Synthezoids Endworld 30

by Robbins, David

  But it was the aberration’s horns that appalled Eleanor the most. They were enormous. Curved up rather than forward, their darkened tips came to wicked points.

  “Brace yourselves!” Rikki shouted.

  Eleanor tried. She gripped the back of his bucket seat and clung fast just as the bull lowered its massive head and slammed into the SEAL so hard, the SEAL’s rear wheels came off the ground.

  The van slewed wildly.

  Spinning the wheel, forced to slow, Rikki regained control.

  “Where did it go?” Kanto yelled.

  The bull had vanished into the fog. On the dash, the red shape was looping around for another attack.

  “How do we fight something like that?” Kanto said.

  “ Let me out,” Crom said. “I’ll take it on.”

  Crazy fool, Eleanor thought.

  “Stay put!” Rikki commanded. He was weaving the SEAL back and forth, and suddenly turned at a right angle.

  A gigantic bulk pounded past.

  “Just missed us!” Kanto shouted in elation.

  Rikki spun the steering wheel the other way.

  Eleanor was glued to the red shape on the screen. So far they had been lucky. The bull’s wicked horns might yet tear into the SEAL’s body. Or, if it caught them just right, the beast might flip the van all the way over.

  Kanto bent toward the infrared screen. “Look out! It’s almost on us again!”

  Rikki furiously worked the wheel. There was a bump and a jolt and then the bull was past and circling for another charge.

  “We can’t keep this up forever,” Kanto said.

  “Let me out, damn it!” Crom bellowed.

  “No!” Rikki said, and performed a maneuver that Eleanor never could; he swung the SEAL entirely around and brought it to an abrupt stop.

  The monster bull was now in front of them, and once again closing.

  “It’s all or nothing,” Rikki-Tikki-Tavi said. He flicked the toggle marked with an ‘R’.

  Eleanor glimpsed a flash of metal as a rocket roared from its recessed housing. Not a heartbeat later the fog lit with a brilliant burst of light and an accompanying blast of thunder. Instinctively, Eleanor raised her hand to shield her face. When she lowered it, the light and din were fading.

  The red shape was still on the screen, but motionless.

  “Did we nail that thing?” Kanto said.

  They waited, the SEAL purring quietly.

  “It still hasn’t moved,” Kanto said.

  “The brute must be dead,” Crom said. “I can hop out and check if you want.”

  “Give it a rest,” Eleanor said.

  “Everyone stays inside,” Rikki said. He slowly drove forward, virtually crawling until the image of the SEAL and the red shape were about to merge on the screen. Veering, he brought the van alongside a massive form shrouded by the fog.

  “Can anyone see it clearly?” Rikki asked, braking.

  Forgetting herself, Eleanor moved closer to Crom’s side, bumping him inadvertently.

  “You sure smell nice, wench,” Crom said. “What is that you're wearing? Lilac water?”

  “Grow up,” Eleanor said in disgust. “And shut up.”

  Just then the fog parted, shutting both of them up.

  The giant bull lay on its belly, its tree-trunk legs splayed to either side. It’s body was a mix of flesh-and-blood animal and scientific construct. The rocket had caught it square in the head. Wires and fluid that wasn’t blood and real blood dripped and oozed from the hole.

  “Not so much as a twitch,” Kanto said. “It’s dead!”

  Sherlock, who hadn’t uttered a word during the attack, placed his hand on Rikki’s seat. “With your permission, sir, I would like to get out and examine it.”

  “Too risky,” Rikki said.

  “I don’t dispute your judgement but we might glean crucial intel,” Sherlock said.

  Rikki shifted and looked at him. “If you consider it that important, then go. But I’ll go with you to watch your back.”

  “No, let me,” Eleanor found herself saying. “We can’t afford to lose you. Remember, you’re the only one who can drive the SEAL.”

  “All right,” Rikki immediately made his decision. “But if I yell for you two to get back in, you obey right away.”

  “Understood,” Sherlock said. He smiled at Eleanor, slid his door open, and hopped out.

  Taking a deep breath, Eleanor followed. Holding Wrathbringer at the ready, she placed herself at his elbow as he moved to the dead hybrid’s head, and squatted. “What are you looking for?”

  “I’m not sure but I believe I’ll know it when I find it.” Sherlock reached a hand into the gaping wound.

  Eleanor peered into the fog, alert for movement and sound. It was like trying to peer into pea soup.

  Sherlock was groping about in the head. “It has to be here somewhere,” he said, more to himself than to her. “It would defy logic to place it anywhere else.”

  “It?” Eleanor said.

  “The control mechanism,” Sherlock said. “I very much doubt the bull possessed independent will. Our adversary likes to exercise complete control over his subordinates, humans and hybrids and otherwise.”

  “You think he sicced that thing on us?”

  “If he’s alive, as we conjecture, there’s no doubt of it,” Sherlock said, inserting more of his arm. “Unless...” He paused. “Unless it operated automatically. Perhaps it was programmed to attack intruders.” He bent lower. ”The complexity involved is incredible. Thanatos must have discovered a chemical, or invented one, that reduces the resistance factor.”

  “Sorry?” Eleanor said, embarrassed that she had no clue what he was talking about.

  “The melding of flesh and blood with artificial parts,” Sherlock said. “Before the Big Blast it was done on a limited scale. Hearts. Lungs. Limbs and what have you. This bull is unprecedented. I stand by my assertion that our enemy is a genius.”

  “You ask me, so are you,” Eleanor said.

  “Hardly.”

  “I’m serious. Those gas bombs of yours. The acid whatsis. The other things you’ve done. You’re smarter than the rest of us combined, and I’m not ashamed to admit it.”

  When Sherlock didn’t respond, Eleanor glanced over and saw him staring up at her with the strangest expression. “What?”

  “I thank you for the complement. I didn’t realize.”

  “Realize what?”

  “Nothing,” Sherlock said, and bent to the bull’s head. “I believe this is it! Removing it might take some doing, but....” He wrenched and grunted and twisted.

  “We have a toolbox in the SEAL,’ Eleanor remembered.

  “Not necessary,” Sherlock said breathlessly, and strained, his face in a grimace.

  Eleanor heard a popping sound and Sherlock unfurled holding a spherical object the size of an apple, with a lot of thin filaments hanging loose.

  “Eureka,” Sherlock said, holding it up. “I was right. This is the brain.”

  Rikki-Tikki-Tavi had rolled down his window and been listening. “Back inside, both of you. I’m picking up movement in the direction of the Tower.”

  “Don’t need to tell us twice,” Eleanor said. Making sure Sherlock stayed behind her, she stepped to the SEAL, climbed in, and reclaimed her seat. He entered and closed the door.

  “Mission accomplished,” Sherlock said, showing what he held to the others. “I need to examine it.”

  “That will have to wait,” Rikki said, and tapped his finger to the infrared screen. “Hostiles are heading our way.”

  Eleanor slid up for a better look. The images weren’t red, as the bull’s had been, but orange, and so thin, they made her think of pencils. Moving pencils.

  “Whatever they are, they’re spreading out,” Rikki said.

  “Here we go again,” Kanto said. “And we’re not even to the Tower yet.”

  Crom laughed and said, “The fun never ends.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE<
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  Kanto liked excitement more than anything. To use Old Time parlance, he was addicted to it. He liked the thrill of putting his skills and ability to the ultimate test. Or he used to think he did. Now he wasn’t so sure. There was a limit to how many perils a person faced before they decided enough was enough.

  Since leaving the Home, it had literally been one thing after another. Threat after threat after threat. Enough was enough.

  Yet here they were, not even halfway into the Valley of Shadow, and new dangers were being thrown at them right and left.

  Kanto hid his unease behind a mask of concentration on the stick figures converging on the SEAL He was so intent on the dash screen, as was nearly everyone else, that he jumped when Sherlock let out a rare yell.

  “The fog! Look at what’s happening!”

  The yellow soup was thinning and fading from around the SEAL.

  “That can’t be natural,” Crom said.

  “Agreed,” Sherlock said, pressing his face to his window. “It suggests our next opponents rely on sight as much as we do.”

  “You’re saying the fog is being cleared to make it easier for them to attack us?” Rikki-Tikki-Tavi said.

  “Such is my surmise,” Sherlock said, “although the data is hardly sufficient to fully justify the contention.”

  “That will work both ways,” Kanto said. “If they can see us, we can see them.”

  “Whatever they are,” Crom said.

  “Movement!” Eleanor cried, and pointed.

  There was a hint of motion at the inner edge of the fog. Something was circling them. Something tall and thin that moved in an odd manner.

  Crom gripped the door handle on his side. “Let’s get out and see what they are.”

  “Stay put,” Rikki said curtly. “No one is to do anything until we find out what we’re up against.”

  “I can easily find out,” Crom said.

  “You’re too reckless by half,” Eleanor said.

  “Excuse me for wanting to get this over with so we can return to the Home and save Blade and the others,” Crom said. “True warriors do what they have to do to get the job done.”

  “Are you saying I’m not?” Eleanor said.

  Kanto detected more movement. By the blips on the screen, there were eight of the things.

  “Here they come,” Sherlock warned.

  Creatures were emerging from the fog. They came from all directions, spacing themselves so they surrounded the SEAL.

  “What on earth?” Crom blurted.

  “Fascinating,” Sherlock said.

  Kanto always thought he had a good imagination. He read a lot. These days, it was mostly anything and everything having to do with assassination and assassins. But when he was younger he read all sorts of books, including science fiction and horror. He liked to think it had developed his mind to where he could pretty much imagine anything. But he had never conceived of something like the mechanical scorpion or the hybrid bull, and he certainly in a million years wouldn’t have imagined the creatures he now beheld.

  They were as tall as an average person. There, any similarity ended. Instead of a head and body, from top to bottom they were shaped like a thin tree. They resembled nothing so much as saplings, each with four arms shaped like tree limbs. Instead of hands, they had long digits much like spikes. Their legs—-three to a creature—-supported the things as a tripod would.

  “If I wasn’t seeing them with my own eyes, I wouldn’t believe it possible,” Eleanor said.

  Kanto shared her amazement. The things were entirely synthetic, the same as Alvis. They had eyes, so to speak, consisting of a single egg-shaped lattice that glowed a bright green.

  “Run the suckers down!” Crom yelled.

  As if they heard him, the creatures rushed the SEAL, scuttling like so many spiders.

  Rikki-Tikki-Tavi flicked a toggle and flames leaped from the van. Two of the things were engulfed and turned into moving bonfires. But they kept coming.

  Kanto gaped, aghast. One gave a bound and landed on top of the grill. Its feet, like its hands, had three spikes which sheared into the SEAL as if the van were so much paper.

  The second creature threw itself at the windshield.

  “They’re trying to bust in!” Crom roared.

  The second creature rammed its spikes at the glass. More spider webs spread from the point of impact but the glass didn’t shatter.

  Involuntarily, Kanto drew back and raised an arm to shield his face.

  The creature slammed the windshield a second time, and the tip of its spike punched through.

  Sliding a stiletto from under his sleeve, Kanto slashed at the tip. His blade pinged as if metal had met metal, and his stiletto glanced off without so much as nicking the thing.

  A tremendous crash resounded on Sherlock’s side. A creature had thrust an entire arm through Sherlock’s window and was trying to rake him with its spikes.

  Rikki-Tikki-Tavi gunned the engine. Erupting forward as if hurtled from a catapult, the SEAL smashed into another of the things, sending it flying into the fog.

  Then the SEAL was in the fog, too, and Rikki began swerving in an effort to shake off the clinging creatures. The thing on the grill went tumbling but the one trying to burst through their windshield was able to hold on.

  Kanto heard the crack of autofire from Sherlock’s BXP and the creature trying to force entry through the side toppled.

  On the windshield, the other one cocked a tree limb arm to strike yet again.

  Rikki was still swerving. “What are you waiting for?” he shouted. “Get it off!”

  Kanto leveled his AR70. He was half worried some of the rounds might ricochet but no, they peppered the glass, and the creature. The thing was knocked back. Otherwise unfazed, it drove its entire arm through the windshield, straight at Kanto.

  Kanto jerked back, too late. Pain seared his face as his cheek was opened, and blood flowed. Pointing the AR70 at the creature’s eye, he emptied the magazine.

  The thing erupted in violent tremors, and at the next swerve of the SEAL, it went flying.

  Rikki slowed.

  “Where are they?” Kanta twisted every which way.

  “The screen!” Eleanor said.

  The thin blips were hastening toward the Needle. Several—-apparently damaged—-moved slower than the rest.

  “We beat them!” Kanto exulted.

  “They weren’t much,” Crom said.

  “Keep your eyes peeled,” Rikki said, and turned the wheel.

  Kanto tensed. The SEAL was heading straight for the Dark Lord’s lair. “We don’t get a breather, do we?”

  “The smart move is to get inside before they send something else out after us,” Rikki said. “We can’t afford more damage to the SEAL. Next time it might be worse.”

  “Fine by me,” Crom said. “I’m tired of sitting on my rump. Warriors tackle their enemies head on.”

  “Warriors should use strategy, too,” Kanto said as he ejected his spent magazine and inserted a fresh one.

  “My strategy is simple,”  Crom said, and patted his axe. “Come and get some.”

  Kanto very much doubted that Crom would make it past the trainee stage. The guy was as rash as anything. “Tactics count for more than brawn,” he reiterated.

  “Says the guy who doesn’t have much muscle,” Crom said.

  On the dashboard, the image of the Needle filled the screen. Suddenly Rikki slammed on the brakes and skewed the van sideways.

  Kanto braced for another onslaught but it wasn’t a creature. They had nearly driven into the Needle. This close, its obsidian sheen reflected the image of the SEAL as a mirror might.

  “We almost crashed,” Crom said, and laughed.

  “Gear up,” Rikki said. “Everyone out.”

  Kanto reset the stiletto in his forearm rig, then hopped out and joined the others.

  An immense door towered before them. Twenty feet high and more than half that wide, it was made of wood and sporte
d a large brass knocker.

  “How peculiar,” Sherlock said. “This doesn’t fit with the Dark Lord’s previous predilections.”

  “Meaning?” Kanto said.

  “I would expect a futuristic door, not ordinary wood,” Sherlock said. “How ironic if our adversary has a maudlin streak.”

  Kanto was spared from having to ask what that meant by Rikki-Tikki-Tavi unlimbering his katana and advancing.

  “Here we go.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  Crom was fit to explode. To say he was bursting inside with the need for action would be an understatement.

  Crom had been that way since he could remember. He loved adventure. Excitement. The thrill of the kill. Unfortunately, most days at the Home were downright dull. Life inside their high walls was nearly always peaceful; so peaceful, it bored him to tears.

  Oh, there had been a few exciting times. Like when chemical clouds appeared. Or scavengers attacked. Or that time the Civilized Zone sent an army to wipe them out.

  But those were few and far between. Most days, ordinary days, consisted of run-of-the mill routine not much different than those before the Big Blast. The Family went about their tasks safe and secure, thanks to their walls and the Warriors.

  Crom hated it. Even as a boy. Small wonder he found thrills, such as they were, in the sensational exploits of fictional characters. One, in particular, riveted him like no other. A big, brawny barbarian who roamed a savage world where wizards and monsters were around every bend in the trail.

  That was Crom’s idea of the ideal life. Never dull. Never boring. Adventure after adventure, unending. Where a man’s sinews and combat prowess were constantly put to a life-or-death test.

  At the Home, only two occupations appealed to him. Hunter and Warrior. The former left the Home each day to find meat for the Family’s tables, venturing into a world every whit as savage as his favorite barbarian’s. Mutants, zombies, genetic deviants, the scavengers, killer gangs, predators and more—-a Hunter never knew from one day to the next if he would make it back to the Home that night.