Extensis Vitae: Empire of Dust

by Gregory Mattix

  Guy’s got some big brass ones, Mason thought in admiration, turning his aim on the convoy. He cut down a couple soldiers that crawled out from beneath the first toppled truck. A CorpSec assault tank rumbled toward them from the rear of the convoy. Shit. We need to secure that armory—no telling how much more armor and heavy weapons they got in there. He quickly scanned the battlefield, trying to note the positions of everyone. A glance at the tank revealed the turret pointing in his direction. Oh shit.

  Mason ran and dove behind the vehicle Royce had torn apart, getting a face full of muck just as the assault tank fired. The sound of the blast reached his ears simultaneously with the explosion as the low wall they had been using as cover blew up behind him. Pieces of rubble rained down on his back.

  Shaking off the effects of the blast, Mason regained his feet. The tank had gained a full head of steam and was fast approaching across the field, turret swiveling to find its next target. Keeva and her fighters had moved up about a hundred yards to Mason’s left.

  Royce was mopping up some augmented mercs trying to flee. He caught one of them, felling the man with a blow to the head.

  Mason was forced to retreat as the CorpSec tank plowed over the truck he had taken cover behind, crushing it like an aluminum can beneath its heavy treads. As he considered his next move, motion caught Mason’s eye. The big skin Royce had tossed into the truck freed himself, tossing the truck away. He growled and raced toward Royce, who had his back turned.

  “Royce, behind you!” Mason shouted. He lay down cover fire, but the tank covered his head with his arms, and his heavy ablative ceramic armor absorbed the few shots Mason could get off before he had to cease fire to avoid hitting Royce.

  Royce turned just as the tank tackled him. The big man rained blows down on the rebel commander’s crimson power armor, denting it beneath his huge fists. Royce managed to roll the skin off him. He clambered back to his feet, but the skin was too quick. He grabbed Royce from behind, grasping a seam on the back of the armor. The skin turned and slung Royce, sending him clanking to the ground a dozen yards away, muddy water sluicing up from his tumble. He landed right in the path of the moving tank.

  With a sickening crunch, the CorpSec tank ran over Royce, hammering his upper body beneath the chassis as the tread ran over his midsection. Royce screamed in pain, his cries amplified by the power armor’s speakers.

  “Nooo!” Mason ran toward the fallen commander, but he knew he was too late to help the man. The tank rumbled past, leaving Royce broken in its path. His body, from just below the sternum all the way to mid-thigh, was smashed flat in the armor. A huge amount of blood was spreading on the ground as if a tomato had been stomped on.

  Royce hyperventilated, his breath fogging the cracked faceplate as his hands twitched helplessly. “Look after my Keeva, mate,” he gasped, “and take that bastard Thorne down once and for all.”

  “I will,” Mason vowed, unsure of how to comfort the grievously injured man. Fortunately, Royce didn’t suffer long. After a moment, he shuddered a final time and lay still. Mason sighed, reluctant to give the tragic news to Keeva.

  “Now, you die too, little man,” a voice bellowed behind him.

  Out of the corner of his eye, Mason saw the huge hands of Royce’s killer reaching for him. His nervous system upgrade paid for itself once again as he instinctively tumbled sideways, reflexes just quick enough to keep him away from the grasping mitts. He hit the ground, cradling the gatling laser. The big skin reached for him again, but he slammed the trigger home. Energy bolts blasted through the man’s enormous hand, incinerating all but half his palm and the thumb. The skin gaped at the instantly cauterized lump of flesh attached to his wrist. Mason fired again, and the tank’s head disintegrated into a mix of blood splatter and charred bits. The big man toppled and hit the ground with a splash.

  Mason took a minute to catch his breath. His age was starting to catch up with him, augs or not.

  Heavy gunfire thundered nearby. Several armored SUVs mounted with heavy weapons tore across the field, setting up a perimeter around the armory. A torrent of gunfire blasted the remaining rebel and Shiru forces. Keeva’s men were pinned behind an outbuilding a couple hundred yards away while Shiru squadrons engaged in furious gun battles with CorpSec units on either end of the rebel front.

  We could really use some help here before we get our asses handed to us.

  ***

  Rin followed the map on her HUD toward the holding cell where her niece was located. She moved lightly on her feet, katana extended before her. Yamashita and the other two men followed close behind.

  Overhead, a red alarm light flashed, but no siren was audible. Even if the alarm hadn’t been tripped, the sound of gunfire at the guard station would have alerted reinforcements.

  She held her hand up as they approached an intersection in the corridor. Ayane’s cell should be about fifty meters down the right-hand passage, according to Ichiro’s directions.

  Her men stacked up against the wall behind her, and they inched forward. Rin listened intently and could make out the faint sound of footsteps coming down the corridor. After a moment, a gun barrel appeared around the corner.

  Rin grabbed the barrel and yanked it hard. A surprised guard stumbled forward into the corridor. Rin’s men opened fire and dropped the guard while Rin darted around the corner.

  Four more guards were spread out and cautiously approaching. Their eyes widened as she darted past them, katana flashing. The first guard fell to his knees with his belly sliced open. The second tried to block her strike with his rifle, but his attempt was slow and clumsy. Her blade hacked deep into the man’s thigh, rupturing the femoral artery. The man cried out in shock as blood spewed into the air. He staggered and fell, clutching his wound.

  A mixture of augmented grunts and skins, then. She immediately charged the two remaining guards.

  They both fired their weapons. She instinctively deflected the first electroshock round off her blade. The second round struck her in the thigh. She fell to one knee with a grimace as electricity coursed through her, momentarily disrupting her nanites. She struggled to raise her sword.

  Her squad opened fire from behind her. The two wounded guards went still immediately—the first skin stumbled back under the barrage of bullets. He returned fire, but his nonlethal round missed its target.

  The guard that had hit Rin tried to grab her, to use her as a human shield, she assumed. She swatted his arm aside and used his momentum to pull him forward while surging back to her feet. Her shoulder hit the guard in the midsection, lifting him up and over her. With his enhanced agility, the skin landed on his feet, but he ran right into Yamashita.

  Rin watched as the guard’s uniform burned away, blackened edges curling up, and a bubbling hole appeared in the man’s lower back. The guard screamed as Yamashita carved through him with his plasma knife. Yamashita slid the knife free, and the guard collapsed against the wall, cut nearly in half at the waist. He continued to scream hideously until Rin silenced him with a stab through the ear and into the brain.

  A quick glance revealed her men were unharmed during the exchange. Rin continued on unchallenged to Ayane’s cell. She slid the window cover open and saw her niece sitting up on her narrow bunk.

  Rin breathed a sigh of relief. She studied the keypad next to the cell door. “Ichiro, can you open this cell?”

  A moment later, the keypad turned green and the locking mechanism clanked. The door swung open, and Rin stepped inside.

  Ayane’s apprehension melted into joy when she saw Rin.

  “Aunt Reiko! You came for me.” She got up and fiercely embraced Rin. Ayane looked hopefully toward the door, but her face fell slightly when she saw Rin’s men. “Did Marcus send you?”

  Rin couldn’t help but notice the exoskeleton Ayane wore, much like the one she herself had been relegated to for years. Other than that, her niece appeared to be in good health, if a little thin and pale. She shook her head. “Not exactly, but we’
re securing him as we speak. Let’s get you out of here.”

  I hope Reznik didn’t have any problems getting to Marcus.

  ***

  Pulse rifle blasts crackled into the walls and floor. Reznik ducked back around the corner to reload. His own pulse rifle power indicator was low. He wondered if Rin was having more luck finding her niece.

  The three Yakuza with him returned fire at the guards, the bullets whining and ricocheting down the hallway.

  The cell block holding Marcus was obviously on heightened alert. They had just turned a corner when a group of guards had burst out of an armory and opened fire at them, forcing them back to hold their position at the intersection.

  Reznik considered his limited options. They weren’t getting past the guards without sustaining heavy casualties. He could call for reinforcements from the men holding the junction, or he could see if Rin was successful and able to lend some aid. He quickly discounted that idea—he’d rather she take Ayane to safety as quickly as possible. He also didn’t want to have to worry about getting trapped in the prison if reinforcements arrived and he pulled the men holding position at their six. Guess we’re pretty much on our own here.

  He pulled up his HUD and saw that the cell block looped around like the letter P. If I go straight down the corridor we’re in, I can loop around and come up behind them. Hopefully.

  “Hold your positions here. I’m going to try to circle around behind them.”

  The three enforcers acquiesced and kept up their sporadic fire, keeping the guards from leaving their position.

  Reznik raced down the corridor. He reached the end and turned right. His speed caused him to slip on the smooth floors, so he kicked off the wall as he made the turn. He tore off down the corridor and repeated the maneuver at the next turn.

  As he rounded that corner, he saw a thin man with blood on his uniform running in his direction. The man’s dark eyes widened in surprise when he saw Reznik. Unable to slow in time, Reznik collided with the other man.

  The two of them hit hard, Reznik’s greater mass knocking the other man backward.

  Reznik rolled and regained his feet, surprised to find the other man getting up just as quickly. He had assumed the man was a mere prison official and would have sustained some damage in the collision. He didn’t look much like a typical skin.

  As Reznik brought his pulse rifle up to fire, the man kicked it out of Reznik’s hand, his nondescript appearance belying his strength. The man darted in and chopped Reznik in the throat and groin. His dermal plating protected him, but he warily regarded his opponent. The man was some type of CorpSec bigwig, judging from the fancy rank insignia adorning his uniform above the name Carbajal.

  “You’re making a grave mistake, whoever the hell you are,” Carbajal sneered. “One of the Mason boy’s friends, I presume? I fear he’s not in any shape to go out on the town tonight.”

  Reznik instantly disliked Carbajal—his tone dripped with arrogance. “I hate to disappoint, but he’s coming with me. He better not have been harmed.”

  Carbajal’s sneer widened. “Depends what you consider harmed. An ounce or two of flesh is no big deal.” Carbajal opened his fist, and a couple small objects bounced on the polished white floor, leaving a few drops of crimson. Molars, Reznik realized. That son of a bitch.

  Reznik attacked. He lunged forward, delivering a punch that would have leveled Carbajal had it connected. The smaller man ducked and slid past, delivering a rabbit punch to the back of Reznik’s head. A blow to the knee sent Reznik stumbling into the wall.

  Carbajal was on him instantly, his arm going around Reznik’s neck in a choke hold. Reznik connected with an elbow strike, but the man shrugged it off and tightened his grip, his arm a steel bar threatening to crush Reznik’s airway. His HUD alerted him to the danger even as his nanites solidified and kept his trachea open.

  Reznik spun and drove Carbajal into the wall, his opponent’s skull smacking loudly. Reznik repeated the move, stepping forward and slamming Carbajal into the wall repeatedly. After the fifth attempt, the choke hold loosened briefly.

  The shotgun slung on his back dug into him uncomfortably between their bodies. Reznik jabbed the barrel into Carbajal’s leg and awkwardly reached up and pulled the trigger.

  Blam! Carbajal stumbled away, releasing his grasp. Reznik racked the slide and whirled, firing again. The shot narrowly missed as Carbajal ducked. With a blur, his hands latched onto the barrel of the shotgun, trying to wrench it from Reznik’s grasp.

  Reznik pulled back, not allowing himself to be disarmed. Carbajal held the shotgun near the muzzle with one hand while driving the heel of the other against the barrel, bending it in the middle.

  With a growl of frustration, Reznik tossed the useless weapon aside. “You’re starting to get on my nerves.” He darted in, feinting with a couple jabs. His opponent sidestepped, and Reznik connected with an elbow to Carbajal’s jaw. He followed up with a knee to the solar plexus. Carbajal’s breath exploded out of him. Reznik threw a right cross which leveled the CorpSec chief.

  Carbajal slid across the smoothly polished floor. Almost instantaneously, he performed a kip-up, pausing a moment to spit blood and glare at Reznik. He raised his fists and approached more cautiously, mouth twisted in anger. Carbajal let loose with a series of punches and followed up with a kick. Reznik blocked a couple punches, ignoring the few that connected. He caught the kick, pinning Carbajal’s leg against his side. He spun and slammed the smaller man against the block wall, retaining his hold. Carbajal bounced off, and Reznik used the inertia to hurl him to the other side of the hallway, releasing his grip. The CorpSec officer hit hard, falling awkwardly to one knee.

  As soon as he landed, Reznik had the .45 in his hand and was firing. He put a tight shot group into the back of Carbajal’s head. By the time Reznik had emptied the big revolver’s cylinder, Carbajal’s brains coated the white wall.

  “Christ. So much for sneaking up on those other assholes now.” Reznik quickly reloaded and recovered his pulse rifle.

  He approached the next corridor cautiously, noting the sounds of the firefight had become more sporadic. Energy bolts crackled past Reznik’s face when he peered around the corner, forcing him to retreat. One guard was facing him, and the other two he’d counted exchanged gunfire with the Yakuza.

  “I don’t have time for this. We need to get the hell out of here.” Reznik pulled a frag grenade and pulled up a targeting layout on his HUD. He noted the guards’ position about twenty yards away, and lined the angles up on his HUD. Pulling the pin, he tossed the grenade around the corner. It bounced off the far wall and, like a neat billiard shot, tumbled through the open door.

  A sharp curse preceded the explosion. The wall shook against Reznik’s back. He doubted that would finish them off, but it should’ve done some damage.

  The three Yakuza enforcers raced down the corridor and into the room, assault rifles blazing as they finished off the guards.

  Reznik stopped outside of Marcus’s cell. He eyed the red backlit sensor beside the door dubiously. Remembering the guard’s severed hand he carried, he pulled it from where it stuck out of his belt. He waved the hand over the sensor and was rewarded by the sensor turning green and the clank of the door unlocking.

  Marcus was a bloody mess, curled up on his bunk. Carbajal had worked him over pretty good—his face was a mass of bruises, right eye swollen shut and lip split. Dried blood caked his jaw. He held his left hand awkwardly in his lap as if he had broken fingers.

  “Marcus? Can you walk? It’s time to get you out of here.”

  Marcus tried to smile, but it looked more like a grimace. “Boy, are you a sight for sore eyes.” He lurched to his feet.

  Reznik quickly grabbed his arm to assist him.

  “Ayane?” he asked.

  “Rin’s on that right now. Hopefully, it went a little smoother on her end.”

  They made their way to the door. Marcus raised an eyebrow at the severed hand Reznik still held.
He shrugged and tucked it back through his belt in case he needed it again. “Thought you might need a hand,” he joked.

  Marcus snorted in laughter. “Oh man, it hurts too much to laugh. I assume since Carbajal was here, he was directing the prison defenses. Did you come across that bastard? We have to move before he takes command of the defenses. I couldn’t hold out for long—he got information from me.”

  “Don’t worry about that right now. You could say I came across him. He won’t be bothering you again.”

  Satisfaction filled Marcus’s good eye. “Good. I need to get this scrambler removed so I can send the orders.”

  Reznik studied the metal device. “Can I just pull—”

  “No, don’t do that! It’s hooked into my Datalink implant in my brain.”

  “Oh, yeah. Bad idea.” They moved down the hallway toward the armory. The Yakuza guarded the corridor.

  “The guards should have a tool to remove it safely.” Marcus frowned at the carnage inside the armory. “If they weren’t blown to bits.” He leaned heavily against the wall as Reznik removed a relatively intact equipment belt from one of the dead guards.

  “You see what you need on here?”

  Marcus rummaged through a couple pouches before finding a chip shaped like a tiny key. “This is what I need. Could you…”

  Reznik examined the small crescent-shaped device on Marcus’s ear. He stuck the key into a narrow slot, and it clicked into place. He turned the key, and the device whirred faintly.

  Marcus winced as the tendrils withdrew from his ear canal. With a click, the object detached from his ear. Marcus hurled it across the room, and it shattered against the block wall. “Okay, ready when you are.”

  “Just a minute.” Reznik had spotted the weapon locker. He saw several more pulse rifles and what looked like pacification weapons. In the last locker was a long-barreled weapon with an angular stock and coils around the length of the barrel. A C-shaped piece was affixed to the end of the muzzle, where a flash suppressor would normally be.