World Killer: A Sci-Fi Action Adventure Novel

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World Killer: A Sci-Fi Action Adventure Novel Page 17

by Barry J. Hutchison


  The surface itself was still pretty far away. Not so far away that it wasn’t something to worry about, but not close enough for her to be completely consumed by panic quite yet.

  Soon, though. Definitely soon.

  The sky became the ground and the ground became the sky, flipping over and over and over. Riley was really starting to regret that second chicken nugget.

  “Riley, you’re falling.”

  Daryl’s voice was in her ear, so clear he could have been standing right beside her.

  “Well aware of that!” she yelped, watching the horizon whizz past through the glass of her visor. “Trying to do something about it.”

  “I think you have to stop spinning.”

  “Thanks, Daryl,” said Riley. “That wouldn’t have occurred to me. Good job by that super-brain of yours.” She swallowed down her nausea. “That was totally sarcasm that time, by the way.”

  “Want me to come back for you?” Daryl asked.

  Riley gritted her teeth. The metal suit whirred as she spread herself out into a star shape. “No. I’ve got it,” she said, flopping around in two complete circles. “Keep going.”

  “OK. Well, you know. Good luck,” Daryl said.

  “You too,” said Riley, splaying her fingers to try to catch the whistling wind. She was still spinning, but at an angle now so the horizon screamed past her diagonally. The ground was closer, and she caught glimpses of roads and buildings below.

  “Come on, Riley,” she muttered. “Why is this happening? Figure it out.”

  She lifted her head just long enough to check her arms and legs. They felt heavy inside the suit, and it was hard to tell from feel alone if they were in the position Hath had shown her. One arm looked higher than the other, but she was spinning so quickly now she couldn’t tell which was which.

  She glanced from one to the other. “Eeny, meeny, miny…” Riley raised one arm a few inches higher. “Mo.”

  The wind slammed into her. She rolled once, twice, three times.

  And then, just like that, she stopped. She could see Skalgorth spread out below her, stretching off in all directions. Riley laughed. “Go me,” she said, then something went beep in her ear. Fire ignited from the feet of the suit and, with a brief scream, Riley streaked across the sky.

  Daryl watched a series of glowing symbols scroll upward through the air beside him, and allowed himself a smile. “She did it,” he said, even though there was no one around to hear.

  He looked down at the little pebble-face Riley had given him. It sat next to the controls on a little plinth that he’d had Yufo grow from the wall.

  “She did it!” he said, addressing the little rock directly.

  His fingers danced in empty space. “Ash. Have you arrived?”

  There was a moment of silence before Ash’s voice surrounded him. “You know I’ve arrived. You’re watching us all, aren’t you?”

  “You and Riley. Can’t track Hath,” Daryl said. “Riley had problems, but she’s OK. Hang fire until the timer goes off, OK?”

  “For the millionth time, I got it,” Ash said. “Now, go do your part.”

  Daryl raised a middle finger to the console, then changed the channel. “Hath? How are things going?”

  “As planned,” said the alien without any delay. “The others?”

  “Yeah, OK, I think. Ash is being difficult, but then there’s nothing new there.”

  “As long as he performs his task. How long until you arrive?”

  Daryl didn’t need to look up at the display on the wall. “Just over eight minutes. Are you sure I can’t go faster?”

  “You would risk being detected. And the attacks must be perfectly synchronized or—”

  Hath’s voice stopped and the ship fell silent. “Hello?” said Daryl. He double-checked the symbols on the floating display. As far as he could tell, the comm-line was still open. “Hath, you there?”

  Silence. Daryl drew in a deep breath and held it. He stood motionless, as if moving would somehow make things worse.

  “I am here, Daryl Elliot,” said Hath, so suddenly Daryl jumped. “But I must be quiet for now. Continue as planned. You can do this.”

  The line went dead, cut off from the other end. Daryl let his breath out slowly. “Yeah. Yeah, I can do this,” he said to no one but himself, and the seconds on the wall rolled steadily down.

  Ash prodded himself on the shoulder. “Lose the gloves.”

  The metal gauntlets covering his hands retracted into the gleaming arms and he wriggled his fingers. The atmosphere was breathable, Hath had said, but he wasn’t about to take any chances, so he left the rest of the suit in place.

  He had to admit, he hadn’t been a fan of the fleshy red leotard when he’d first seen it, but there was no denying it was pretty damn handy. Turning into a suit of flying battle armor was impressive, of course, but it also meant he could have a different designer outfit every day, without spending a single cent.

  Of course, first he had to save the world, otherwise, there’d be no one around to appreciate his outstanding fashion sense.

  Ash leaned out and peered around the rock he was hiding behind. A wall, easily twenty feet tall, stretched across the landscape less than a quarter of a mile away. It was huge, there was no questioning that, but it was just a wall. He’d been expecting force fields or some other future alien junk, but nope, just a wall. Not that he was complaining, of course. Walls, he could handle.

  He glanced up at the numbers whirring past in the top right corner of his visor. There were still seven minutes before he could make his move. He watched the numbers for a few seconds, willing them to move faster. “Come on, already.”

  His part of the plan was relatively straightforward. Break into the base. Destroy everything in sight. Don’t get killed. Hath had said all the equipment and vehicles would be out of their hangers, prepared for the attack on Earth. As the attack was still a few days away, though, troops would be thin on the ground.

  Ash clicked his fingers impatiently and sung below his breath. He hated waiting. He’d always hated waiting. The temptation to just run in there and start blasting everything was pretty damn overwhelming. He distracted himself by thinking about his post-world-save interviews, and the film roles he’d be offered.

  They were bound to make a movie of this, and he’d play himself for sure. Sing the soundtrack, too. Obviously, the others couldn’t be in it, but he had a few ideas on the casting front. Riley, for starters, could be played by—

  There was a sound from behind him. Ash turned, but too late. Something slammed into his visor, sending him sprawling. He hit the ground hard, throwing up a cloud of red dust. Frantically, he looked for his attacker, but the glass of his visor had splintered into a spider-web pattern, making it impossible to see anything except a shadowy shape lunging toward him.

  “Oh no, oh no, oh no,” Riley babbled. “This is gonna hurt.”

  She hit the ground at a steep angle, bounced twice, then tumbled to an awkward stop. She was just breathing a sigh of relief when the rockets in her boots kicked in again, propelling her several feet across the ground.

  “Stop, whoa, cut it out!” she yelped. She jabbed her shoulder and shouted, “Meat suit, meat suit!”

  The metal slithered, becoming fabric again. Riley skidded for another foot or so before friction brought her slide to a halt. She lay on her back, looking up at the distant sun, wondering which parts of her were about to hurt.

  “Ooh. Everything. Bonus.” She grimaced and sat up, then gave the world a chance to stop spinning before getting to her feet.

  Once she had dusted herself down, cricked her neck, and checked there was nothing broken, she looked around. The prison building was just ahead, standing all on its own on a perfectly flat patch of land.

  It wasn’t much to look at. In fact, it was barely bigger than the McDonald’s they’d been sitting in just an hour or so ago. But then, Riley had been prepared for that. The part of the prison that was above the ground
was just a glorified reception area. The real action—and the prisoners she was there for—were buried deep below the surface.

  There would be guards, of course. The way into the prison would be heavily protected, and Riley knew that if she strolled up to that front door she’d be dead before she could knock.

  Luckily, she had her own ways of making an entrance. Pointing both hands at the ground ahead of her, she twisted them, like she was turning a tiny wheel. Chunks of rock pinged away in all directions, as if an invisible drill had begun cutting through.

  A second later, there was a Riley-sized passageway leading underground. Riley took a few seconds to line herself up with the prison, then lowered herself down into the hole. Parting her hands, she forced the rock ahead of her to spread just enough for her to pass. She walked on through the splitting stone, getting lower and lower, and closer to the prison with every step.

  Just five or six steps in and Riley was walking through darkness. She glanced behind her at the weak light seeping in through the hole in the ground.

  “Nothing to worry about,” she muttered. “Nothing to be afraid of.”

  She clenched her fists, then shook them loose. “Yeah,” she muttered, stepping forward into the blackness. “Right.”

  Ash raised his hands, but before he could let off a shot, a foot slammed into his chest, sending him sprawling again. He hit the dirt hard, and the armor’s edges dug into his back. “God damn it,” he hissed. He swept one arm out wildly, firing with a tight beam.

  There was a scream, piercing despite the muffling effect of the helmet. Something wet and red hit the visor, and through the cracked glass Ash saw the figure hit the deck. Tapping his shoulder, he barked for the helmet to fix itself. The visor rippled for a split-second. When it stopped, the cracks were gone, and Ash saw a figure writhing on the ground. It was missing one leg from below the knee, and the other from around the hip. Blood spurted from the wounds and pooled in a puddle below.

  The figure looked like a scaled-down version of Hath, dressed in some sort of uniform. In the gulf between it and the missing bits of its legs lay something Ash recognized as a gun. It wasn’t like any he’d ever seen before, but it had an unmistakable gun shape to it that couldn’t really be missed.

  Ash kicked it away, but the alien didn’t notice. He—at least, Ash assumed it was a he—was too busy thrashing around and howling to worry about the weapon.

  “You shouldn’t have attacked me, man,” Ash said. He pointed both hands at the alien’s head and flexed his fingers. He held them there, staring down at the injured figure. After a moment, the hands began to shake.

  He lowered one hand, keeping the other trained on the alien’s head. Gritting his teeth, he turned his head. He screwed his eyes shut, trying to control the trembling that rose through his wrist and up his arm.

  “Gah!” Ash turned and walked off, putting a few paces between him and the fallen figure. “What’s the point? You’ll be dead in a minute, anyway.” He looked down at the pool of blood, then across at the legs. One of them was still standing upright. “Not like you can do much now, anyway.”

  With a hiss, the alien pressed a hand to the side of its neck. He spat something unintelligible, then his breathing became a series of short, choking gulps. Ash stepped further away, transfixed by the alien’s heaving chest.

  As it wheezed through its final breaths, an alarm screamed from somewhere beyond the wall. Ash shot the motionless figure a dirty look. “That’s the thanks I get, is it?” he spat.

  Shrugging, Ash turned toward the wall. The countdown in the corner of his visor told him there were five minutes left until he was supposed to attack, but he didn’t see that he had a whole lot of choice.

  Besides, he’d been acting on TV since he was six years old. If there was one thing he knew, it was how to improvise.

  “Knock-knock,” he said as, raising his arms, he began to run.

  Twenty-Six

  Daryl stared at the red symbols flaring past him through the air.

  “No, no, no. Ash, you idiot,” he cried.

  The alarm had been raised at Ash’s target. The other sites would know in moments, and the whole plan would be at risk.

  “Uh, block transmissions,” he called. “Stop the alarm. Do something!”

  “Communications sub-system menu available,” said Yufo. A rectangle of green light unrolled like a scroll beside Daryl.

  “I don’t know how to…” Daryl began, but as he studied them the symbols began to make sense. They were similar to the others Hath had taught him to understand during flying training. Daryl’s hand flew to the lights, tapping out commands he hoped would block all communications below.

  He felt a stabbing panic as the World Killer’s voice boomed out at him through the speakers. “I am broadcasting this message on all transmissions across your world,” he said, and Daryl reached for the controls again.

  “You stand in the presence of the High Ruler of Skalgorth, just as billions have done before you. And just like those billions, you all shall soon be dead.”

  Daryl paused, his fingers poised over the holographic buttons.

  “Soon, Skalgorth shall fill your skies, then I will slaughter your children like cattle and pick their flesh from my teeth with their bones. I shall take everything you have ever fought for, everything you have ever loved, everything that you ever were, and then I shall burn whatever is left,” said the voice.

  Daryl knew those words. He’d heard them before. He whispered along.

  “I am the High Ruler of Skalgorth. I am the World Killer. And I am coming.”

  “Is that…? What is that?” Daryl said. “Is that a recording?”

  Hath’s voice barked out at him. “Daryl Elliot! What is happening? The alarm has been raised.”

  “Uh, yeah. It was… I don’t know. Something happened to Ash.”

  He leaped back in fright as a series of high-pitched noises screamed over the airwaves. “Hath? Hath, what’s happening?” he asked, but there was no reply from the other side.

  Daryl changed the channel. “Riley? Ash? What’s going on?”

  “Can’t talk. Busy.” Ash was shouting, but his voice was muffled and distant. “Call back later.”

  “Riley? Riley?” Daryl said, but no answer came. “Damn it!” He thrust both hands forward and Yufo’s engines began to hum louder. “She’ll be OK,” he announced, nice and clear in the hope it made him believe it. “She’ll be OK.”

  More symbols scrolled upward past him as the ship closed on the third and final target. “We’re cloaked, right? No one can see us?”

  “Affirmative, Daryl Elliot,” Yufo said. “Stealth mode active.”

  “Show me the plans for the power plant,” he said. A spinning three-dimensional model of the station grew in the air behind him. He glanced over his shoulder at it. “Good, now show me where I can disable the transport beams.”

  “Information classified,” Yufo announced.

  Daryl turned. “What?” he said. “Show me. I need to know where to go.”

  “Information classified,” Yufo said again. The hum of the engines died away. “We have arrived.”

  Daryl spent a second committing the power plant layout to memory, then tapped himself on the shoulder. “Gorthian Battle Armor,” he said, and his t-shirt and jeans hardened into burnished bronze metal. He instinctively took a deep breath as a helmet bloomed over his head and a visor snapped down in front of his face.

  Yufo’s wall parted as Daryl strode toward it. He paused at the gap, gazing down at the twin towers standing directly below. “Who made it classified?” Daryl asked.

  “Information classified,” Yufo said. Daryl sighed.

  “Yeah, I thought you might say that,” he muttered, then he turned his attention back to the power plant and the distant ground below.

  “Likelihood of getting killed,” he whispered. “A solid nine.”

  He placed his arms by his sides. He closed his eyes.

  And then, with
a whispered prayer to anyone who might be listening, he jumped.

  BOOM!

  Something Ash guessed was a tank went off like a bomb blast, tearing apart an identical vehicle right beside it. It had taken him a few tries, but he’d found a weak spot in the tanks’ armor, down where the armadillo-like plating met the caterpillar tracks. Hit that near the back and…

  BOOM!

  The next in the row went up, flipped into the air, then came crashing back down on the next tank over. Ash laughed as he blasted short beams at a few more vehicles, one after the other. They exploded in rapid succession, and Ash ducked to avoid the hot debris as it whistled past.

  He could hear the shouts of the soldiers trapped inside the barracks or whatever the hell the low building was that ran part way along one of the walls. He’d brought the wall crashing down on top of it like a landslide, crushing half of it and sealing off the rest. He’d been quite proud of that move, even if he did say so himself.

  He was starting to wish, though, that he’d paid more attention to Hath’s instructions. He’d destroyed a dozen or so tanks, and there was maybe the same again lined up in rows around the courtyard. He’d been expecting more, though, and there was no sign of anything else that looked even remotely dangerous.

  Even the tanks didn’t exactly look primed for battle. At least half of them had been partly covered in sand, like the desert had been trying to claim them. He blasted another to pieces, bringing what was left down to single figures.

  If they could be destroyed this easily, he didn’t see what the fuss was about. The US alone could handle a few dozen tanks, even if the rest of the world didn’t bother its ass to help out.

 

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