“What are the posts each side of the road at the northern edge of the city?” she asked Harry.
“Carels,” he answered, not taking his gaze from the town. “Mountains have spiritual significance to Semevalians, they represent the point where heaven intersects with earth. Semevalian’s build most of their prefectures and cities in the shadow of a mountain range. Respite, comfort, inspiration, are all drawn from the mountains. They follow that path and touch the posts as they ascend. It’s a tribute to their spirituality. The Carels make an amazing sound,” Harry looked at her and smiled. “I hope you get to hear them one day.”
“Their houses are colourful.”
“Semevalians are highly creative; their surroundings reflect their culture,” Harry said as he rolled over. “Helen, get into your stealth; you can take the southern section. Marta, go to the east, and Laurel, the west. Chloe’s on the other side of the mountain to the north.”
Helen busied herself buckling into her stealth belt, not noticing the glittering spiral that spun up over the ridge without warning. Sensing the sudden movement, Laurel ducked as the whirlwind flew above her head. Helen had already activated her stealth, and the whirlwind careered into her, showering her in powdery, glittering dust. The whirlwind dropped to the ground before recovering itself and skipping off into the distance.
“What the bloody hell was that?” Helen looked down at herself in alarm and spat a wad of glitter out of her mouth.
“It’s a wik,” Harry didn’t even blink. “They’re all over the galaxy. Harmless. Now, are you ready? We need to cover as much of the town as possible, keep in contact with Laurel.” Harry glanced behind again at Helen. She shimmered from head to toe. “Wait, Helen, you’re covered in wik pollen.”
“You can see me?”
“I can see anything that’s outside the stealth belt’s field.” Harry sent an order over his d-com, and a new belt was promptly despatched as Helen divested herself of the contaminated armour.
“That upside down Christmas tree lit me up like, well…like a Christmas tree,” Helen said, wiping the pollen from her tongue. “We should train them to drop that stuff on the enemy soldiers in stealth and then you wouldn’t need us.” She dusted the residue of glitter from her face while Harry and Laurel looked at each other. Marta also paused as she caught their thoughts.
Helen took a few seconds to pick up on the conjoined images in the minds of her three associates. “Are you telling me, Commander Harry,” she pointed at him. “That you kidnapped six people from another universe, packed them full of a technology that obeys their every thought and makes them see like Superman, but in the end, it’s going to boil down to blowing fairy dust at the enemy?”
Laurel sat up. “It’s another means of identifying them, Helen. It would be a tremendous advantage.”
“Laurel’s right,” Harry agreed, “it won’t work for those in Semevalian disguise, but for stealth, it just might, courtesy of the wik’s demonstration.”
Helen came and knelt beside them. “But how would we train them?”
“Don’t be idiotic, Helen, we can’t train them, they’re wild—” Marta checked her assumption with Harry. She waited for his nod of agreement before continuing, “We find a similar substance and develop an efficient method of delivering it.”
“We can’t discuss it now,” Harry turned back to monitoring the town. “You’ll only have seventeen minutes before the stealth destabilises; not enough to cover the whole town. Just do what you can.”
Laurel activated her stealth and took off, sprinting as close to the central west section as she dared, making sure she gave herself enough time to survey the area and get out undetected. A few Semevalians drew her attention as they hurried through the lanes in pairs, the sense of panic and melancholy so intense, Laurel felt that if she breathed it in, it would infect her too. For certain, the enemy was here, but there was something else…
She rejected it; there was simply no time. Finding herself in the town centre, her eyes immediately settled on a single storey pavilion, with pillared arches supporting a colonnade covered in climbing flowers. A raised stage opened out in front, and behind the stage, broad steps led to an elaborate entrance, a door of wooden construction with hinges, lying open to the warmth of the day. Her optimiser came online in response to her observations, granting her a detailed view of the building. Several mathematical symbols flicked up in front of her left eye, offering dimensions and possible entrances and number of occupants. Useful information, but her senses went further. Even from 50 metres, she sensed the enemy, knew their intent and their confidence. Within seconds, she stood in the doorway. She recognised them, not just from their appearance. Their purpose, it set them apart, even with their attention temporarily diverted from the war, celebrating their occupation of this tranquil place, the light of hostility within them burned.
Forty or so enemy soldiers lounged indolently, chatting and laughing. They ranged in age from possibly sixteen to fifty years. Each of them sported identical haircuts, shaved close over the ears with spiky tufts left to grow in a short Mohican style over their scalps. Their uniforms were soiled, torn, and many of them wore the knuckle weapons. Several stealth belts lay unguarded on the table. Two half-soul females, not of their kind, served them food, and three young Semevalian women minus their cauls were curled up together in a corner. There were no signs of battle, no injured people in the streets, no damage to buildings, no picture of war, and the enemy seemed jovial and relaxed. Their spoken language was alien to Laurel, but she didn’t need it as she ran swiftly and unseen from building to building, discovering those which housed a scant few terrified quarter-souls, those who had half-souls without intent, presumably the merchants or visitors, and those that housed a mixture of each. Chloe reported in, and thankfully, Laurel sensed Helen was okay. The entire exercise took her precisely seventeen minutes, arriving back at the same time as Marta and Helen and just as she became visible. Harry was waiting, but Laurel’s expression told him even before she said the words.
“They’re here.”
“What have you got?” Harry asked.
“They’re confident,” Laurel said, “one building has around forty soldiers. They don’t appear to be doing anything to protect themselves.”
“The southern buildings are mostly unoccupied,” Helen’s voice trembled, and she struggled to control her breathing. “The enemy soldiers I saw in the street wore Semevalian clothing, I think. They have a guard at the southern approach, wearing stealth. I don’t think there are many soldiers there. I—I, got a bit muddled.”
Laurel stepped in. “According to Chloe, those caves up there,” she pointed towards the mountain, “have around 2,500 quarter and half-souls.”
“There are quite a few children still in the town,” Marta said. “They’re distressed and under guard. Six enemy ships are at the far end, and there are civilian bodies in rows further out; I couldn’t count them. The enemy is moving around the town in small groups.”
“Do we know how many troops in total?” Harry asked.
“Chloe reported that Bramble droids are patrolling the caves, but no enemy guards. In the western quarter,” Laurel said, “there’s about 400 or so, they don’t seem prepared for combat, in fact, in the grand house in the Town square, they’re having a party. As I said, they’re pretty confident.”
Marta nodded. “I would say about the same number in the east.”
They looked at Helen, but she merely shrugged.
Harry frowned. “Why so few?” He turned to Helen, “Are you positive you identified the enemy?”
“Yes—no, not 100%. I thought I could identify the half-souls, but I relied more on their speech than what I felt. I couldn’t get past it.”
“What about you, Marta?”
“100% certain. I had no problem.”
“In that case, Marta and Helen, I have to put you two together, take the outer perimeter of the city to the east, we’ll go to the south, Laurel, go back to the
central west. We have stealth squads following you so don’t engage until they catch up; you run faster than they can. Back-up will be dropped in as soon as you’ve engaged.”
“What’s the likelihood of an aerial attack or one of their ships firing from orbit?”
“Expect it, Marta, but our fleet is ready for them.”
“I’m concerned for the Semevalians and the other civilians,” Helen said. “If we fight here, innocent people will get hurt because our troops can’t tell who they’re firing at.”
“You can identify them, Helen.”
“Yes, but by the time we point out who is and who isn’t a target, they’ll have done heaps of damage.”
“It’s better than what we had previously,” Harry squeezed her arm reassuringly. “Their custom of congregating together to eat and drink will work to our advantage.”
Helen nodded, yielding, but still unhappy. Laurel smiled at her, but there was no time to waste. Despite her fears, Helen had been determined to “do her bit,” now Laurel had to trust she would do just that, even though she took some comfort knowing she was partnered with Marta.
Laurel changed out her discharged stealth belt for a fresh one. She heard Harry call, “We’re right behind you,” but she was already running, following the same route as before, keeping a link open to a few stealthed members of the squadron following behind. She rechecked the pavilion as she waited for them; nothing had changed. Messaging the squad to stand by, Laurel swept through the door; the enemy soldiers couldn’t see her, but the sense of air displacement caused several to look up. The enemy, aware that the League were in possession of some of their stealth armour, moved rapidly into a defensive position, instantly communicating non-verbally, using only single motion hand signals. The men were massive, muscled, athletic, and their intent overwhelming. But they couldn’t see Laurel. And she was fast.
Using her spit ring, she stunned the first enemy soldier to reach for his weapon then barreled herself into the two half-soul female servants, knocking them to the ground to safety as the squadron rushed in behind her, speedily dispatching the rest of its startled occupants. That same sense of disquiet she’d noticed earlier threatened to divert her. She had been so focused on seeing intent; it unnerved her to discover that not all the enemy soldiers were half-souls; unmistakably, there were quarter-souls among their ranks. Even more confusing was the fact that the Semevalian’s she saw earlier in the street were half-souls. She saw the distinction between the enemy and the Semevalians, but it might generate problems for Helen. Shoving aside the discovery, she followed the sounds of battle as the weapons discharge alerted the other enemy troops, spilling them into the streets, many holding Semevalian citizens before them. This action alone identified the enemy, but not all of them used that tactic; those that had no human shield were crack shots, and Laurel found her senses stretched in the very act of avoiding being hit. The enemy moved quickly through the streets and alleyways, but Laurel was able to identify their movements and direct League soldiers to their locations. Time and again she hit the ground as her stealth reached the end of its seventeen minutes; her senses stretched at avoiding enemy weapons, she often only managed to get one shot in before she was fired upon. Around her, enemy and Semevalian hostages alike lay dead and dying on the ground. Laurel saw Semevalians fleeing towards the mountains in the north; unaware that bramble droids patrolled the area.
Laurel took off towards the sound of fighting. Coming up quickly behind four enemy soldiers, Laurel shot the first two with her wrist lick; the others turned, but Laurel vaulted high enough to cut across them, and mercifully their knuckle weapons missed their target. Laurel activated her stiletto and speared one soldier in the neck as she landed. The man fell to the ground beside her. The last soldier didn’t fire again; instead he caught Laurel and slammed her to the ground, one knee grinding her lick arm into the gravel, the other destroying her d-com. He placed a large hand around her throat, pushing her head back hard, and settled himself astride her chest, pinning her against the stones.
Laurel struggled, trying to draw her knees up to dislodge him, but physically, he was much larger, despite her increased stamina, plus he had the advantage of being on top with her arms spread-eagled under his knees. Laurel tried to turn her face away as the awful stench from his groin reached her nostrils.
It was over in a second. Blood spurted over Laurel as the man, his head separated from his body, pitched forward, his stinking crotch making contact with her face as he sprawled across her. Marta dragged him off, a scimitar in her fist. She pulled Laurel to her feet, and Laurel wiped the blood from her face.
“Marta, I’m glad to see you. What the hell’s that?”
“A Semevalian women gave it to me,” Marta held up the lethal blade to admire it before turning it over, blood flicking to the ground. “Hmm, not as defenceless as they seem. Laurel, the enemy soldiers are moving out to the north-west, just below the mountain, a lot of them in stealth. One of their ships picked up a bunch of them, but Harry said to let them go and concentrate on securing the prefecture.” Marta’s voice became urgent, “Laurel, I can’t find Helen. I lost sight of her. I can’t even feel her. Can you?”
Up to the moment of her assault, Laurel had a strong sense of the others, but now, she sensed only Eli, Chloe and Marta. Helen was missing.
“Oh, crap!” Laurel hissed. “We have to find her.”
Marta nodded and raced back the way she came. Laurel took off towards the East; with the Central and Western sectors now secure, it seemed likely Helen wouldn’t have strayed too far from where she was assigned.
All over the Eastern quarter, MedAids; the medical androids, attempted to treat the injured; glass and debris were littered across the cobbled stones and pavements. Enemy soldiers lay where they fell; if any were still alive, no-one made any attempt to help.
Laurel stood still among the ruins of the once pretty little dwellings with the rooftop gardens she’d seen from the ridge earlier in the day, now, all about her, was devastation. She felt unable to go further, to continue with her mission to find Helen. Frozen to the spot, she didn’t even breathe. Silence surrounded her; no weeping, no sounds of battle, no weapons fire. Laurel’s blood ran cold. Something was coming. She looked up. Beyond the dust and haze of the battle’s aftermath, the sky was blue and cloudless, but…
The shadow appeared seconds before the long, narrow cylindrical probe slipped noiselessly above her head from the North-West. The trajectory suggested it would explode somewhere either above or in the Eastern quarter. Galvanised into action, Laurel screamed at the Semevalians to run; a few had seen Laurel stop, and they followed her gaze as the missile came into view. In their panic, they tried to lift their injured friends and family to safety. Laurel shepherded as many as possible towards the alleyways, hoping against hope she wouldn’t encounter any enemy soldiers; she had no d-com to call for back-up, and her wrist lick was lying somewhere in the gravel under a decapitated enemy soldier. To her relief, half a dozen League soldiers appeared and helped those carrying the injured to find shelter.
But it wasn’t enough. The force of the blast sent Laurel and several others flying along the street, rocks hit her in the back, but she avoided being struck by any of the larger fragments of debris. As she landed, the air was knocked from her lungs, and the skin on her left hand degloved from thumb to wrist. She stayed on the ground for a moment, blinking the dust from her eyes. She tried to kneel, but her ears roared from the blast, and her head spun. Concentrating on regaining her balance, she vaguely sensed Helen not too far away. Marta, Eli and Chloe came through strongly. League soldiers and civilians alike milled out of the alleyways, dazed and confused. Laurel managed to get groggily to her feet before another explosion sent her to the ground. Although this time the blast wasn’t as powerful, she still curled into a ball, protecting her head as flames and twisted metal showered down. A Semevalian woman, clothes alight, stumbled screaming from a laneway. A League soldier smothered the flames, cost
ing him severe burns to his own hands, but was too late. The woman lay where she fell next to Laurel, her one unburned eye staring across at her, wide and unseeing from the remains of her charred face.
Gentle hands helped Laurel to her feet; a woman gave her water and tied a cloth around her injured hand. The stench of fire and burning flesh hung in the air.
Harry’s worried face appeared through the haze. “Are you okay?” Alarmed at the blood smeared on her face, he quickly examined her.
Laurel brushed him away. “What happened?”
“They bombed a hospital. Eli destroyed the second missile before it did any damage. It was lucky you were on the edge of the blast.”
“I don’t feel lucky,” Laurel dabbed at her mouth, she could taste blood but couldn’t even be sure whose blood it was. Her hand hurt, but not enough to close her mind and heart to the burned woman on the ground next to them. Laurel closed her eyes and tried not to breathe too deeply. She had to focus.
“Marta lost Helen. I can feel her, but…”
Harry groaned. “She was here, in the East. Laurel, the prefecture is largely secured, just some mopping up in the south. Have you heard from Chloe?” Laurel held up her arm to reveal her badly damaged d-com.
“Okay. Do you want these wounds treated or…” Laurel didn’t wait for him to finish; the sense came strongly to her. Helen was in trouble. “Be careful. It’s not safe,” Harry called to her retreating back.
The Soul Monger Page 21
