The Deathworms of Kratos [The Expendables 1]

by Richard Avery

  He reached for his laser rifle. Experimentally, he burned the leading death worm neatly in two. There was a moment or two of convulsion, then both parts began to operate independently. What was even more surprising was that none of the others attacked or attempted to devour their wounded comrade. They simply continued their forward drive as if nothing untoward had happened. Or as if there was a compulsion that superseded their basic programme. So much, thought Conrad, for Kwango’s elegant theories.

  Then he started burning systematically. Heads and tails. Heads and tails. With both brains gone, the centre section became inert. But still the surviving death worms did not stop to devour the bodies. He had accounted for at least eight death worms by the time the three men in the exo-skeletons arrived on the scene.

  Conrad took the chopper up to four hundred metres.

  He did not relish the notion of being blown out of the sky by a nitro bomb.

  He radioed. “Let them have one, Mr. Andreas, at a range of about five hundred metres. Try to drop it in the middle of the swarm, where they are packed closest together. I want to see what effect it has.”

  “O.K. Commander. One egg coming up… Hey, Kwango, you are the hot-shot boy. Scramble one of yours in the middle of that mess of animated king-size spaghetti.”

  “To hear is to obey,” said Kwango. “Note the style, white man. You may learn something.”

  “I bet they scatter on the first blast.” Conrad identified the voice as Batista’s.

  “Bet they don’t.” That was Andreas.

  “Next ration of booze?”

  “Yeah, Fidel, next ration of booze.”

  Conrad saw the exo-skeleton in the centre raise its right arm. The throw was beautifully executed. So beautifully executed that, for a moment, it was possible to think of the eight-metre exo-skeleton in which Kwango was harnessed as a living thing in its own right. One of the great legs stretched backwards, seeking and finding secure purchase; then the right arm swung laterally to and fro, reminding Conrad of an Olympic discus thrower limbering up.

  Suddenly, the metal arm whipped forward and the nitro bomb soared on its long trajectory.

  Kwango had placed his bomb perfectly. The centre of the swarm erupted into a great spout of soil, blood, steam, fragmented death worms. At least ten of the loathsome creatures had been blown to bits. But it did not stop the rest. They did not scatter. They did not attempt to devour what remained of their comrades. They pressed on stoically.

  “Howzat!” Kwango’s voice.

  “Shit and damnation! I have just lost my booze ration.” The words, precisely articulated, with only the merest hint of accent, came from Fidel Batista.

  Andreas laughed. “Don’t worry, sonny boy. We take this lot out and you drink at my expense.”

  “Mr. Andreas,” said Conrad, “deliver three more. Go for the centre again. Try to cut the swarm in half.”

  Three arms rose in unison. Three more nitro bombs dropped in the centre of the advancing death worms. The swarm exploded grotesquely. Bizarre fragments and gobbets hurled up into the air to rain horribly on the dead, the wounded and the survivors.

  Conrad watched, marvelling. The survivors seemed utterly indifferent to the attack. They simply thrashed their way through the mangled remains, gouging great uneven ruts through flesh and soft earth. It was as if they were all possessed by a common purpose, for which they would sacrifice anything. And from the direction in which they were heading, it seemed as if that common purpose was an attack on the Santa Maria stockade. Conrad tried to visualise the massed weight of maybe a couple of hundred death worms against the wooden barrier. A lot of the creatures would perish on the sharpened stakes. But some would get through. He knew it.

  “Use your remaining bombs at will,” he radioed. “Then fall back to the stockade and use laser rifles. They must not be allowed to breach it… Santa Maria, do you read me?”

  “I read you, Commander,” answered Lieutenant Smith. “I’m getting it oil the screens. Do you think we can stop them?”

  “Don’t know. Instruct Matthew to look in emergency blast-off programme, set for critical ten from now. We may not be stopping them, but at least we are slowing the bastards down.”

  The remaining nitro bombs began to explode. More horrendous destruction. The death worms didn’t want to know. The survivors, more than a hundred and fifty of them still came on, their vast obscene shapes rippling with fantastic power.

  Andreas said: “All bombs away, maestro. We are going back, as per instructions.”

  Kwango’s voice came in. “Not to worry, Commander. They don’t want the Santa Maria. They don’t want us.”

  “How do you know that, Kwango? Make it fast, and no funnies.”

  “Because they have small brains. They don’t know about space ships, aliens, any damn thing. They operate under a simple bio-programme. I’d stake my life on it.”

  “You may have to. But suppose their bio-programme, as you call it, tells them they have to pass where we built the stockade?”

  Kwango laughed. “If they find they can’t go through it, they’ll go round it. I hope.”

  Conrad sighed. “I hope so, too. We don’t seem to have made much of a dent in these creatures… This bio-programme—have you any idea what it is?”

  “Yes, but I don’t wish to commit myself just now.”

  “Kwango, you will bloody commit yourself, or I will burn you out of that exo-skeleton. This is no time for coyness.”

  “O.K. Commander. Cool it. I think some kind of migration is in progress.”

  “Let’s hope you are right. Now get back to the stockade and defend it. I’ll come down low and burn as many as I can while my laser pile lasts.”

  “I wish you wouldn’t, Commander. We may have critically reduced their number already. I want to find out what they are up to. It has nothing to do with us. Of that, I’m certain.”

  “You mean, if they bypass the stockade, you want to track them?”

  “Exactly that.”

  “Well, you are the only expert we have. So far, you are jumps ahead of the rest of us. All right, I’ll accept your recommendation. Let’s all get back and sweat it out.”

  Kwango, amazingly, was proved right. The death worms did attempt to force the stockade, but not seriously. When half a dozen of them had perished on the sharpened stakes, the rest went round on either side. Conrad ordered the Expendables to hold their laser fire as the monstrous army streamed past. The very ground vibrated with their movements. Even the Santa Maria shook.

  Conrad stepped out of the chopper and gazed up at the towering star-ship, fascinated. For one dreadful moment, he thought it might shake itself to pieces. Then the crisis was over. The death worms had gone.

  “Abort emergency blast-off programme, Lieutenant Smith. Do you read me?”

  “I read you. Programme aborted at minus three minutes thirty-seven seconds.”

  Conrad put the transceiver back in his pocket and turned to Kwango, who had just emerged from the harness of his exo-skeleton.

  “So you were right.”

  “Sorry, Commander. It’s a habit I’m not trying too hard to kick.”

  Conrad grinned. “Kurt, you are one hell of a clown, but you seem to have fluency. Further recommendations?”

  “Like I said, we track them.”

  “Where do you think they are going?”

  Kwango shrugged. “Look at the direction. Where else but Mount Conrad, Commander?”

  “Why?”

  Kwango said solemnly: “The way I see it, we got woman trouble. Let’s go find out, shall we? After we have eaten, of course. My! I’m hungry! It must be all this crazy killing.”

  PHASE THREE The Rape of the Queen

  The sight was no less than utterly astounding. Around the great artificial dome that Kwango had jokingly named Mount Conrad all the migrant death worms had assembled themselves. They looked like monstrous spokes radiating from the hub of a giant wheel, their ninety metres bodies stretched at full length
in ruts on the soft ground.

  Every five seconds—Conrad had timed it—each death worm lifted its massive head and brought it down with a thud. It was all done in perfect unison, though, as far as could be seen, no signals were given. The precision of the operation, thought Conrad, could not have been bettered by the Brigade of Space Guards.

  Matthew had been instructed to leave the hovercar —which Conrad had grounded five hundred metres from the nearest death worm—and take a count of the creatures. He reported that there were one hundred and fifty-seven.

  One hundred and fifty-seven three-ton heads hitting dirt simultaneously. No wonder the ground shook.

  No wonder fragments of the dome began to fall from its smooth sides.

  Besides Matthew, Conrad had brought Lieutenant Smith and Kwango with him in the armoured hovercar. The rest, under the command of Andreas, had been left to see to the security of the stockade and the star-ship.

  Conrad glanced at his wristwatch. It had been agreed that contact with the Santa Maria would be maintained every fifteen E-minutes. He reached for the hovercar’s transceiver.

  “Come in, Santa Maria. Come in Santa Maria. Do you read me? Over.”

  “Santa Maria to Groundbug, I read you loud and clear. Andreas reporting. All well. No activity inside stockade. All systems function. How goes it with you, Boss?”

  “We have a box at a super-colossal floor show. We are watching a ring of death worms all pound their heads rhythmically on the ground at the base of Mount Conrad.”

  “Any problems, Boss?”

  “No problems—yet. And you?”

  “No problems. Le Gros and James are taking more samples from the critters that tried to come through instead of round.” There was a chuckle. “James has been sick twice, but she has managed to dig out a brain for analysis. That girl has got guts as well as big tits. Le Gros is trying to develop a nasty kind of poison to paralyse the central nervous system of the worms. Two of the robots are cleaning out the filtration system of the recycling unit, and the third is knocking up something special for dinner. They are all on thirty-second stand-to. O.K.?”

  “O.K… Andreas, you haven’t programmed for the ail-American beefburger again, have you?”

  “Sure have, Commander. You’ll learn to love it.”

  “Over and out.”

  “Over and out.”

  Conrad stared through the hovercar screen. With each simultaneous thud from one hundred and fifty-seven three-ton heads, the hovercar shook and, more significantly, large chunks of the synthetic hill began to fall away, creating miniature landslides.

  “You’d think it was their intention to wreck the joint,” said Conrad to no one in particular.

  “They are signalling,” remarked Kwango confidently. “I think I know what it’s all about. It’s a battle challenge, and I think I know why.”

  Conrad glanced at him. Kwango, he thought, was a very brilliant and very irritating man. He got his kicks from springing unpleasant surprises with consummate timing.

  “O.K. big genius. You want me to ask why, so I’ll ask: Why?”

  “Cherchez la femme,” retorted Kwango enigmatically. “By the way, Commander, a whole heap of very angry grey death worms are going to put in an appearance pretty damn soon. I don’t know what direction they are going to come from, but I would not like it to be right behind us.”

  Conrad suppressed an impulse to lift Kwango out of his seat with his prosthetic arm and hang one on him. It was only because the black man was being deliberately infuriating that he did not do it.

  Instead, Conrad said mildly to the robot: “Matthew, take a laser rifle, station yourself eight hundred metres to our rear, report on any movement of creatures designated as death worms. Maintain radio contact at five minute intervals. Execute.”

  “Decision noted, Commander. Execution proceeds.” Matthew took a rifle and left the hovercar.

  Indira spoke. “James, I would like to take a closer look at this ritual. May I do so?”

  Conrad was momentarily confused. Things had not been too good between himself and Indira Smith for some time. Yet now she called him James. The hazards of leaving the hovercar and approaching those enigmatic monsters were obvious. Should he slap her down, or let her have her way?

  “It’s a hell of a risk. What if they register your presence and don’t like it?”

  Indira touched her thighs. “These tin legs are my insurance. I can do a hundred metres in seven seconds. I could run all day at forty kilometres an hour if I had to. There is no danger.”

  “That’s where you are wrong. On Kratos there is always bloody danger—as long as we have to live with the death worms… But, I take your point. You are, as they say, exceptionally endowed. So take a look-see if you want to, but don’t get too confident. Kwango and I will cover you with laser rifles. If anything nasty develops, come back at fifty k.p.h. If your route is blocked or if, for any reason, we have to pull out, you make your own way back to the stockade. Agreed?”

  “Agreed, James. Thank you.”

  Indira picked up her laser rifle, got out of the hovercar and cautiously approached the ring of apparently self-hypnotised death worms. They did not register her presence, being wholly absorbed in their ground-shaking ritual. She moved in closer, until she was actually between the end segments of two of the death worms. She inspected the end segments carefully, fighting the feeling of nausea they inspired. The tails were similar to the heads of the monstrous creatures, except that the hideous mouth and eyes were shrunken and almost covered by folds of flesh. Crazily, Indira was reminded of a human penis in cold weather. A super-colossal yet shrunken penis. She cut the thought. It was too disconcerting.

  Conrad watched her anxiously from the hovercar.

  Kwango said: “Don’t let her stay too long, Boss. I got a feeling we’re going to get a piece of the action.”

  Before Conrad could say anything, Matthew reported. “Death worms approaching, Commander. Number visible, zero nine. Estimated distance one point seven kilometres. Estimated speed, twenty-five k.p.h. Do you .have instructions?”

  “I have instructions. Return to hovercar at maximum speed. Execute.”

  “Decision noted. Execution pro—” Conrad cut Matthew out and radioed Indira. “Pull back at the double, Lieutenant Smith. We have visitors.”

  There was no acknowledgment, no response. There, five hundred metres away, plainly visible, Indira was calmly inspecting the end segment of one of the creatures.

  Conrad cursed, tried again. Again there was no response. Maybe her transceiver wasn’t working. Maybe she had switched the goddamn thing off.

  “Shall I go get her?” enquired Kwango.

  Conrad shook his head. “I’m not risking two for the price of one.” He glanced through the rear window of the hovercar. Matthew was running like the wind. But there was a wave of death worms behind him. They, too, were making good speed. And their numbers had increased. Conrad saw that there were at least thirty, probably more. The bastards must have been popping up out of the ground. Which, of course, was to be expected.

  He started the hovercar engine, and looked for an out. There was no out. By the time the hovercar had lifted and started moving it would be outflanked. Matthew tumbled back on board.

  “Kill the motor!” said Kwango.

  “They may not like the sound of it. If we are quiet, we still have a chance.”

  Conrad cut the engine. Then he tried to call Indira once more. No response.

  But, at least, she seemed to be aware of what was happening. Probably, she had felt the new vibrations in the ground. She turned and saw the advancing wave. She stood still, as if mesmerised.

  By the time Matthew had reached the hovercar, the nearest of the creatures was less than two hundred metres behind him. The curved line of approaching death worms now stretched as far as the eye could see. The ground and the hovercar shook violently as the fantastic creatures ploughed over and through the soft ground.

  “Run, damn
you!” shouted Conrad into the transceiver. “Let’s see you do that hundred metres in seven seconds. Smith, that’s an order! Run.”

  But Lieutenant Smith still stood, as if petrified. Conrad swore.

  Meanwhile, two of the monstrous things were already passing on either side of the hovercar. They were travelling so fast that the great, moist, rippling bodies were no more than blurs of movement. One of them brushed against the armoured car, tilting it crazily for a second or two. For a terrible moment, Conrad thought the vehicle might turn over; but somehow it righted itself with a teeth-rattling jolt.

  Suddenly, the wave was past. The immediate danger to the hovercar and its occupants was receding. Conrad stared through the windscreen. One of the monsters seemed to be heading straight for Lieutenant Smith.

  Conrad reached for his laser rifle. “I’m going to get out and start burning,” he said. “If the bastards turn, lift off and head back to the stockade as fast as you can.”

  “Don’t,” advised Kwango. “Commander, we came to collect vital data. If the ritual is interrupted it may be some time before we get another chance. Indira accepted the risk. This is her party.”

  Conrad said: “I wish you wouldn’t be so bloody right, Kwango, at all the wrong times… Do you know any prayers, black man?”

  “Boss, I been praying devoutly and silently for the last two minutes.”

  Both of them peered intently through the windscreen.

  The death worm approaching Indira had registered her presence. It was now no more than three metres from her. It raised its massive head to strike out and engulf its prey. But as the head lunged forward, Lieutenant Smith sprang high into the air—a mighty leap of five metres or more. She landed perfectly on the back of the death worm’s head. Then she ran along the entire length of its body and leaped off the tail—all this before the creature realised what was happening.

  She fell badly, because the tail flicked as she jumped. But she picked herself up and made straight for the hovercar.

  As Kwango helped her aboard, Conrad wiped the sweat from his forehead.

  “Lieutenant Smith, you are a bloody nut,” he said harshly. “Don’t ever play such games again.”