It was a pang, a sudden loss in his soul. The only way to describe it in Human terms was like juggling: the sensation of losing grip of something, and then finding it again in a different hand, except he didn’t have control of the hands. He felt Josie’s soul slip from one world to the next, quickly and quietly.
His roar began with grief, weak and low. It ended in anger, deep and needful. Ula bounced in surprise, as if she didn’t know his kind could roar. Still hunched in a sitting position, the Waykind’s eyes landed in the doorway and saw two of the Eighth making their way into the frame, rifles in arms. Had the Waykind not felt the death of his compatriot, he would not have viewed the automatons as hostile. They would have taken him by surprise. But the instant they stepped into view, Ox met them with ferocity. He barreled through the doorway and pounced upon them with a snarl.
He found it difficult to topple them, though he crushed one of their heads upon reaching them. The second one in his doorway managed to fire its rifle, catching Ox in the leg. He roared again before grappling the body of his defeated foe and beating the other one with it. A quick glance down the hallway revealed four more of the Eighth, two at each doorway of his crew.
The doctors and their assistant all died quickly and painlessly. Each laser-burst was carefully placed and executed accurately. Mitch was the last to die, and he only screamed for a moment.
Harper sat in a crouched position, biding the time with Gally until Martin’s return. Gally had made it very clear that she “didn’t give a fuck” about Martin, and was only waiting for Nitro and Boomer to give the signal. He was grateful for the downtime, as she certainly needed to cool off.
That time was cut short, however, by the Waykind’s original roar. When Harper heard Ox attacking the assailants, he leapt up. Instinctively, Harper grappled the door and pulled it shut. As he did, he met eyes with one of the Eighth in his doorway, and gave it a nervous and apologetic look. Gally sat up from the floor to see Harper waving his hand, urging her to get away from the doorway.
Being able to hear the ruckus going on in the hall, she did as he instructed. Just as she’d crawled into one of the bed slots, laser fire ripped through the door. The first bolt had just missed Harper, tearing a hole in the side of his environmental suit. He jumped to the side of the doorway as more beams of hot, red light pierced through. He drew his pistol from its holster and fired back through one of the holes. The move was panicked, blind. His actions indicated that he felt no control over the situation, and he was certain he would soon be dead.
And he would have been, had Ox not begun to draw the fire of the others. He had used one of the Eighth as a shield and blocked the oncoming laser fire with the body. It didn’t hold together long, but the Waykind did not need much time. He trounced the pair in front of the scientists’ rooms; an animalistic rage fueled him. He struggled, briefly, as he attempted to rip one of the rifles away from the assailants.
“Parasite!” Ox called. “Staff!” Ula came running out of the room and threw the staff to the Waykind. Only taking a moment to look behind him, Ox grappled the staff, and turned back to the Eighth. Well before he’d made the full turn back to face them, the rocky terrain below the steel structure rose up through the floor, ripping the attackers from Ox’s grip. With a roaring crunch, the two of the Eighth were crushed against the ceiling.
Harper used this time to open what was left of his door and discover the other two of the Eighth firing at the beast. He extended an arm and fired, point blank, into the back of the closest one’s head. It took two shots, but the Eighth fell. The second one began to turn, taking its eyes off Ox for a moment. It nearly fired, but Harper was already upon it, executing the automaton in a similar fashion to the first.
When the smoke cleared, Gally ran over to Ox, who was pretty badly shot up. Harper was still standing over his two fallen adversaries, still unable to believe he’d accomplished such a thing. Ula came out, the most visibly upset, and Ox looked at her first, trying his best to smile through the pain. “It’s alright, little one. You did well.” He winced, not being able to move much. He didn’t want to look, but the laser fire had burned away skin in nearly every spot he’d been shot: his right leg, his arm, his shoulder, and his chest. Though it didn’t burn clean through, there were blackened and bloodied holes, and the pain was excruciating.
With his mind and soul focused on the others to avoid the pain, Ox looked at Harper. “I felt Josie’s passing. I know not what happened to Martin. The others…” He groaned, giving up trying to stand on his own. Harper and Gally tried to help him remain standing. “We must contact them.” He leaned heavily on his staff.
“Can you walk?” Gally urged, grabbing a laser-rifle from one of the fallen Eighth and throwing one to Harper. The pilot’s eyes anxiously drifted toward the rifle, which didn’t need to be cocked or primed, it just hummed.
Ox nodded and spoke through gritted teeth. “It is not yet my time.” While he wouldn’t admit it, he dreaded walking with his wounds. “Pilot,” his head motioned to the other rooms. “The bag.”
Harper nodded and ran into the mercenary’s room. He grabbed the large bag with one hand and pulled on it. It didn’t budge. So he pulled again, still nothing. Harper strapped his new-found rifle to his back and pulled the handle with both hands, and managed to move it a little. Finally, he crouched, grappled the bag with both arms wrapped around the middle, and began to waddle to the hall. He’d bumped into the top of the doorway, and ducked. He’d bumped it again, so he ducked lower, slowly leading his bottom half out first, so the top half had more room when that exited.
Gally blinked, realizing she might be the only one able to fight. “You done?”
“Yeah,” he struggled. Even through his grunting, he talked to her as if she was the one holding them up. “Waiting on you.”
Sabile:
Base of Operations of the Eighth, Fort 0102: East Wing
Nitro and Boomer were on an elevator, gratefully alone, when they got the call. “She has passed, captain.” Nitro was in shock, but Boomer took it the hardest. His back hit one of the walls, and his nearly fingerless hand covered his mouth. He’d begun to realize that she was his best friend. While he tried to collect himself, Ox continued over the coms. “We are now in a hostile environment.”
Nitro nodded, remaining focused on the mission. “Copy that. Are you able to move?”
A grunt was heard on the other end. “Yes, but slowly. I have become a burden, sir.”
“Nonsense, buddy, you did great.” Nitro charged his weapons, which made Boomer come to his senses and do the same. “Do what you can to find a ship. I’ll ping you my location when we’re done on our end.”
“Nitro,” Gally’s voice came through, though it sounded reluctant. “What about Martin?” The captain gave a concerned look to Boomer. It was a brief glance, but they had a whole conversation in that short time. Boomer’s usually mad expression seemed calm, certain. He nodded, with a ready expression upon his face.
“I’m on it,” Nitro responded, slapping the arm of the demolitions expert. “Ox, I need his location. Can you do your thing?” The captain finagled his hand underneath his chest plate and pressed a button on his environmental suit, which hissed as it regulated the internal temperature.
“As soon as I am able, captain. In the meantime, go west.” Ox’s deep voice fought through static on the other side of the coms. “That is where I lost Josie.”
“Can do. Find a ship. But don’t take off until we knock out that tower, understood?” He slid his visor down, and his eyes adjusted to everything being orange.
“Understood,” Gally confirmed.
Nitro nodded and turned to face the elevator door before he realized that Boomer had been staring at him. After not being able to read him, Nitro finally inquired. “What?”
“Nothing. It’s just that, well–,” Boomer nervously broached an issue, gesturing to the bag of explosives Nitro was carrying.
“I know what I’m doing with these
.”
“I didn’t say that!”
“You didn’t have to.” Nitro was curt, insulted.
“No, I just mean that the art may go unappreciated,” Boomer shrugged.
Nitro blinked, staring at the private. “Unappreciated. You’re serious.”
“You’re kind of ham-fisted with them,” Boomer tried to put it gently.
“Ham-fisted?!”
“You gotta ease it!” Boomer nervously made a pushing motion with one hand, as if massaging the air. “Ease it.” Nitro rolled his eyes, shaking his head as he turned his attention back to the door. Boomer adjusted his stance, standing up on his own and matching the captain’s stance, although he didn’t look away: a serious concern still upon his face. “Ease it.”
“I get it!” Nitro ended the issue, having never been so thankful to hear an elevator ding in his life. Even before the doors opened, the two mercenaries opened fire, blasting purple plasma through the metal. Some lasers came back through in response, but not many. The remains of the door opened shakily to reveal two of the Eighth lying in front of them, purple smoke rising from their sizzling bodies. When Nitro stepped out of the elevator, he took both laser rifles off them, strapping them to his back.
The elevator had taken them halfway up the base of the tower, to an outdoor area that was just over the roof of the base. They were reminded of the awful wind as the gray snow whipped against their faces once again. Nitro looked around with a disgusted face. “Man, I hate this planet,” he complained, and Boomer nodded in agreement.
“Good luck.” Nitro didn’t make eye contact with Boomer before he leapt over a nearby railing and bolted once he hit the roof.
“You too,” Boomer’s scraggly hair bounced as he ran; he was excited to get indoors, as he had not activated his suit. His usual mad grin was accompanied with purpose, and just the slightest hint of vengeance—a new look for him.
He kicked open the door to the turret, and gave a mad holler at the automatons inside it before he blazed the room with purple. The first time he was fired at, he leapt to his right, his stomach landing, painfully, on one of the computer terminals. He managed to swing his rifle out, firing with his left hand. Despite the rifle bucking like a wild horse, the plasma hit its target. The second time he was shot at, he dropped to the floor and rolled into cover behind a larger terminal. He’d hoped he wouldn’t need this particular terminal, as it became a pincushion to hard-laser bolts passing through it. When the time was right, Boomer leapt up and hit the assailant with everything he could. It was enough, and the Eighth fell backward with a clang.
When the place was finally silent, he glanced around; there were computers encircling the large staircase that led to the top of the tower. There was no way of telling which computer did what, and if it didn’t explode, shoot, or flush, he didn’t know how to work it. He groaned in frustration as he rummaged through his backpack. He would blow the thing to hell, and he would do it for her.
Sabile:
Base of Operations of the Eighth, Fort 0102: Mid-Central Zone
Ox’s ‘thing’, as the captain called it, was a pathing method; it was one of the first things his people taught him. Bleeding and limping, Ox hobbled to a quiet corner to draw a circle with his staff. Holding it with both hands, he placed the staff in the center and whispered to it. “Show me.”
A bright light flashed through the base like an ocean wave, though it was only seen by Purple Company. When the light reached the ends of the base, it retracted and pulled all the way back to Ox’s staff. Ox’s eyes flashed with the same light, as did each of the remaining mercenaries. It was more effective than any map, as it imbued the layout of the building within the minds of the Company, as if they’d been there for years.
Harper took this time to properly strap the bag to his back, which proved difficult. Still, with his arms free, he could hold a rifle, despite being hunched over and slow-moving. “Kid, stay behind me, alright?” He looked to Ula, still wearing her environmental suit and helmet for translating purposes. She nodded and stepped behind the large bag.
Once he was done, Ox looked at Gally and gave her a nod; they turned down a hallway that would lead them to the hangar. Upon reaching the door, the four of them realized it wouldn’t budge. Harper found the small terminal next to it and got to work. “Hotwiring is hotwiring is hotwiring,” he mused as he pulled off the screen.
Gally furrowed a brow. “That can’t be true.”
“It’s not, but what the hell.” He frowned as he saw all of the wires. Ships had fewer wires than this in their ignition system. He groaned and fumbled in his pocket for his multi-tool.
Sabile:
Base of Operations of the Eighth: Rooftop
Nitro ran west atop a very slippery roof. He heard his helmet bouncing, felt his armor tugging at him, and heard his breath trying to keep time as each foot landed. Each step was precarious, wet, and awful. If he slowed just a little, he would risk falling. He wasn’t certain whether he was actually running or if it was just one continuous slip. He couldn’t see three feet in front of his face, so he was looking down. It was becoming very apparent to him that this was a bad idea.
As he neared the west side of the building, he could feel his momentum shifting away from his control. The next few moments went by very quickly. His right foot landed but refused to stop, sliding further right a great deal. It was more of a fall than a stop, as he slid off the roof completely. He flattened his back and tried to land straight, but that only did so much. Most of the landing was the metal flooring of the airstrip, with only a thin layer of snow to cushion the fall. It hurt.
He grunted as he raised himself, somewhat thankful for wearing the armor, which had spread out the hurt. Panting, he stood up and tried to center his breathing. As he approached the door, he heard a pop as a burst of plasma ran through it. They’d already begun shooting at him, and they were doing it the way he did it to them. Smart. With an impressed grin, he readied one of the enemy laser rifles. He was unaccustomed to it, but he enjoyed the hum and vibrating before each large kick. After Nitro had opened the door, a blast came back at him, narrowly tearing over his shoulder, ripping a hole in his environmental suit. The suit hissed and flapped, suddenly becoming about as protective against the elements as a thin napkin.
Nitro stepped through the door once the shooting stopped—sooner than expected—and checked his shoulder: a piece of flesh had also been burned. It hurt, but the whole shoulder would have been gone if they’d used laser, like the rest of them did. Before the smoke had cleared, he examined the room: Some small telecommunications post, three and a half automatons laying in ruin, and a large wall with his desired door at the very end.
He’d made enough noise, made a large show of his entrance—as usual. So why weren’t they pouring through that door? Any military installation worth its salt would have been filling the room with bodies by now. Especially a robot general that had earned a reputation for straightforward, ‘Hail Mary’ style tactics. It didn’t make sense for Rook.
The captain squinted, side-stepping as he assessed the situation. It was quiet— the kind of quiet that makes hair stand up on end; the kind a predator would impress upon its prey. Nitro enjoyed this particular quiet; it had been a while since he had walked into a trap.
Sabile:
Base of Operations of the Eighth, Fort 0102: East Tower
Boomer was in his happy place. Each adorable little detonation square had been gently lined along the bottom of the turret tower; and he was now gently tucking them into neat little spots at the top of the spire. The tower would lift and separate, before being completely blown to fuck-all.
He threw the detonator from his hand, catching it as casually as one tosses a coin. He threw it again, watching it loop in the air before he caught it a second time. The third toss was the last one attempted, as he’d nearly dropped it. He giggled to himself before giving the device a stern look and a wag of the finger, which made him giggle once again.
&
nbsp; He placed the detonator squarely in his teeth, and swung his right leg over the ladder to bring him back down. But he froze. A clang, followed by a few muffled, heavy footsteps confirmed his worst fear: More of the Eighth had arrived at the tower. He looked down and saw three of them. They spoke to the others and looked around. Boomer leapt off and over the ladder, as quietly as he could, hiding at the top and looking around for an exit.
He curled himself into a corner; there was no place to hide on the top of the spire. It was just the ladder, a huge dome of a room, and a contraption that aimed the guns. His finger twitched as a thought occurred to him.
The demolitions expert pulled one of the charges from the wall, and began to reprogram it to a separate detonator. It blinked as it attempted to pair, and Boomer danced nervously, the first detonator still in his teeth.
That’s when he heard it: the clamoring of something metallic climbing the ladder. He squirmed, his eyebrows tightening together as he whined in panic. The clanging continued, louder and louder. He knew the ones below hadn’t left, and he quickly snapped his arms behind him to draw his rifle.
The second detonator sat between his hand and the rifle. He stood with his heart in his throat while he impatiently waited for it to pair. The red, flashing light was incessant and uncooperative.
When the Eighth popped its head over the ladder, Boomer blew it right off. The headless carcass fell to the bottom of the tower with a loud clang. Boomer dropped the rifle and began to re-pair his only hope for escape. He dialed the buttons on the charge again and stared at the red, blinking light once again. He watched it refuse to turn green, breathing heavily as he awaited more noise from the ladder. No noise came. The brief silence was broken by red laser bolts tearing through the metal floor.
Stars Gods Wolves: Book One: Carrion Page 18
