by Ste Sharp
This mission would be one of reassurance as much as revenge, Delta-Six thought. He gestured to some distant crates and said, ‘I’ll show you.’
Dakaniha hesitated but silently crept through the shadows to a safe distance.
Delta-Six pulled the cloak back over his head. With his disguise back in place, he set his new frequency-detection system to mirror all signals. With a grunt and a groan, he limped out of the shadows and into the sight of the sleepy guards.
‘Halt!’ a Bensha yelled, waking the other dozing guards.
Delta-Six maintained his forward shuffle, mumbling, ‘so hungry… no food…’
‘Halt now or we will expel you,’ the guard said, as it walked around the sprawled, vegetative mess of Mata to intercept Delta-Six.
Delta-Six stumbled forward and fell to his knees near where one of Mata’s vines had been coaxed into producing bulbous, apple-like fruit. ‘Just one would keep me going!’ he said and coughed.
Before he could reach the nearest fruit, the Bensha was on Delta-Six, kicking him in the gut, sending him into an empty crate.
‘You are not allowed here, Lucien Thomas!’ the Bensha yelled.
‘Just zap him,’ the Graifar said while the other guard – a tall biped with glowing blue eyes – stalked over to join the Bensha, its claws clasped around the pin-control device.
‘No.’ The Bensha held him back. ‘I could use a little fun first.’
The Bensha picked Delta-Six out of the broken crate, showering the floor with splinters.
‘What about its body?’ Blue Eyes asked.
‘Fertiliser,’ the Graifar replied with a nonchalance suggesting he’d done it many times before.
Delta-Six let the Bensha throw him to the ground and take its aggression out on him. His systems compensated for each blow with a force-field push designed to mimic the body, so he remained uninjured.
‘I just want food,’ he murmured.
‘We feed you enough, you filth,’ the Graifar shouted, reclining and enjoying the fight.
‘You should have been stronger,’ Blue Eyes said. ‘If you weren’t caught you wouldn’t be here.’
‘Like you?’ Delta-Six said, with his normal voice and pushed himself off the ground.
Blue Eyes fingered the silver disc on its chest and the Bensha stepped back.
‘Who are you?’ the Graifar demanded, springing up to join its comrades.
Right where I want you, Delta-Six thought as he stood to his full height and let his cloak slip to the ground. He felt an energy rise inside him – a power – and decided he would make a show of this. He pushed energy into his jet and lifted a few inches off the ground.
‘I was never captured,’ Delta-Six said, ‘but I have been chosen.’
He spread his arms out and set his suit to emit a white glow as he ascended.
‘Kill him,’ the Graifar said and Blue Eyes clicked the button.
Delta-Six’s suit mirrored the signal, deflecting it back, and created an energy shield for biological debris as Blue Eyes’ pin exploded in his chest, covering his comrades with guts and brains.
‘You shall die!’ the Bensha yelled and leaped at Delta-Six with his long sword, while the Graifar simply turned and walked away on its four stout legs.
Delta-Six rose higher and sent a replicated version of the guard’s signal to the Bensha, whose head disappeared in a mist of blood and pulverised bone, leaving his headless body staggering into a pile of crates.
The Graifar was twenty paces away with what looked like a pulse-rifle as it turned to Delta-Six, who sent the pin signal to take off its head.
Nothing happened.
‘Like you, I was never captured.’ The Graifar sounded louder now it held a weapon. ‘I have never fought your species before… I hope to enjoy this battle.’
Delta-Six set his shield to maximum and fired three laser bursts at the horse-like warrior. It was more agile than he had expected and shimmied away, then returned fire, sending an array of orange globules at Delta-Six. He gave himself a shot of what his unit had called ‘war-blood’ – an enhancement drug which enabled them to make a series of lightning-quick decisions based on their system’s analysis. A sudden burst from his jet sent him above the globules, which looped over the crates and into the desert, sending sprays of dust and fire into the air. Delta-Six fired back, catching the Graifar on a front foot, causing it to roll closer to Mata. He dodged another blast from the gun and replied with four laser shots at the ground, which all missed the Graifar, but hit metal boxes, sending showers of sparks across Mata’s twitching body.
‘More guards will arrive soon,’ the Graifar said, as it changed the settings on its rifle.
‘Good,’ Delta-Six replied and slowly descended from his lofty position.
Predicting the Graifar’s next move, Delta-Six weaponised his suit and sent an energy blast at the four-legged creature, sending it stumbling backwards. Movement behind it told Delta-Six all he needed to know. He fired another shot, sending the rifle spinning out of the Graifar’s claws, then aimed more bursts at the ground, where jars of liquid toppled over, pouring their contents into the sand.
The Graifar picked up the Bensha’s sword.
‘Do you dare face me in mortal combat?’ the Graifar growled, swinging the cumbersome weapon.
‘No,’ Delta-Six replied and turned in Dakaniha’s direction. ‘My comrade will deal with you.’
Dakaniha’s silhouette split from the shadows and the Graifar faced him.
‘Then I will kill you both,’ the Graifar said and rushed forward, only to find his rear feet were fixed to the ground.
‘Oh, no,’ Delta-Six said and held up a hand to halt Dakaniha’s attack, ‘not that comrade.’ He gestured at the sprawling mass of Mata’s vegetative body, which he had freed from its prison. ‘This one.’
The Graifar’s face contorted into a picture of pure panic as Mata’s tendrils wound up its back legs, thorns digging into its flesh. The Graifar slashed and sliced, but a bark hardened on the vines as they pulled it towards Mata, into a deadly embrace. Ten seconds later, the Graifar had been engulfed by a mass of roots and leaves.
Delta-Six saw Dakaniha wince as a series of deep cracks signalled the end of the Graifar.
Every tendril of Mata was free now and, somewhere inside the huge mass of writhing plant, Delta-Six knew Mata’s eyes still existed. He hoped the Maori’s mind was in one piece as well as he projected images onto him: crashing waves; snowy mountains; green hills; wide, grey, stony rivers. Images of Mata’s homeland.
‘You are free,’ Delta-Six said.
Dakaniha stood beside Delta-Six, still shocked by the sight and said, ‘Next time, I will join you.’
‘And I will protect you,’ Delta-Six replied. He pulled the sheet of fabric from a pocket and unfolded it for Dakaniha to see, then cast an ultraviolet light on it. ‘I had another message.’
It was a hand-drawn map of the farm and surrounding area, covered in an array of white points of light, which sparkled like constellations.
‘These are our comrades,’ Delta-Six said, ‘human, tocka and Sorean. These are who we will free next.’
Chapter 16
John woke up coughing and tasted gritty dust in his spit. He rubbed his dry eyes and took in the sleeping bodies around him. In the dim light he could make out a few faces he recognised: Samas; Crossley; Yarcha. Beyond them sat the vibrating ball of Sorean fur, as the cat-like creatures slept huddled together, and clusters of other alien huddles beyond them.
It felt like he’d been fully aware of his new surroundings all night: sleeping on the cave floor with the echoing sounds vibrating in his ear and the thick stench of hundreds of creatures desperate for fresh air wrapped around him. Exhaustion must have taken him in the end, drawing him into a deep, dreamless sleep. Just like sleeping in the trenches.
‘Wake!’ A distant shout echoed along the long cave and the wall lights flickered.
By the cave wall, Samas stirred and rubbed his b
eard. It had been barely noticeable in the dome, when they shared every day together, but now John noticed how many men had grown beards or moustaches. It aged them. Or maybe they looked older because every human soldier apart from John had had their head shaved when they entered the mine. Or maybe it was the fear?
During John’s war, even the youngest men had aged terribly in their first year. He’d tried to grow a moustache himself, like most of his mates, trying to look older, like the officers, but he’d failed miserably. He ran his palm over his chin, felt the thin stubble on his top lip and tried to remember the last time he’d seen his face.
Crossley sat up and stretched. He was clean-shaven, so clearly had a razor stashed away somewhere.
‘Right,’ Samas whispered after the guard had strolled past, ‘same as any ordinary day.’
The miners around him nodded.
‘Don’t behave too well – act normal,’ Samas ordered.
‘Easy for you to say,’ Crossley replied. ‘We’re the ones who cop it if it fails.’
‘It won’t fail,’ Samas replied with a smile.
John sensed it was a forced smile, but it did the job for the soldiers, who slowly rose and filed to the cauldrons of watered-down porridge awaiting them for breakfast. A couple of fights broke out in the queue and again when the miners were ushered to their shafts, but, according to Crossley, it was normal stuff. No one was killed.
Once he was back in the enclosed, dusty chamber with Yarcha and Yam-mit, John waited, not sure what to do. He hadn’t been given specific instructions, so he waited for the noises of fighting above, when he planned to climb back up and escape with the masses.
Yam-mit disappeared down his hole and Yarcha started shifting rocks, so John studied his metal hand in the dim light. He was sure he could see the grey liquid Ten-ten had dripped onto it, flowing between the gaps and joints. It was probably inside as well, although he couldn’t feel it. If it was still a firing gun-arm he would be expected to fight, he thought, and felt reassured he wouldn’t have to today.
Yam-mit’s head reappeared at the top of the shaft and his antennae twisted a blue bubble of protection around them. ‘Everything is in place,’ he said. ‘We must descend now.’
‘What?’ John asked, looking to Yarcha. ‘We have to go down there?’
The hole was wide enough for a human to climb down, but he couldn’t see any handles or steps.
‘Our shaft is one of the three exits,’ Yarcha said, raising her chin with pride. ‘Our neighbours will break in here and follow us.’
‘Right,’ John replied with a wide-eyed nod.
Yam-mit stared at John for a second before saying, ‘You must have faith in your allies.’
‘Oh, I know, sorry!’ John raised his hand. ‘It’s not that I don’t trust you–’
‘You have given me faith,’ Yam-mit said, his antennae constantly weaving the bubble around them. ‘I know my eternal allies – the species who share our solar system – are among us. I don’t know what they look like but our bond is unbreakable. Knowing they are here gives me strength.’ He paused and seemed to sniff the air. ‘Your allies are here, John,’ Yam-mit said.
The bubble shrank and disappeared, and the three remained silent, waiting.
The escape was suddenly feeling very real to John, who imagined scores of alien miners scrambling through into their tiny chamber and the crush of bodies as they tried to get into Yam-mit’s hole. He felt a high-pitched sound at the back of his head and Yam-mit jumped into action, forming a bubble to seal up the entrance to the chamber, before dropping into his shaft. Above, the guard’s echoing steps faded away.
Yarcha shuffled to the side wall, pulling John with her, and whispered, ‘It’s fine. Yam-mit has thought of everything.’
The floor of their square mini-chamber, some five paces wide, suddenly dropped away with a deep rumble and a cloud of dust.
‘Let’s go!’ Yarcha shouted.
Where Yam-mit’s hole had been, a stone staircase now descended into the gloom. Yarcha leaped over and stepped down, so John followed.
This was what Yam-mit had been constructing all this time? It was amazing. The steps curved and twisted, reminding John of the steps in an old castle or church he’d visited as a child, he couldn’t remember which, but as his head dipped under what had been the floor he saw new holes in the walls and new faces from adjoining shafts.
‘Keep going,’ Yarcha said. ‘Yam-mit should have the exit open by now.’
As if to confirm it, John felt a cool blast of air rush up from the depths and a dim light appeared below, giving shape to the last ten steps to the floor, where silhouettes were already rushing past.
Yam-mit was waiting at the bottom, next to an arched exit which led into another tunnel. ‘Keep moving,’ the insectoid said. ‘Through this last passage.’
John slipped through behind a troop of Sorean and made sure Yarcha was behind him.
‘I’m here,’ she said.
Images of Rosie came back to John and, although Yarcha clearly didn’t need looking after, he still felt the urge to hold her hand.
The tunnel was narrow and short, causing them to stoop but, with no side tunnels branching off, there was no chance of getting lost. Everyone was silently shuffling along until they reached an opening where John saw them lining up, reminding him of people waiting for an Underground train. The crowd heaved and shuffled, but remained silent. Too much was at stake here. John tiptoed to peer over the aliens’ shoulders and around shells. He saw human heads here and there, then spotted Samas and Crossley standing by a closed stone arch. By his stance, John could tell Crossley was coughing, using his abilities to ‘see’ through the rock. The American gave a nod, and Samas plunged his rock-fist into the wall, which was only a couple of inches thick.
John held his breath as Samas peered through the hole. After a few long seconds, he turned back and nodded. This was it! Time to break through and escape.
Five humans stepped forward and, in unison, smashed a piece of rock from high up and passed it back to a Sorean, then smashed another piece and repeated the action until a wide hole was formed and a pile of rocks had been placed out of their way.
‘To freedom!’ Samas said softly, his whisper echoing as the group surged forward and through the new caves.
John linked arms with Yarcha, who responded by gripping him tightly as they stepped forward with the silent throng. John was watching his step and wondering who had built these new caves when the first sounds reached them: the horrific sounds of pins exploding and heads and bodies being torn apart.
‘No!’ John shouted and looked to Yarcha, who was equally shocked.
A cold wave rushed through John. This wasn’t going to be the heroic escape they had dreamed of.
They were trapped.
‘What’s going on?’ Yarcha asked as the crowd surged forward.
John shook his head as he searched for Crossley in the throng ahead. In the distance he saw grinning Bensha and stone-faced Ladrof corralling the first wave of escapees, and randomly exploding pins, killing the miners at will.
Panic ensued as the crowd turned on itself to get back into the mines they had been escaping from. John gripped Yarcha tight and pushed against the crowd to get away from the guards. In the confused melee of pressed bodies and fighting, they managed to slip free and hide in an alcove. The guards advanced, rounding up survivors and blowing the heads off anyone stupid enough to fight back.
Peeping from their hiding place, John saw one of the guards – a long-tailed Scarpinelloss – stalk out of the shadows, turning to corner a group of soldiers. It was hard to see in the dim light, but John was sure Samas, Rar-kin and Yam-mit were in the gang, backing up against a wall, standing defiantly.
‘Kill them,’ a hoarse order came from one of the head guards.
Lava flew from the blackened palms of the Scarpinelloss and, when the glare of light had cleared from John’s eyes, the cave was smaller. A thicker rock wall stood where the soldi
ers had been encased with the odd hand or foot poking out into fresh air.
Yarcha pulled John away, into the shadows, stumbling back to the stairs and up to their chamber. Yells echoed around them. Cries of defiance, pain and death.
‘No digging today, you bastards!’ Pek, the Ladrof guard, shouted. ‘We deserve some entertainment.’
‘We’ve got to get back to the main chamber,’ John whispered to Yarcha. ‘Safety in numbers.’
Yarcha nodded and led John out of their mineshaft to where the mayhem of a free-for-all battle raged. John stared at a cluster of miners’ bodies splayed around the guard they had beaten to death. It was like being back in the trenches or crossing no-man’s-land, surrounded by death and with the constant threat of the Germans’ machine-gun fire hanging over them.
Yarcha was quick and keen-eyed, leading them around the centres of violence, back to the main cave, where hundreds of miners lay bloodied and wheezing.
‘John, you made it!’ Crossley was sitting in a dark corner and jumped up to greet them. ‘And Yarcha… did you see anyone else?’
John shook his head.
‘It didn’t work,’ Crossley said, not looking at either of them. ‘We’ll never escape as long as we have these.’ He slapped the back of his neck. ‘Fuckin’ Lutamek tech.’
‘We have to find a way,’ Yarcha said.
Crossley’s stare was intense as he said, ‘I only survived because Pek said they need me.’
Yarcha’s head dropped and she muttered, ‘I’m sorry.’
More survivors joined them and the dark minutes continued. Eventually, it was clear the Ascent had known about the escape plan all along and had let the ringleaders show their full strength before ruthlessly cutting them down. Now they knew every adaptation the miners had at their disposal and the most dangerous soldiers had been killed. They might have lost a few miners, but the guards had gained a listening post in the Firstborn’s abandoned tunnels.
As he lay on the rock floor, taking it all in, John pictured the soldiers dying… the explosions… the stone encasing his friends.