As the team passed into the first row of storage cells, Bryluen dislodged a smoke grenade from her belt and rolled it ahead into the second row. Nicadzim grunted as an En-Rabisu fireball splashed around his left calf, leaving the outer plate sagging and sundered. As the trio reached the second row, the smoke grenade popped loudly and dispersed a dense screen to mask their movements. The motion and heat of the incoming fireballs caused swirling eddies to ripple through the opaque smoke, and Nicadzim’s gravitic distortions caused crazed designs to play through the gray curtain and curve the paths of many of the fireballs. The aim of The Dreaded in the next row became wider as the runners crossed over, and Bryluen sent a second smoke grenade ahead of them into the third row of storage units.
As they reached the halfway point across the second row, a Gugalanna burst through the smoke directly behind Nicadzim. He made a wordless sound as he heard the beast approach, its pace dreadfully fast. Runner responded instantly, somersaulting backwards over his companions and extending his ax-wielding arm. As he flew through the air, the Gugalanna passed beneath him. The ax's greenish alloy met the creature’s single eye, and reacted to its flesh with a sharp screech. The strange metal melted the beast’s flesh into bubbling, black rivulets as it slid free. Runner landed behind the creature and pushed his boot lifts to catch up with his teammates in long, easy strides. The blinded beast was unable to adjust its course to strike Nicadzim and stumbled away past the trio as they reached the third and final aisle, filled by the newest smoke cloud.
They all put on a final burst of speed as they raced down the aisle toward the nondescript wall panel that would allow them into Secure Storage. More and more Dreaded detached from the main group rushing at the last security guards. Panicked gunfire and the last functioning sentry gun lit the entryway in constant, violent flashes, black ichor splashing in clouds and streams back over the rushing horde. A grenade went off, the pressure wave visible among the dark vapors hanging in the air.
Bryluen saw another fireball rush dangerously close by, singeing the bronze finish of her armor and splashing on the wall ahead. Runner reached the wall first, bracing against it for a moment as his companions caught up. Bryluen slapped her palm on the wall, and a panel quickly slid open.
The three of them rushed inside as the storm of fireballs increased in intensity. The panel shut behind them, the muffled sound of the projectiles rattling against the wall like a hailstorm. They each took a split second to breathe. They stood in a dim corridor that took a ninety degree turn into Secure Storage just past the field of vision of the entryway cameras, their helmets automatically switching to night vision in the unlit passage. They jogged to the end of the corridor and emerged from a second wall panel into the scarred and damaged chamber that constituted Secure Storage.
16. Marathons and Monstrosities
Secure storage was comparatively small, simply a vault of items in clear cells. Statuary, rare energetic crystal formations, and a number of esoteric items—including the metallic thigh bone of a Ly Aulth Praetorian Construct—were neatly secured in a grid. Near the center of the fifteen meter square room, a dark stone about thirty by sixteen by twelve centimeters stood on a stand. Nicadzim noted a brief flash of uneasiness as he gazed upon it.
This Stone was more sliver-shaped than the block that had been stored at the UASC outpost, though nothing about its surface suggested it was broken or damaged. The object was deliriously dark, almost like a hole had been punched in reality. Bryluen immediately noticed an important detail of their current situation: every time a Dreaded—or part of one of the Dreaded—emerged through the hole in the final bulkhead, the Stone vibrated in response to their proximity.
Three of the remaining twelve guards were injured but still contributed as many bullets and energy bolts as possible to the continuous firefight. The bloodied and tiring security personnel were arrayed behind boxes and crates pouring fire into the widening hole in the bulkhead—now large enough for an En-Rabisu to potentially squeeze through. Their last tripod-mounted sentry gun fired in swift bursts of bullets at any black shape that presented itself, and the guards restricted their fire to the shortest, most ammo-efficient firing patterns they could muster.
One of them held a large energy beam weapon, and with each pricey trigger pull they cleared a column of Dreaded—the weapon was in fact intended for combat demolition or the elimination of light vehicles. The guards timed the use of this weapon and its limited ammunition so that in the brief moment where there was a clear space after firing, one of the other guards would hurl a grenade through the hole in the hatch. A guard twitched as she turned her head and noticed the individuals that appeared at their flank, but was preoccupied enough with the fighting to immediately continue firing into the enemy. Bryluen had radioed their imminent arrival ahead of time to prevent any incidents, but had no expectation the terrified guards were in any shape to meaningfully communicate or coordinate.
The three members of Dread Naught approached the Stone on its narrow pedestal. Bryluen had memorized every facet of the images and information that UASC collected on their Stone, but to see it in person was a wholly different experience.
The Stone was remarkably dark in a way similar to the near light-absorbing rock that constituted Odinani II’s Mount Ala. The texture of the object was off-putting, as if her eyes could not decide whether or not the Stone was moving. They called it a Stone, but Bryluen knew in her gut that it was not rock or mineral or metal or organic. This was not some mundane shard of matter. The way its edges were defined, the shard-like yet unbroken overall shape, the undefinable minutiae of its textural appearance—all of it was somehow wrong.
She understood more deeply why the UASC scientists concluded almost nothing about the actual nature or provenance of the object. Even in her brief observations she had no idea where to start classifying such a thing, or even why it was so hard to classify. She felt uncomfortable in its presence both because she loathed the idea of being unable to comprehend something, and due to a more primal sensation of unease at the ineffable wrongness of the Stone. She felt like an ape observing fire for the first time, desperately wanting to touch the Stone while simultaneously feeling it may not be a good idea.
She huffed a breath and picked up the Stone gingerly in one hand. It was strangely light for its size, but other than that she felt and saw nothing from lifting the object despite its enduring strangeness. As an En-Rabisu’s arm reached through the gap in the bulkhead she noted that the object not only vibrated but pulled slightly toward The Dreaded, becoming lighter as if it were trying to float. She tossed the object to Runner, its course veering slightly toward the bulkhead as it was pulled by the invisible force toward the ravening hordes beyond. Runner nonetheless caught it smoothly and nodded. Bryluen holstered her pistol and whip and unslung her shotgun. Nicadzim had run into cover next to one of the guards, and began to fire his conical spike-lobbing weapon at The Dreaded. Around him, spent casings and blackish ichor began to float and spin.
Bryluen stared into Runner’s eyes. “We’ll buy you time and keep them from all following you, but from there? Earn your name.”
Without a further word she turned and slid on the outside of one thigh into the side of a crate, aiming her shotgun over it and slaying a Gugalanna sandwiched partway through the expanding gap. Runner dashed back through the side passage, building speed as he approached the panel. Bryluen watched as the horde’s attention shifted laterally away from the entryway corridor and toward the hidden passage as he traveled with the Stone, the entire mass clearly aware of its location. As Runner burst through the secret panel, the swarm let out a terrible noise and simultaneously moved to pursue heedless of the still-firing guards.
As the creatures rushed back up the corridor to chase their goal, Bryluen waved the exhausted guards to stop firing and signaled for Nicadzim to come with her. Bryluen began firing into the backs of The Dreaded, some turning to oppose them before being blown to bits. Any who approached were swept away by
Nicadzim’s ice wheel, the weapon chewing its way through anything it touched with a loud whir. He swung the weapon in great strokes, leaving frostbitten chunks of flesh laying about him. Overall the horde was intent on pursuing Runner, and soon Bryluen and Nicadzim emerged from the ruined entry passage. They continued to pick off stragglers from the horde as Runner left Isolation Storage 2A from the door they used to enter.
With a shout, Bryluen hurled a small projectile past the blocks of storage units and to the side door in a great arc. The projectile was small, a twenty-sided shape heavier than the average grenade and suffused with a purple light. Upon striking the ground it did not bounce, but instead adhered to the concrete floor two and a half meters away from the door. The Dreaded in pursuit of Runner began to pass it as its timer ticked down. The detonation was violent, an implosive rather than explosive force that wrenched the frame of the side door down toward it, warping it beyond use. The concrete around the device and the nearby Dreaded were turned to compact paste in an instant.
The device itself was destroyed in the effort, an expensive piece of technology used solely for emergencies such as this. Now unable to follow Runner along the most direct route, The Dreaded reversed through their initial entrance to the warehouse. All throughout the facility the dark monsters began to home in on him, greatly slowed by the doors Bryluen had melted shut. She mentally wished him luck, then summoned Nicadzim to follow the Dreaded through and down the complex’s main corridor, the most direct route to the landing pad.
The change in the course of the battle outside, Kirby's and Vort’s respective injuries, and Nicadzim and Bryluen’s jog down the increasingly abandoned main corridor of the complex were all relayed to the Saint-Runner after the battle. He was not listening to radio chatter or thinking about anything but the Stone in his hand, and the movement of his body. His legs had carried him away from law enforcement and out of the aim of Milieu snipers in the past. Once they had borne him away from an anti-Human mob that spontaneously ruined a particularly good night for him at a club in Liminal Space, the mainly lawless region sandwiched between the Ly Aulth, T’hròstag, and Human borders.
Now his urgency exceeded that of raw survival. An enemy of his species wanted what he held, and it was solely his responsibility to keep them from it. He had run from many things in his life, but none so important as this. For years he relentlessly trained his body and mind for endurance and speed, now able to maintain a full sprint for an incredible distance. With the refined lifts on his boots, his efforts culminated in his headlong rush down hallways and through chambers reaching speeds of forty eight kilometers an hour.
He was a whirling blur of precision and grace, untouchable and magnificent. Saint-Runner. He had begun as an unknown vigilante, a young man with fire in his heart and a belief in righting every wrong he could at whatever cost. He had no name, no identity, until his handiwork attained a life of its own. Stories and rumors abounded, the more amazing ones often the truest. Among the common folk he became revered as a faceless symbol, a near-supernatural force to whom various virtues were ascribed. He did not know who first called him Le Saint-Coureur, but soon there was almost no one in France that did know him by that name. To the criminal underworld he became a silent threat, a vengeful spirit lurking in the dark.
The one undeniable fact known about the Saint-Runner, was that he was fast. He had a natural gift for orientation and navigation, and trained his body to obey his every whim and need. This manifested as an almost preternatural ability to be wherever he wanted to be, precisely when he wanted to be there. Then, to the dismay of his targets, he could simply melt away into the shadows and vanish in a moment. Even among criminals that harbored no superstitions he instilled an inherent, paranoid fear. Despite all his violent acts, those who had suffered beneath the gaze of organized crime regarded him as a righteous force of justice—a living Saint.
He put his legs out to absorb and redirect his momentum at corners, and tucked in his arms to spin over bunks and crates as if gravity had given up on him. The Dreaded pooled into his path everywhere they could, trying to burst through melted doors and emerging from less used paths in groups as they felt the Stone move outward. Runner kept his ax at hand, his speed enough to make every strike a sudden deathblow.
The weapon’s unusual material was an innovation by the T’hròstag, and caused dissolution in most organic materials it touched, as a result of the compounds woven into its metallic composition. The ax was kept in an armored sheath, and it was a terrible idea to wield it without gloves. The Saint-Runner had claimed the ax since he was a child, and over time obsessively studied the T’hròstag’s particularly cunning and unpredictable method of close combat. Their cartilaginous limbs made direct force more difficult to apply, but allowed various maneuvers and tricks other species would be hard-pressed to counter. Adapting these techniques to his own use, the Saint-Runner had developed a hybrid combat style that best utilized his speed and agility.
The Dreaded that stepped into his path had no opportunities to appreciate this as he chopped off limbs, melted petaled heads, and sundered bodies with loose, easy motions. He was a deadly blur that left a trail of the dead behind him, his every sense at its sharpest as he rebounded through the facility at speed. He breathed slowly and evenly as he whisked along the halls, sometimes running meters along a wall before vaulting through a doorway or over an obstacle.
Avoiding toppled crates blocking his path he crossed through a warehouse, bounding up stacks of crates and swinging from shelves over the heads of The Dreaded like a gymnast. Sliding down the far wall, he swung under the frame of a door before building his speed back up down the next hallway. He swept his ax through a pair of En-Rabisus around the next corner with fluid, whip-like strikes.
He had not considered the Stone in any real detail as he was focused entirely on transporting it, but found he hated having to carry it. This response was buried in some innate property of the thing, as if it were slimy or smelled bad more than from a developed opinion. He found the object outright loathsome, and had little difficulty believing that it belonged to the nightmarish things that sought it. Passing the rent and mangled remains of a guard, Runner grunted. These were certainly no animals—they intentionally destroyed and maimed people and equipment past the point of practicality when given a chance. They did cruel things, but seemed to take no joy in it, as if destruction were a neutral and reflexive activity. If that were so, Runner would continue to feel no weight on his conscience for killing them.
The defense of the landing pad had been going well, extraordinarily so, even. The Dreaded that paid attention to the defenders had been pushed back to a decent distance due to the coordinated fire of the Sentinels and the ongoing support of the Hover Fortress. The Storm Mother attained an admirable kill count and stood her ground against every challenger. Vort performed several runs, but was currently taking it easy in case the situation turned for the worse. Kirby focused her efforts on close fire support and the Shalas were conserving bullets and shells, instead focusing on pinpoint rocket strikes.
Sadly, this somewhat beneficial state of affairs came to an end. As Bryluen signaled to Kirby and Vort that Runner was taking the Stone, the jockey heaved a momentary sigh of relief before being reminded of the bad news. The Qixing tightened their formation and redoubled their efforts at about the same time, possibly having received the same warning Kirby did: the horde was pursuing the Stone. This meant that as Runner neared, the enemy army would cease running past into the complex, and begin flowing outward toward the landing pad. Kirby signaled the Atet to come closer to be ready for immediate evac. As the trajectory of the enemy horde slowly shifted toward them, Kirby was thankful the Marines were mere dozens of seconds outside of effective firing range.
The first shells slammed down in a unified volley, a storm of fire and destruction spelling the beginning of the end for the greater mass of the enemy. The rate of fire from the H.S.S.F. Geirhardt was staggering compared to the Monitors, and
the difference in slug velocity was astonishing. Large swaths of the exposed enemy were obliterated, the outer reaches of the horde reduced to ash in large steps all across the island. The ships could only fire within about a kilometer and a half of the landing pad safely, but even that reduced the pressure on the defenders as Runner neared.
The Qixing were already hard-pressed, occasionally lashing out with their blades at the foe. The Shalas once more used their cannons and machine guns and Kirby resumed her front-line combat duties, beginning to empty her rocket pods as the remainder of the horde thickened and focused toward them. Vort laid out three attack runs to redefine their perimeter before briefly settling back near Kirby.
At that moment, a scant minute before Runner would emerge from the complex, the unknown threat Nicadzim felt in his vision finally manifested. Crouched low among its subordinates, the beast had gone unobserved until it reared up less than a dozen meters from Kirby. The creature was an En-Rabisu writ large, a third and even more imposing form of the numerous fireball-throwing Dreaded. It was slightly bulkier in build, a number of armor plates dotted its surface, and it had two additional arms. The horrid thing emitted a discordant caterwauling squall as it entered the fray, gray spittle flying from its maw as the fibrous layers of its throat vibrated. Instantly a pair of the Hover Fortress’ guns turned upon it, but by then one of its arms had lashed a large projectile toward Vort as he tried to take off for an attack run. Vort swung aside but the edge of the raging fireball caught his left wing near the joint, sending him tumbling to the ground in a flutter of armor slivers and burning feathers.
The Shadow Among The Stars: Book One of the Dread Naught Trilogy Page 18