“Probably not somewhere on this planet,” said Park. “Not if Lieutenant Conway’s description of the surface is anything to go by.”
“Another facility as deep underground as this one might have survived the bombing,” Wrekstin reminded her.
The Fangrin moved on towards one of the consoles. Conway stared for a few moments longer. The spaceship was sleek and tapered, with side and tail wings. Its armor plates were scraped and pocked, especially on the nose section. One area of damage caught his eye – four deep gouges ran from the midsection above the wing and Conway couldn’t imagine what had caused them.
He guessed the spaceship was old without being exactly sure why he thought that way. It was fitted with cannon turrets and Conway noted square seams in the hull, indicating it had missile launchers as well.
“Looks like a mean bastard,” commented Torres.
“Yeah.”
Conway hurried after Wrekstin and Park. They stopped at adjacent pieces of control hardware and waited with equal impatience while the consoles came out of hibernation.
“These look like they’re about to fall apart as well,” said Kemp, squinting at the side panel on one of the consoles.
“Don’t touch!” warned Wrekstin. “They appear to be operational and I want them to stay that way.”
“Fine, fine,” said Kemp, backing off.
“Is that the test subject for the teleporters?” Conway asked, pointing at the spaceship.
“Probably,” said Park.
“Is it meant to be here?”
“I doubt it. The Raggers abandoned this place, remember?”
“So this is out of control?”
“That’s what I reckon, Lieutenant.”
Park’s console finished loading up and the light from its screens made her skin seem unhealthily pale. Having learned from the console in the pillar room, her hands moved confidently from place to place, touching each button with extra care in case something broke.
“I’m impressed,” said Conway.
“This is what I do, Lieutenant. Give me a rifle with a full magazine and I’d score one, maybe two hits on a moving target.”
“I have discovered a repository of files relating to the operation of the facility,” said Wrekstin, his enthusiasm unmistakable.
“Anything jump out?”
“The records are numerous. I will begin reading through them.”
Conway gritted his teeth, feeling like a sucker.
“I should have known they wouldn’t want to leave,” he said on a private channel to the human members of the squad.
“That’s scientist-types for you, sir,” said Kemp. “Information to them is like a bucket of fried chicken to a starving man.”
“Yeah,” said Torres. “They’ll keep us here all week.”
“Not if I can help it,” said Conway. He closed the channel. “We need to get moving, folks,” he said through his chin speaker.
“Soon,” said Wrekstin. “I feel that answers are within our grasp.”
The Fangrin’s interpretation of the word soon differed from Conway’s. Minutes passed, with both Wrekstin and Park exchanging comments about new discoveries, none of which satisfied them enough to call it a day.
“Mind if I take a closer look at that spaceship, sir?” asked Kemp.
“I didn’t know you were interested.”
“It’s better than watching a Fangrin and an intel officer pushing buttons on a Ragger console.”
The spaceship’s defenses weren’t set to auto and Conway knew that because he wasn’t dead. “Go on,” he told Kemp. “No pissing about, be careful on the steps and don’t set foot on the dais unless you want to risk being teleported somewhere.”
“Yes, sir.”
Kemp hurried along an aisle between the two consoles and ascended the first few steps.
“They’re still solid,” he said on the comms, proving it by stamping hard a couple of times on the fifth step up. To Conway’s mild surprise, Kemp didn’t fall through and the soldier kept on climbing.
Kemp wasn’t as foolish as he made out and he peered cautiously onto the dais. Having assured himself it was safe, he stood on the top step and stared at the warship.
“Anything interesting?” asked Torres.
“No. Apart from the spaceship, it’s flat up here. And there’s no sign of corrosion.”
Conway’s next words died on his lips. The intensity of the background vibration suddenly increased and it was accompanied by a hollow booming sound. He looked around in alarm, wondering where it was coming from. The source was everywhere, like the air itself was producing the sound rather than simply carrying it. Within seconds, the noise reached a crescendo. The spaceship hovering over the platform vanished and the chamber fell silent once again. When he saw that Kemp was still on the steps, Conway breathed a sigh of relief.
“Any idea where it’s gone to?” he asked Lieutenant Park.
“I can probably find out, given time,” she replied.
Without warning, the lights dimmed even further and Conway got the same feeling of pressure he’d experienced on the upper levels. It seemed like everything became wrapped in a miasma of shadow, as though someone had stuck a veil of dark cloth over his visor. He blinked to clear his vision, but nothing changed.
“Sir, you need to look at this,” said Kemp. “Like right now.”
“What is it?”
“I don’t know. Something black.”
It wasn’t the best description Conway had ever heard. He bit down on his irritation.
“Private Kemp says there’s something up there,” he explained to Wrekstin and Park. “Something black.”
“I need to look,” said Wrekstin, his voice brooking no argument.
“What is it?” asked Conway.
“I don’t know. I hope my guess is wrong.”
Conway was mystified and Wrekstin’s alarm rubbed off on him. He told Freeman and Rembra to watch over Lieutenant Park and beckoned Torres to follow. They hurried after Wrekstin, who was already on his way up. The steps were a separate assembly to the dais and bolted on afterwards. Even with the obvious corrosion, they felt reassuringly sturdy and had about enough room for two Fangrin to pass. Conway’s feet thudded against the treads and he didn’t pay much attention to the view.
Private Kemp was understandably reluctant to step onto the dais and Wrekstin equally so. The four of them crowded onto the compact landing area and looked at what had got Kemp so worked up.
A thick, jagged slash, fifty or sixty meters in length, cut across the air above the dais. It was pure black and unmoving. To Conway’s eye, it looked as if someone had taken a firm hold on the fabric of reality and ripped a long hole in it. He instinctively knew it was an opening of some kind. His environmental sensor took one look and returned a null value.
“Sir, there’s another one over there,” said Kemp. “Up towards the ceiling.”
This second opening was smaller and was right where Kemp pointed. The light was poor, but Conway thought he spotted a third, this one only a couple of meters long and next to a tall piece of Ragger kit that rose above the level of the dais.
“Over there,” he said, turning his head to look for more. If any others had sprung into existence, he couldn’t see them from up here.
“I think it is time for us to leave,” said Governor Wrekstin.
“I’m glad you agree,” said Conway, wondering why it had taken the Fangrin so long to see sense.
He gave Torres a nudge to get her moving down the steps. Conway was about to follow, when he detected movement in his periphery. He twisted around and saw an arm emerge from the black opening above the dais. The arm was about twenty meters in length and so dark in color it was difficult to make out the features. Conway detected thick sinews below the surface and lean, stringy muscles that looked as if they could flip over a heavy tank without effort. The arm ended in a hand with elongated fingers and black, jagged claws that looked as sharp as razors.
For long seconds, the arm did nothing other than drift slowly from side to side. Then, without warning the opening seemed to bulge as if the owner was trying to force the rest of its body through. Conway stared in horror and opened his mouth to order everyone to run. Before he could do so, the bulge receded and the arm stopped moving.
“Want me to shoot it, sir?” asked Kemp quietly.
“That’s not a battle I want to start.”
“I hoped you’d say that.”
Torres took the steps quickly and Conway was about to follow when he saw the arm drop down with a sharp, sudden motion. The claws struck the metal with a clack that betrayed their solidity. As soon as it came into contact with the dais, the arm pulled away with violent speed and disappeared into the opening.
“Think it’ll come back?” asked Kemp.
“I don’t want to find out,” said Conway in a whisper. “The rest of it nearly came through.”
“Yeah.”
“Time to move,” Conway said in hushed, urgent tones. He stepped aside and waved Governor Wrekstin to go before him.
The Fangrin set off down the steps, leaving Conway and Kemp on the landing.
“Why are we still here, sir?” asked Kemp.
“I don’t know,” said Conway. He wanted to be away, but a part of him realized he was witnessing something new and monumental. Something terrible.
Just when Conway was on the verge of hightailing it, he spotted a shape emerging from the smaller opening which Kemp had spotted. It was difficult to know what it was, but it broke free and dropped out of sight around the far side of the dais. A second one followed.
“Ah crap,” said Conway.
A bad situation had just become much worse. He sprang for the steps.
Chapter Eighteen
The steps had high risers and Conway took them three at a time, relying on the rail to keep himself steady. His tight grip took the surface layer off the bar, but it didn’t break. At the bottom, he dashed for the place he’d left Freeman and Park.
“Private Torres, something came out of one of those openings. Get ready to move out,” he said on the comms.
“Yes, sir.”
A thumping crash made Conway turn and he saw that Kemp had fallen trying to take the steps too quickly. The soldier had ended up on his side, but the speed with which he rolled to his feet made it clear he wasn’t badly hurt.
“Damnit,” swore Kemp rubbing his hip and giving his rifle a cursory check. “Landed on my drop bag.”
The combat suits could deflect a bullet, so Conway wasn’t too concerned that Kemp had suffered anything more than bruising. He watched to make sure the man was ready and then hurried between the two pieces of monitoring kit.
The rest of the group were already in action, heading for the exit. Conway caught up, Kemp a pace behind. With each moment, the room seemed to become darker and the sensation of pressure built.
“No more pissing about – we’re going straight for the surface,” Conway said, giving Freeman a shove to make him run faster.
As soon as he reached the inner double doors, Conway smacked his palm onto the access panel. The doors opened and the group sprinted inside. Immediately, the veil faded and Conway’s vision cleared.
“What’s coming, sir?” asked Torres?
“I don’t know, Private.” Conway checked behind. Whatever had dropped from the opening it wasn’t here yet. The largest breach was partially visible and he got a sense that the opening had shrunk a little. Maybe – he wasn’t sure one way or another.
The second set of doors opened and they went through. Conway indicated they should go right, along the part of the outer passage they hadn’t yet explored. Something told him that if they didn’t find a lift soon, they wouldn’t get out of here alive.
“Move!” he said.
Nobody needed the reminder and they sprinted for the next door, hoping it would be a lift to the surface. The first one wasn’t, nor was the second. As they ran for the third, Conway spotted another of the black fissures, this one on the floor like a crack in the alloy. It wasn’t much more than two meters in length and as wide as his hand. One end touched the wall and he wondered if it ended there or continued through the metal and stone.
He had no desire to see what would happen if he touched it and he gave the opening a wide berth. The third door led into a store room similar to the one in which they’d arrived, without the pile of Raggers. Conway punched the wall in frustration and charged towards the next door.
The pressure built again, though not so much that it interfered with Conway’s ability to think straight. It got progressively darker and the veil over his sight returned.
“Something’s coming, sir,” said Kemp.
“Nothing behind,” said Torres, checking over her shoulder every few seconds in quick, jerky movements. Her foot caught on one of the Ragger corpses and she nearly fell. Rembra’s hand shot out, grabbed her upper arm and hauled her upright.
“Thanks.”
The oppressive feeling grew and the light went so dim Conway was sure it would go out. He couldn’t stop looking behind, convinced something was coming. In desperation, he activated the night vision on his sensor, hoping it would detect what his eyes couldn’t see. The corridor was empty, yet he was certain they were pursued.
“Fifth door,” panted Wrekstin. The Fangrin had kept up so far, but he was old and sounded like he was running out of steam.
Rembra thundered his palm onto the access panel. Conway didn’t watch and kept his eyes on the passage.
“Something coming,” he murmured.
“Yeah,” said Kemp. “I know it.”
“This is not the lift,” said Rembra.
“No shit,” muttered Torres. “It’s going to be the last door we look through.”
Conway was readying himself to move, when a figure stepped out of the wall, thirty or forty paces back the way they’d come. The others saw it at the same time and he sensed them shrinking away.
The figure was about seven feet tall, a humanoid outline of pure darkness, like a blurred silhouette animated and dangerous. Its shoulders were unnaturally broad and long limbs dangled from them, ending in the same claws as the arm they’d seen above the dais. Conway thought he saw muscles beneath the skin, but something about the creature defied both the light and his eyes.
Their pursuer took two languid strides away from wall and paused. It had no face, but Conway knew it was looking at his squad. On balance, he wasn’t about to gamble that it was friendly. He lifted his rifle.
“Shoot it,” he said, putting five bullets into the alien’s chest. It flinched with the impacts but didn’t fall.
Kemp, Freeman and Torres fired also. Their bullets tore into the creature and it jerked with each shot, but stayed upright and made no effort to defend itself. The broad shape of Rembra appeared at Conway’s shoulder. The barrels of the Fangrin’s chain gun spun up and the motor whined at a high pitch.
“Try this.”
The thunder of the chain gun reminded Conway of a hundred different battles. This time he wasn’t the target. The six barrels lit up, less brightly than he expected, and the gun spewed a devastating storm of bullets into the dark shape of their opponent. Still it didn’t topple and Conway knew the creature wasn’t harmed by the shots.
The enemy took a step towards them and another. To Conway’s horror, a second emerged from the wall near to where the first had come from. He fired his Gilner. The recoil thud in his shoulder and the clank of discharge were as perfect as they’d ever been, yet the bullets weren’t enough. The aliens advanced a pace at a time, and Conway sensed they were readying themselves for a kill.
“Run!” he shouted.
Nobody required a second invitation. They turned and fled. Conway’s feet hit the ground hard and every few paces he was forced to hurdle the body of a dead Ragger. He was pretty sure now what had killed them and he didn’t want to be next.
The aliens were fast. They moved with muscular strides, altern
ating between two limbs and four. When their claws struck the floor, they made a clicking sound that Conway hated. From the corner of his eye, he thought he detected a faint smear in the air as they travelled. He swore and dug out a replacement magazine, let the nearly empty one fall to the floor and slammed in the full one.
“We’re not outrunning these assholes, sir,” said Kemp, slotting a new mag into his own rifle.
Torres had the same thought. “Grenade out,” she said, bouncing one off the wall at an angle so that it landed behind the last man, who was Conway. “And a second.”
This grenade she took more care with. Torres slowed and sent it towards the onrushing aliens with a lazy sideways throw. The first explosive went off five or ten paces away from target, while the second detonated right on top of the enemy. Conway averted his eyes from the flash, counted two and then checked the result.
“Shit,” he said.
The grenade might have slowed the pursuing shapes for a moment, but they came on again, less than twenty paces distant. Conway sent a few shots their way, before turning to run with the others.
“I think there’s another one of those breaches up ahead,” said Lieutenant Park from the front. She twisted her head and her expression was one of sheer horror. Conway couldn’t blame her – he wasn’t feeling too happy about the situation either.
They came to the next door and Conway’s heart jumped when he noticed the slightly different dimensions on the access panel. It was the lift, he was sure.
“No time to stop,” said Freeman.
He was right. The panel security took a couple of seconds to override and then they’d have to wait for the car. Even if it was parked at this level, the doors didn’t close too quickly. Anyway, it didn’t matter when your opponents could walk right through.
“How’d you like to earn yourself another medal, Private Kemp?” asked Conway on the squad channel.
“Not too much, sir.” He laughed bitterly. “But let’s do it.”
Conway put on the brakes. “Open that lift and get the hell out of here!” he yelled.
Along with Kemp, he turned to face the enemy. To Conway’s shock, they were almost upon him, like they’d decided to stop pissing about and show how fast they really were. He fired. Kemp fired. It wasn’t going to be enough. This fruitless act wasn’t going to buy the others any more than a second or two at best.
Death Skies (Fire and Rust Book 4) Page 14