm of explosions ripped from one end of the Horde charge to the other, setting off a chain reaction of secondary detonations that forced Marcus to flinch. A multitude of ogres was consumed. Yet despite their catastrophic losses they continued to advance, pressed forward from behind by eager reinforcements and the mindless need to consume life force.

  Cold reality clutched at his bowels. At this rate, we cannot possibly survive.

  He tried to judge how many soldiers and other refugees still remained. It would appear Amelius isn’t the only one who may have to sacrifice his men this day.

  As Marcus calculated how many warriors would be required to hold the enemy at bay, he was approached by a legionnaire officer. The soldier was limping, badly bruised, and covered in burns. It took Marcus a moment to recognize Flavius’s optio, Antonius Septimus.

  “Antonius? How fares the upper wall?”

  “It persists, Colonel. The flying machines have cleared it of all infestation, and remain to guard against further incursions.” His face fell. “Pity they could not have arrived sooner.”

  Something in the way Antonius spoke conveyed a deeper meaning.

  “What of Flavius?” Marcus asked. “Galerius? Tiberius?”

  Antonius shook his head. His shoulders dropped.

  “Survivors?”

  “A mere twenty of us, Sir. I’m sorry we could not do more.”

  “You did enough, Antonius. More than enough. The Ninth Legion will be remembered with honor this day, for we did what others could not. Even though it cost us dearly, we protected those in our care from abominations such as this.”

  He gestured, and both men turned to look out into what remained of the arc of death.

  Heedless of the bullets that shredded their essences, regardless of the iron fragments that rained mercilessly down on them, the monsters continued pressing relentlessly on.

  Marcus added, “How could so few of us ever hope to stand against such numbers? Or their mindless willingness to expend themselves?”

  Antonius didn’t answer. A haunted look in his eyes, he stared mutely down into the carnage that had been their last, best hope against defeat.

  He’s in shock. And who can blame him?

  “Get yourself and your men to the transporter,” Marcus advised gently. “Your fight is over. Those of us who remain here will suffice.”

  Or die trying.

  *

  As Ayria Solram entered the counseling wing, she was struck by how large the ward looked without people to fill it. James Houston’s suite was at the other end of the module, and the click of her heels echoed around the room as she walked along the central aisle.

  It’s so quiet in here. But at least it’s kept him out of the way until the last moment. I’d better call for an escort though, just in case he gets agitated when I take him out into the open. Although the ships aren’t here, the fighting is bound to unsettle him.

  She was about to activate her com-link when she discerned the drone of a TV report in the background. He wouldn’t be watching the same old thing again . . . would he?

  Pausing outside his door, she craned her neck to listen.

  “That was the awful moment when the Shivan-Estre met her end. For reasons as yet unknown, her navigational beacon malfunctioned. Appearing from rip-space only . . .”

  Oh, for goodness’ sake. How does he not get bored by—

  “. . . you kidding? I’ll never let that happen to me again. I’d rather die . . .”

  Stunned, Ayria held her breath. She recognized Houston’s voice right away. But something about the manner in which he spoke troubled her. It’s almost as if he’s engaged in an actual conversation with someone.

  In an effort to gain greater clarity, she placed her ear against one of the panels and closed her eyes. For some reason, the gesture only made her feel lightheaded.

  Houston was still speaking. “. . . that I hated the most was the isolation. The terrible loneliness of confinement. Being that close to someone and yet unable to utter a single coherent thought because of the mutating effect of the transition. Nobody should have to go through that. Or what you yourself have had to endure, come to that. You say you can help me prevent it? Then do something, quickly, for goodness’ . . .”

  Confinement? Mutation? Prevent what?

  The feeling of dizziness persisted. Ayria was forced to brace herself against the doorframe to stop herself from falling. Even so, her curiosit
y prevented her from calling out for help, as it now sounded as if Houston were actually arguing with someone.

  “. . . me to wait? Why? Who for? Don’t you appreciate the risk? If we delay any longer, there’s a danger I won’t be able to shed this . . .”

  Ayria’s stomach growled and she felt a lump rising in her throat.

  I’d better get this over with. I feel like I might vomit if I don’t get into the fresh air soon.

  Grasping the handle, Ayria opened the door without knocking. She walked swiftly inside. “Come on, James, time to g—” Oh my God!

  Frozen like a deer in headlights, Ayria willed herself to turn and run, but her legs refused to obey. She attempted to think of something that might delay the inevitable, but her mind congealed into a screaming nub of shock.

  Struggling to breathe, she was only vaguely aware that James Houston existed, for her attention had been captured by his visitor. A twelve foot tall apparition of crimson and blue radiance, crowned with dancing flames.

  CHAPTER FORTY

  Endgame

  “Did you see that?” Bob Neville’s voice hissed via the radio. “Over on the southern quadrant. Sector six. Focus on the gatehouse parapet. Here, I’ll light it up with the laser.”

  Andy Webb scuttled to one side, homing in on the scarlet hotspot. Concentrating, he soon understood what had caught his partner’s eye.

  “Got it,” he murmured, “well spotted! It looks like the Bosses are back, though they seem to be happy to stay out of the spotlight.”

  Amending his resolution, Andy studied his target. He had an idea.

  I wonder?

  A swift check along the entire rim of the main battlements gave him his answer.

  “It looks like they’re popping up all over the place. I knew the retreat would leave us open to counterattack. They’re pouring through that breach now, and there’s nothing we can do to stop them spreading out. I think they’re trying to circumvent the chokepoint by using the higher barbican.” He scanned along the higher levels. “Damn! They can get within a few hundred yards of this quadrangle without exposing themselves to fire.”

  Kneeling up, Andy shuffled round from his position to survey the crowd of refugees surrounding the transporter pad below him. He caught sight of a familiar face. “Bob? Run down and have a word with Sam, would you? He’s just sent Commander Cameron up to the Arch of Winter, so he’s exactly where we need him. Take him to one side and update him personally regarding this latest development. Then ask him, from me, to adjust the parameter of the cannons to include those passages. If we have uninvited guests, I want them to get a large slice of fuck-off cake as soon as they show their faces.”

  Bob grinned, flashed a thumbs-up, and scampered off.

  Right, let’s see what else these assholes are up to.

  Resuming his position, Andy continued analyzing the unfolding drama before him. He noticed a gradual change taking place within the sea of grunts down in the arc. Instead of simply pressing forward as they had been up until now, the latest arrivals were flooding toward the abandoned facilities lining the edge of the fields. He knew from experience that many of those buildings had contained direct access to other portions of the city. Although each section had been collapsed in on itself and filled with a lethal network of steel and other debris, he realized the Horde would make short work of those barricades without anything to distract them.

  Hello? Looks like the Controllers are calling for backup.

  He looked slowly from side to side, studying every tactical facet of the walls that came to his attention. Now, where would I go?

  Selecting a quadrant along the western rampart, he allowed his eyes to relax, let his focus turn inward, phased out the sounds of battle, and settled to wait.

  The minutes ticked slowly by.

  A burst of light glared forth from within the confines of a nearby gallery.

  There!

  Smirking in satisfaction, Andy initiated an open com-link, and moved the sights of his weapon onto the relevant area. “All units, all units, stand-by,” he calmly announced. “We have an incursion on the western perimeter of the Magister’s courtyard. Repeat. We have an incursion by Horde Masters along the western perimeter of the Magister’s courtyard. Level three. Sub corridor one. Enemy forces have just materialized two hundred yards along the main passageway . . . Wait!”

  He paused to fire an armor-piercing round toward a Boss that had stuck its head out too far.

  Zing!

  An area not one yard in front of the monster’s face blushed deep red as the bullet ricocheted harmlessly away from its barrier.

  “I say again,” he resumed, “enemy forces have materialized within the main passageway along from the square, and are hidden from the sight of the flyers. Mine details? Please respond to the threat. Sam? Get those bloody guns online, and send a message to orbital control to reassign some of the drones.”

  Andy was abruptly overcome by a feeling that someone had walked across his grave. He shivered, and an icy fingernail continued scratching its way down his spine.

  What the hell?

  He sensed danger approaching from behind.

  Turning, Andy glimpsed two glowing masses lumbering toward him. Swathed in purple and neon-blue flames, each was adorned with a coronet that looked as if shooting stars had somehow been captured in midflight, and placed in orbit around their heads.

  He had nowhere to go.

  In desperation he lunged for his satchel, fumbling with the flap that concealed his personal supply of mini micro-grenades.

  Too late. The beasts were upon him.

  He tensed, and his skin prickled for the briefest heartbeat as the nimbus of their auras grazed his prone figure. Then the sensation passed.

  What? Why didn’t they . . . ?

  Flipping onto his front, he watched, amazed, as both Masters ran past him and jumped down into the quadrangle below. As they landed next to the fountain, their compatriots in the adjacent hallway came spilling out, followed by a howling pack of ghouls.

  People screamed and began to run, every-which-way at once.

  Guttural snarls ripped back and forth between the two Horde parties.

  Jesus! It’ll be a bloodbath.

  Overcoming his astonishment, Andy managed to grab a mine from his pack.

  The growling intensified, and the larger group of brutes moved toward the isolated Bosses, sandwiching a group of civilians between them.

  Perfect, how can I take them out now?

  “Contact! Contact!” he yelled into his microphone. “Third tier, Magister’s courtyard. I need emergency response teams here on the double. Be advised, non-combatants are caught in the crossfire; I say again, we have non-combatants in the arena. Exercise caution when firing.”

  Dropping his grenade, Andy snatched up a machine gun from an equipment bag and drew a bead on the closest grunts. C’mon, you bastards. Get out from behind your Bosses and see how long you last.

  The two Controllers that had ignored him dropped into defensive crouches. Scintillating bands of power appeared between their talons. No sooner had the plasma fused into concentrated balls of light than they slammed their hands together, sending a vicious shockwave radiating toward their opposite numbers.

  The shields of the rival Masters hissed and stuttered as they absorbed the potency of the attack. Washing over and around the extremities of those barriers, the energy ribbons continued on, coiling around the spooks taking cover behind them.

  The vitality of every unprotected ogre on the landing was torn apart, and the victorious assailants fed greedily on their essences.

  I don’t believe it! Are they . . . ?

  Stomping sideways, the largest of the nearer Bosses made a sweeping motion with the back of its paw, and most of the trapped human stragglers were swept unceremoniously aside and away from danger.

  Most, but not all.

  The smaller Controller surged forward, adopting a protective stance above the terrified woman still ca
ught in the danger zone. Andy watched, incredulously, as a silver-blue curtain glittered to the floor around the unlikely pair.

  He . . . Jeesus! That’s Jayden. It’s protecting her?

  The lone Master attacked the other Controllers again. On this occasion, it hammered them with a coherent beam of arcane puissance so powerful it bruised the color of their shields black.

  The paired Bosses responded with a dual counterstrike.

  Bloody hell! I’d better let the others in on this.

  “All units, all units, sit-rep,” Andy said. “Be advised, along with non-combatants we have friendly Horde forces on the loose in the area of the Magister’s courtyard. I repeat. Some of the Horde Masters you see are on our sid–”

  Blazing bands of lightning arced through the air, scorching columns and spars alike. Andy was forced to duck and roll away from a bolt that fried his sniper post to molten slag. Peeking over the rim, he saw that the enemy Bosses had managed to erect fresh shields and were now coordinating their assault on the solitary Controller. Approaching from opposite sides, they kept it on the retreat until they were within touching distance.

  Evidently, this was exactly what the lone Master had been waiting for. A scarlet nimbus bloomed into view around its talons. Punching outward, it perforated the defensive shells of its attackers and grasped them by their wrists. Flexing mightily, it yanked them even closer, and unleashed a stunning wave of theurgy that flowed outward from its matrix and into its fellow ogres’. The addition of all that extra power disrupted their thresholds and warped their ability to generate effective shields. Before Andy realized what had happened, their defenses had frittered away in a crackling discharge.

  Battling to maintain its grip, the Boss looked back over its shoulder and stared directly into Andy’s soul. Baleful red eyes flared, and a compulsion echoed in the ether between them.

  Duty.

  I understand, Andy replied.

  Scrambling back across the parapet, Andy snatched up his discarded grenade, pressed the button, and threw it toward the struggling ogres.

  The brave Master watched it coming. Opening its jaws, it swallowed the device whole, then heaved with all its strength to ensure its victims couldn’t get away. Its aura abruptly darkened as it was subjected to an overwhelming constriction that distorted its essence like a crushed soda can. It gripped its struggling brethren all the tighter. In moments, they too succumbed to the effects of the micro-singularity.