by Ian Whates
“We will use your long association with the creature to draw it out, to bring its psyche into the open. If you’re willing.”
Bait. The prospect didn’t exactly thrill him, but Cornische was forever conscious of the part he’d played in enabling Mudball’s ambitions. “Consider yourself invited,” he’d said.
“Thank you. The experience is unlikely to be a pleasant one.”
Nor had Raider been wrong. Sensations of nausea, of hot and cold, of vertigo, of pressure, pain and discomfort now swept through Cornische in waves, one after the other in random order. He lost all awareness of the outside world, his attention turned inward with none to spare for anything other than his own internal torment, and no means by which to interpret even that.
He had a sense of something tearing, of something being shredded. Indescribable pain shot through him and someone screamed. But not him. This issued from one of the gods contesting within his mind, and he had no reference, no means of telling which it might be.
The human psyche wasn’t built for such misuse. Despite his determination not to succumb, Cornische felt consciousness slipping away, darkness reaching out to claim him.
No, he screamed at the stygian wall that rose up before him. I won’t let it end like this!
Jen could hear the sounds of battle ahead. Not some incidental little scuffle, this promised to be the real thing. She had quartered and quartered after losing the blood trail, moving far more swiftly in shadow than she could in physical form, but had seen no sign of Haaland.
Frustration now gave way to hope: of course he would have sought the main body of his forces – safety in numbers.
She sped along the corridor, emerging into a vast chamber where the most surreal battle she had ever seen was unfolding. At another time she might have stopped and stared, but she had more important things on her mind this day.
There! At the back and at some remove from the conflict: Haaland, in a hoverchair that had to be some sort of mobile medical unit. With him were a smattering of guards and a handful of others, presumably advisors and Saflik higher ups. She didn’t spare them a second glance, her attention focussed on Haaland, the bastard whose unwanted advances had driven her out of the Night Hammers and ended her military career, the man who had led the proudest regiment in the army into exile and disgrace.
There were shadows aplenty to mask her approach, racing along the floor and merging with those of Haaland and his party. She stepped out into the physical world directly in front of him.
No mistake this time. She relished the recognition in his eyes, the burgeoning look of horror on his face, as she cut his throat.
There followed a dance that had become second nature to her, flickering in and out of shadow, stabbing, cutting, ducking, spinning, kicking, as one by one the hapless guards fell to her blades.
There was always a frissant of risk, a chance that one of them would get lucky with an unexpected thrust or swing of a blade, but not this time. Five guards, all down. Three men not in uniform scampering for escape, fleeing away from the battle.
She might have let them go, but then she recognised one of them and pursued in shadow, to emerge in front of them, knives drawn.
The way they came stumbling to a halt, crashing into each other, was almost comical.
“Hello, Donal,” she said to the foremost of the three. “Leaving so soon?
“It’s Martin these days,” he said. “No one’s called me Donal in a long while.”
“I can understand why you’d want to distance yourself. Hunting down and assassinating your former crewmates, your friends, must do that to a person.” She smiled at the former Angel. “You know what comes next.”
“Look, this doesn’t have to end in violence,” said one of Donal’s companions – a slightly rotund individual who was panting for breath after having had to run. “I’m wealthy beyond your imagining. We can all leave here together and live out our days in luxury.”
“You must be Ungar,” Jen said coldly. “The captain’s mentioned you. The head of Saflik, he believes.”
“Quite so. Saflik is gone, finished after this endeavour, but the wealth…”
He got no further. One of Jen’s blades flicked out, leaving a red line across his throat. “That’s for Saavi,” she said, “and for Gabriel, Spirit, and the others.”
Ungar’s eyes bulged. He started to lift a hand but to no avail, as blood pumped from the gaping wound and he died. His body dropped to the ground like a marionette set free.
“Jen, you have to understand…” Donal began.
She stabbed him in the heart. It was a quicker death than he deserved, but the blood lust had exhausted itself long before, leaving her tired of the killing. It was all about efficiency now.
That just left the last man. “Archer, I presume,” she said. The corrupt First Solar agent.
He didn’t reply, but held a gun levelled at her. Almost disappointed, she stepped into shadow as he fired. And she screamed as pain lanced through her. The shock of it was as disabling as the pain. This reminded her of the weapon Saflik agents had used against her when she first encountered them in Sketch’s basement back in Opal. The one that could reach even into shadow.
Jen sought refuge, trying to hide in Archer’s own shadow, but he anticipated the move and pointed the gun downwards to fire again. She fled behind him, narrowly avoiding being hit for a second time but feeling the backwash of the blast even so.
She emerged into the physical world, seeing no point in staying where she couldn’t hurt him but he could her.
“I never thought I would get this pleasure,” he said, turning to face her. “I’ve supervised the assassination of many of your kind, but to have the honour of killing one of you in person… Thank you.” He fired again.
Jen threw herself out of the way, landing shoulder first, rolling and coming out in a crouch. As she did so, she threw one of her knives. They weren’t really intended as throwing blades, but she had no qualms about improvising. Her aim was true, the blade striking him just below the left shoulder, causing him to stagger back and the gun to waver.
She followed up by charging. A couple of strides and she was on him, but he fired again, catching her at close range.
This time the pain was beyond anything she’d experienced before, and she knew she couldn’t stay conscious for long. As oblivion swept over her, she stabbed and stabbed and stabbed.
Movement off to her left caught Leesa’s attention. She looked across and finally learned where Jen was: flickering in and out of shadow, meting out death at every turn.
Three figures broke away from the mêlée, running. More fool them. Jen was on them in a trice, blocking their way. Leesa was too far away to hear what was said but watched as events unfurled, wishing Jen would hurry up and do what she obviously intended to; then perhaps they could finally regroup. Leesa would feel a lot better with Shadow at her side once more. Then, to her horror, she saw Jen shot by the last of the three, watched as they grappled and both went down.
“Jen!” She felt torn: stay with Mosi and the captain or head across to help Jen.
Mosi, of course. She didn’t know if he’d even spotted Jen as yet, but Geminum could cover the distance and check on her wellbeing far more swiftly than she could.
Before she could ask him, a sound unlike anything she had heard before tore through her being. A scream of pain, of frustration, of complete despair. A scream that reached her not only via her ears but directly into her mind, her soul.
Wiping away tears, Leesa searched for the source, and saw that it emanated from the bloated effigy of Mudball that had led the Saflik assault. The creature was coming apart. Literally. There was no blood, no chunks of flesh dropping off to spin away from its body, but sections of that vast bulk were disappearing, as if consumed by some invisible attacker. This was not a coordinated winnowing in which the Elder manifestation simply shrank, keeping its proportions, but rather a random process where i
ts form twisted and transformed with each lost element.
Beside her, the captain uttered a groan and simply wilted to the ground. He slumped beside Billy, who by this point was unconscious or worse. She instinctively reached for him but stopped as bullets ripped into the wall behind them.
Her attention switched back to the battle, but it wasn’t a battle any more, it had become a rout. Saflik and even Night Hammer forces were in full retreat, leaving the thrashing, shrinking form of the god they had followed behind.
Most of them were charging straight towards her and Geminum: the last two Dark Angels, who stood between those fleeing and the main exit.
Leesa glanced at Mosi, seeing fear in his eyes, and resignation. “Mosi, Naj, if this is the end, it’s been a pleasure knowing you.”
“You too, Lees.”
They took aim and started firing.
This ‘last stand’ had barely begun when something struck Leesa from behind.
Not an energy beam or a bullet, something much broader than that, like the slap of a giant open-palmed hand. At first she assumed it was a concussion round, but the effect was not as severe and it kept coming – a continuous push. With it there was sound: a bass howling as of wind channelled through a long fat tube.
Mosi had been knocked over but seemed otherwise unhurt. The same could not be said of the Saflik troops who had been rushing towards them. The effect on them was devastating; the charge broken, the retreat stalled. A wide channel carved through their ragged ranks, with individuals bowled over or flung far and wide. Leesa realised that whatever she had felt was no more than the edge of what had just hit the soldiers. She and Mosi were not the intended targets, just collateral damage. She looked behind her. From the corridor by which she and the other Dark Angels had entered the chamber, appeared…
“Xters.” Mosi whispered the word in astonishment.
Leesa could understand why. Xters were the only other extant sentient species mankind had ever encountered, but the two races were anathema to one another and rarely mingled. To humans, Xters smelled appalling and their manner of movement was deeply unsettling at a primordial level. By all accounts, Xters had a similar reaction to humans, so the two civilisations co-existed by ignoring one another as much as possible, despite being neighbours.
Leesa had been raised on Dinares IV, an Xter colony world on the edge of human space, where a small scientific community had been established in the hope of greater understanding and furthering relations between the two species. This was where she had received her first augmentations, adjustments that allowed her to breathe an atmosphere which was ideal for Xters but not quite for humans.
Despite this upbringing, Leesa had rarely been close to an Xter, and her instinctive response to the aliens was much the same as anyone else’s. She was, perhaps, just a little better at hiding it.
Seven, no eight of the aliens now emerged from the corridor, their darting scuttling movements as disconcerting as ever, their segmented bodies low to the ground. For the most part these individuals utilised a four-legged gait rather than the more natural six, because their forelimbs were raised and occupied with holding several outlandish items – weapons and devices which could only be Elder tech.
“They are on our side,” Raider said in her ear.”
“Xters… seriously? Who the hell are they?”
“They are termed the Demon’s Breath, and are the Xter equivalent of the Dark Angels,” Raider explained, as if it were the most natural thing in the world. “My champions in waiting should the need arise.”
She had no idea what to say to that.
“You may leave the fighting to them at this point,” Raider assured her. “Go to Shadow. She still lives but is gravely injured.”
“What about the captain?”
“He is beyond your help, as is Frame, but Shadow can be saved, if she receives treatment quickly. Even now, human forces are sweeping through the corridors in the Xters’ wake and will arrive here shortly. Leave the remaining Saflik forces to them and the Xters.”
Leesa felt strangely undecided, unsure of what to feel or what to do. She felt betrayed. If Jen hadn’t deserted them at the start of the fighting, would the captain be dead? Would Nate or Billy? On the other hand, Jen hadn’t run away as such but had instead chosen her own route to reach here, to make a difference.
At the end of the day, Jen was her friend, and she had precious few of those.
Mosi had clambered back to his feet, and was looking to her for guidance. Leesa gave a rueful glance towards the captain, not wanting to leave him like this. He deserved better.
“I will take care of the captain,” Raider assured her. “You take care of the still living.”
She felt tired, drained, incapable of mounting even a token argument. “Come on, Mosi,” she said. “Raider says Jen’s still alive. Let’s go get her.”
As they trudged across the edge of the chamber to where Jen had fallen, Mosi asked, “Is it really over?”
“Yes, it’s over,” she assured him, relaying information Raider whispered in her ear. “Saflik is broken, the Night Hammers are finally disbanded for good, and Mudball’s composite monster has been dismantled and destroyed. Humankind can rest easy at night, and we can go home.”
“Wherever the hell that is,” he said.
“Yeah, I’m still working on that part myself.”
Epilogue
Mosi:
“Where to now, bro?”
“I have absolutely no idea,” Mosi admitted.
They were on a transport, being ferried back to New Sparta at First Solar’s expense. Not that they couldn’t afford to pay passage themselves; Raider had been more than generous, making sure the surviving Angels were financially secure. Most importantly, no one had attempted to take Najat away from him.
“A casino,” Naj suggested. “Somewhere they play poker for the highest of stakes.”
“What?”
“Can you imagine it: me sneaking out to look at each player’s hand without them ever realising? We’d make a fortune!”
“You reckon? With me slipping into a mini trance every time you did so? They might not know how we were cheating, but they’d be pretty sure we were. I was tortured on the last world I settled. I don’t fancy being subjected to anything like that again, thanks all the same.”
“Where’s your sense of adventure?”
“More than sated after all we’ve been through of late, as should yours be.”
“Well, let’s go for somewhere they need mechanics, then. You’ve always been good with your hands…”
“That didn’t work out so well for me last time, either.”
“But you were on your own then,” Najat said. “You’ve got me this time, and you’ll never be alone again.”
“That much does sound good.” He couldn’t help but smile. “You know what? I couldn’t give a blind Hiolean Gilmat where we end up, as long as we’re together.”
“Nor could I, bro, nor could I.”
Drake:
“So as far as anyone else is concerned, I’m dead.”
“Yes, as you requested,” Raider confirmed.
The relief was immense. No more having to be Drake, no more Cornische; no more living up to the expectations of First Solar, of Leesa and the other Dark Angels, of a public that seemed desperate for him to be a hero.
A clean slate, beholden to no one.
“There is a small ship at your disposal and sufficient funds to establish a new identity in whatever capacity you choose,” Raider continued.
This wasn’t Raider, he knew that, or not just Raider. This was the Lenbya entity he’d first encountered when the Dark Angels were born, but it presented as Raider, and he felt comfortable thinking of it in those terms.
“What will happen,” he asked, “now that Lenbya’s location is known?”
“That will not be a problem. I have provided all parties who assisted us – essentially th
e banks on First Solar – with enough cache treasures to keep them happy. Next I will quietly move the location of the gateway. Lenbya will remain exactly where it is but, once again, no one will be able to find it.”
The man who had been Drake nodded and smiled. It seemed a fitting solution. He didn’t ask whether Jen, Leesa and Mosi would be looked after; he knew that already.
“You promised me some answers, too, and there are a couple of things I’d like to understand, now that I’m walking away from all this for good.”
“Go on.”
“The caches, this afterthought of the Elder civilisation, Lenbya and the cache guardians… What is your purpose, really? Why are you here at all?
“Ah… the caches. Very well.
“My people, whom you term the Elders, were an ancient race. Our individual longevity extended across thousands of years and we had established dominion over myriad star systems, a civilisation that lasted for aeons. However, we reached the limits of our potential within this physical reality and came to realise that we must find a way to evolve or stagnate and wither away.
“By this point, we had learned that existence offers infinite possibilities. We chose to explore them.
“However, there were a few individuals who did not wish to move on from the physical forms they were accustomed to, who chose to stay behind. Our society relied on tolerance, so the choice was theirs to make.
“Each such individual was provided with every amenity, with the concentrated knowledge of our race and any devices they chose. We knew that some of our work would survive long after we had gone, so across the myriad worlds we gathered the best of our achievements together and left them in the keeping of the stay-behinds. I should stress that these individuals represented a vanishingly small percentage of our populace, and it was rare for more than one to remain on any given world.
“I am one such, though I am atypical and have certain advantages over my fellows.