Chimera Company - Rho-Torkis Box Set

by Tim C. Taylor

  Osu calmed his racing heart.

  I can do this. I did it on Irisur. I can do it here. After the count of ten…

  A few deep breaths and he was counting down.

  The others could do this.

  His legs were like soft rubber, but he abandoned his count and clambered onto the top of the wall.

  “Ah,” said a voice from the east watchtower. “You’re still here. It’s just as well you’re so scared of a little height.”

  Osu dropped back onto the walkway. It was the Viking – Vetch – walking over, carrying a canvas-wrapped bundle in both hands.

  As the trooper approached in the darkness, and his appearance became clearer, Osu shook his head at the sight.

  Everyone knew that most Militia troopers ‘enlisted’ by being press-ganged from the jails and the gutter. But they’d gone too far with this one. Beneath his shaggy fur cloak (Osu began to question whether the fur was fake) a frill of lead plates jangled against the man’s chainmail. These were weights to be inserted into the head of the archetypal Militia weapon, which was slung between his legs with its haft telescoped up.

  A war hammer.

  Even the man’s helmet had metal cheek pieces and crest spikes straight out of the most ancient Earth civilizations. It was a miracle it wasn’t sprouting horns or horse’s hair.

  “You’re Sybutu?” said the Viking.

  Osu nodded, and the man tossed across his bundle.

  Skragg, it was heavy! Osu staggered back and nearly fell off the walkway. But it was worth it. The bundle contained their weapons.

  “On second thoughts,” said the barbarian, “I’ll help you lower them. Once you’re down safely, I’ll untie the rope. I suggest you head north-northeast for the first mile or two, because that’s safely inside our watch zone. Where you go then is your business.”

  Was it? Yazzie had talked about an escort. But this brute didn’t seem to know about that. He knew he could never trust the Militia.

  “Why are you helping us?” asked Osu, trying to tease open the Militia’s intentions.

  Vetch shrugged enormous shoulders. “A fair question. In fact, I asked myself the same one because – and let me be very clear on this point – I don’t want to help you. I’d rather crack your skull open and fry your brains for my supper.”

  “Then why don’t you try?” Osu decided the Militia man was being serious about his cannibalistic desire and started unwrapping the bundle. He’d read that eating the organs of defeated opponents was commonplace in the most primitive societies. And in the Far Reach Federation, you didn’t get much more primitive than the Militia.

  “Try? Why don’t I try?” The trooper gave a deep bass laugh. “You have a lot to learn, jack-head.”

  “You know what? I don’t care why you’re doing this. I doubt you’re capable of understanding yourself. Just help us get away, and you won’t see us again.”

  “If only. Somehow, I doubt that.”

  On top of the weapon bundle was a sealed paper document. He had no idea what that was about, and didn’t care, because beneath it was something useful: an HC2 blaster rifle. Short barrel. Lightweight. Perfect. Osu snaked his hand inside the covering and gripped the buttstock. He would prefer not to shoot the man dead. But whether Vetch was alive or not made little difference.

  “Really?” sneered the Viking, crossing his arms in Osu’s peripheral vision. “You jack-head bikers might be a pack of treacherous, fuck-monkey skrangets, but it looks like we’re gonna be a team for this mission.”

  Osu drew out the blaster and flicked on the charge pack. He felt the fizz of power through the trigger guard.

  “Chimera Company,” said the Viking. He didn’t sound any more impressed by the idea than Osu.

  But the legionary didn’t care. He was the one with the gun. That’s what mattered. And the muzzle was pointing at the trooper’s feet.

  “So you’ve spoken with Major Yazzie,” said Osu. “I don’t care. Clear off!”

  The Viking planted his feet a little wider. “The major told me to let you ugly lizards get away. That’s all I know. But I’m not stupid.”

  “You could have fooled me. I’ve just given you a chance to back out safely and yet here you still are.”

  “Oh, shut it for a minute, will you? The major’s playing a very dangerous game here, so I’m not surprised she’s keeping us in the dark until the last possible moment. Here’s what I think she’s not telling me. The fun and games tonight are about more than getting you out of her hair. She wants you to get wherever you’re supposed to be going and do whatever it is you’re supposed to be doing. It’s clear you can’t do either without being chaperoned, which means she’ll want to give you an escort. Shall we guess who that might be?”

  Hushed cries came from the base of the wall. “Sybutu! Are you okay?”

  With the blaster pointed at the Viking, Osu leaned over and replied with a heavy whisper. “I’ve picked up an unwelcome friend. Just scraping him off my boot. Wait for me down below.”

  Urdizine would hear that; none of the others would.

  “Back off,” he told the trooper, leveling the blaster at him. “We don’t need an escort.”

  “Cause you don’t, mate. Oh, and Lily says to say hi. I expect you’ll be seeing her soon. Now, were you wanting me to help you get your weapons and your carcass down safely, or are you too proud to be scared of heights in front of me?”

  “I’m going to count to five,” said Osu with calm menace. “And if you’re still here when I get to five…”

  “You wouldn’t make it. My snipers are listening in on every word. They’ll kill you at four. But that would make a lot of noise and make the major cross, so why don’t I just leave you to it?”

  At last, the Viking moved off, back to the watchtower entrance. “Oh, and take care unwrapping that bundle,” he called over his shoulder. “Lily spotted the major slipping a secret note in for you. Just wave if you need help getting down.”

  Osu waited, rifle at the ready, until the man disappeared into the watchtower.

  “I hate the Militia,” he said through gritted teeth.

  The probability that he was under observation spurred him past his fear of heights. After tying the weapon bundle into the rope cradle they’d used to lower the bikes, he sent the rifles down the wall. If he’d accepted the Viking’s help, it would have been a less noisy and bumpy descent, but there was a principle at stake here.

  Then he abseiled down himself, sliding down the rope in his eagerness to get away from Iceni and its unruly denizens.

  “Was that a friend of yours?” asked Zavage when Osu’s boots hit the blessed firmness of the ice.

  “No,” Osu replied. “He’s no friend of ours. Whatever reason they had for helping us was all about Militia internal politics. It’s not our concern. Now, let’s ride!”

  They set off north-northeast and were quickly swallowed by the night.

  “Boss, they may be dumb troopers,” said Stryker after a few miles, “but we have to assume they planted trackers.”

  “Counting on it,” Osu replied. “We’ll worry about that at dawn. For now, keep riding.”

  They veered east, keeping their heading well away from Osu’s true target: Raemy-Ela.

  The night raged at their escape, sending a wind in pursuit that seemed to whisper one word: Chimera.

  Yeah, well, the chances of Osu working with the Militia were as likely as running into a mashup monster with the head of a moose on the body of a giant snake.

  Nonetheless, he urged his team on without a break, desperate to put distance between them and Fort Iceni.

  Chimera Company.

  Nah. Never gonna happen.

  NEXT ISSUE: The rebels are here!

  ISSUE 4

  VETCH ARUNSEN

  “You’re a disgrace. All of you.” Major Yazzie wore a path through the light snow covering the courtyard as she trooped the sorry line of incompetent Militia sentries, stopping directly in front of the man on t
he end wearing a black fur cloak and Thracian helmet. “But especially you, Arunsen.”

  Vetch stared over the top of the major’s head, his gaze fixed at a point directly in front of him on the south wall.

  “I had hoped your poor record on Lose-Viborg was a mistake. A one-off. Not to be repeated.” She tracked her glare across the line, treating each of them to a blast of her disdain.

  All through this display, Yazzie had pointedly ignored Shen, who was technically a part of the parade line, two steps to Vetch’s right.

  It’s going according to plan, Vetch told himself. And it was true. It was going according to the major’s plan. Vetch and his friends had as good as pleaded guilty to a serious offense that could get them executed.

  This was often the way in the Militia. The officers took the credit when the troopers did good work. And when they didn’t… well, the officers would have tried their best, but the troopers let them down.

  Shen was being ignored altogether as an inconsequence, which suited him on this occasion. Captain Solikin-Goh was watching this charade in silent shame, shrunk so deeply inside her winter coat that her heavily shadowed features made her look like an undead night shade.

  Snow began to fall, muffling the stamp of the major’s boots as she trooped the line once more.

  The thump of a heavier set of boots added to Yazzie’s stomp. Vetch couldn’t turn to see who was striding their way. Who was it? Solikin-Goh melted further into her coat, and Yazzie stopped to look.

  Surely it can’t be…

  But it was. Puffing slightly with the exertion, the rotund form of Colonel Bock appeared, wearing a bell-jar greatcoat stiff with gold embroidery.

  “This platoon’s performance is a damned disgrace,” declared the colonel. “Go clear up your mess, Lieutenant Shen.”

  Shen blinked as if somebody had set off a firecracker up his ass.

  Yazzie was far more composed. She merely looked as if she’d been slapped by a wet fish.

  Vetch didn’t give any reaction. It was all going to drent before they’d even gotten started. So, situation normal. Besides, he was too intrigued to see how Shen would react to worry about whether they would have to bring the idiot along.

  Even with the muffling snowflakes gently settling on the drama, the courtyard seemed to amplify the noise of Shen swallowing hard followed by a pathetic little sigh.

  Nonetheless, Shen managed to screw up his courage and squeak out, “Right away, sir.”

  Shen paced up and down the disgraced security detail. Vetch, Lily, Enthree, Meatbolt, Darant, Rynter, Deep Tone, Green Fish, and Sward: he glowered at each in turn.

  “You can count on me, Colonel,” he said. “I’ll make sure those legionaries are apprehended or these troopers will die trying. Er... what backup will I have?”

  “Backup, Lieutenant?” Colonel Bock gave a warning growl. “I don’t understand the question.”

  “What I mean, Colonel, is that once I’ve led this worthless group of disgraces to locate the escapees, what forces will I call in to apprehend them?”

  “None, Lieutenant. Have you not been paying attention? We’re cut off. I can’t even make contact with my supply agent in the capital, and I certainly cannot spare troopers I need to defend Fort Iceni. After you locate the legionaries, you apprehend them. You, Lieutenant Shen. You. Bring at least one back alive for interrogation.”

  “But… They’re legionaries. They’re dangerous.”

  “Then be more dangerous.” Bock regarded the junior officer, pursing his fat lips as if relishing the prospect of a sumptuous banquet.

  Man, the colonel must really hate Shen, Vetch thought.

  “Are you telling me you are unable to carry out your orders? Or are you unwilling?”

  He might’ve been a dumb officer who’d parachuted his way into his post, but even Julius Shen knew there was only one correct way to respond to such a question. He puffed his chest out, attempted to look martial, and gave a crisp salute. “No, sir. We’ll bring in that treacherous scum. Dead or alive.”

  “Make sure you do,” the colonel replied. Under his breath he added, “Or don’t bother coming back.”

  The senior officers marched away, leaving Vetch and his friends with the stunned lieutenant.

  Only Vetch knew it so far, but it looked as if they had all joined Chimera Company, Shen included.

  He looked at the man, whose mouth was flapping like a landed fish. Yazzie’s plan would never work with this encumbrance, and Vetch had placed his squad all in with the major. Which meant Shen needed to be kicked out, and fast.

  A chill breeze caressed his face, and he sensed his ma looking down from heaven. But she could trust her boy, because Vetch knew that he couldn’t murder the lieutenant in cold blood. Probably not even in the heat of the moment.

  So how was he going to solve the problem of Lieutenant Shen?

  BRONZE

  His headset chimed, a warning from his bike that was redundant because Bronze had already seen the flashing red section on the terrain map displayed between the handlebars.

  Bronze was impressed. These custom bikes had mil-grade forward-facing terrain analyzers. Mines, hidden shooters, rotting carcasses, and thin ice would all show up – or in this case, a dip in the ice hidden by the covering of snow.

  The hollow probably wouldn’t do anything worse than cause the bike gravitics to cough and splutter, but Bronze was taking point, which meant it was his job to keep the ride incident-free.

  He banked left, giving the dip a wide berth. The four bikes behind followed his lead, trusting Hines Zy Pel, the mysterious special missions operative to keep them out of trouble.

  No one knew the real truth behind the man. Bronze, as they called him now – irony of ironies. They were far too trusting, but for now at least they were right to trust him.

  The bikes weren’t that good, though. Even after wiping his hand over his thigh to clear the worst of the snow from his glove, it took several attempts to gesture over the console to split the display so he could check their heading.

  Bearing 062°. Still making for the coordinates Sybutu had given them after they had gotten a few klicks from Iceni.

  Sybutu still hadn’t explained the coordinates. The man was keeping far too much to himself, not because of a need-to-know basis, but because clamming up seemed to be the NCO’s natural response to being out of his depth.

  You’ve become a problem, Osu.

  Bronze lowered his scarf for a second. Just enough to allow a blast of freezing air to shock some clarity into his tired mind.

  Osu was far from the only problem they were facing. It was time to start solving them, but which one first?

  The RILs, the Militia who had turned against them, or the full-scale rebel assault? Then there were the Invaders with a capital ‘I’ – the ones who seemed intent on securing the ship that had remained buried for thousands of years. Was it theirs?

  He shuddered at the thought.

  At least the Invaders were a foe he’d faced before and survived, but someone had ripped apart the Legion defenses from the inside and left Camp Faxian practically defenseless. And where was the Legion’s orbital response? After the initial appearance of the Spikeballs… nothing. There had been no distant thunder of kinetic torpedoes dropping through the atmosphere against rebel ground targets. No sign of Legion aircraft.

  Rho-Torkis was supposed to be a Legion bastion. To neuter it so effectively required betrayal at the highest level. This must be his primary objective: to report on this betrayal.

  What a mess!

  But to make an informed report, he needed the help of the sappers. Whether Malix was part of the Legion betrayal or had discovered it too late was a question Bronze would soon have to decide, but for now it suited Bronze to play along with the others.

  Bronze…

  It wasn’t the first time he’d worn that name.

  The persona felt surprisingly comfortable, wrapping itself around his shoulders with the ease of an old
lover, not as poisoned by the bitter memories as he’d expected.

  Careful, he told himself. You are not that Bronze. Not the one who let Sarah die at Azoth Zol.

  No, Bronze was only a name now. And the Hines Zy Pel he was playing at the moment should have no trouble in deciding his course of action.

  First, he had to sort out Sybutu. And he knew exactly which of the sergeant’s many buttons to press.

  “Urdizine?” Bronze spoke quietly into the icy air that whipped past, carrying his words in his wake. Only the wounded Zhoogene could hear them – if he was alert enough.

  “Urdi, I need us to stop. I need to set the Sarge right. I’m worried about him. About you too. Can you get him to stop?”

  Urdi’s reply came over the radio twenty seconds later when an inhuman grunt of pain escaped the clamp of his lips.

  “Urd!” exclaimed Stryker. “You okay, buddy?”

  The Zhoogene attempted to reply, but his words were too overcome by his grunts of pain.

  “Hold in there,” said Sybutu. “Circle the bikes. I’m calling a halt.”

  VETCH ARUNSEN

  “You see, Sergeant?” said Shen after they’d put three swift klicks from the south gate. “All that Saruswine training I put you through paid off. I knew it would.”

  Foresight on the part of Julius Shen seemed unlikely in Vetch’s worldview, but he admitted the lieutenant had been right by accident. The man had a knack for riding and the Saruswine were the only mounts on Rho-Torkis that wouldn’t shatter into a thousand shards of frozen beast the moment you sat on them.

  “Where to now, I wonder?”

  Shen spoke as if in passing, but it was obvious he had no idea where to begin searching for the legionaries.

  Normally, they would call for orbital observation. But visibility through an atmosphere choked with snow clouds and radioactive dust was always atrocious, and as far as anyone could determine, the orbital network had vanished. They had a pair of drones, but they were no use without knowing where to send them across the featureless ice plain.