by Aleks Canard
Back in the cargo bay, Trix had to hand it to the seven remaining soldiers. They knew how to use their environment. It may have worked against anyone else. But they were facing a Valkyrie, a being of such immeasurable power and unbelievable skill that she parlayed with Death himself.
Death was Trix of Zilvia’s bitch. And when she was in combat, sword in hand, blood pumping, blood spilling, gun barrel flashing, Death did as Trix fucking well commanded.
One of Valentine’s Aeon coupes came thundering through the cargo shelf. Trix flipped over it. Staying airborne was dangerous. At a jump’s zenith, physics dictated that for a moment, your velocity was zero. That literally made you a stationary target. Thanks to Trix’s gravity bending magic, physics was her bitch too.
She came down hard on the cargo bay floor, mule kicking a soldier so hard in the chest that she felt his entire torso cave. The exo-suit wearing vanguard bounded towards Trix. Trix heard her say one thing very clearly. She screamed it at the top of her lungs.
‘All units, she’s here. Converge on the cargo bay.’
What the fuck? Trix thought. Was that the reason the soldiers were here? No of course not. They’d come to do business with Nadira Vega. And if they were after her, it meant they weren’t interested in the mirrors after all.
They’ve forgone their official duties in favour of hunting me. What for? How could they be so stupid?
Trix’s shields burst. A bullet hit her in the left calf. Agony flooded through her body. The injuries she’d sustained in the Riddling Arena returned. Fear froze the machina for less than a second. That was enough.
The exo-suited soldier crashed into Trix. The machina rolled with the momentum, using her opponent’s weight against her. The soldier careened into the Red Queen’s interior hull when another engine roared to life. Valentine’s favourite coupe backed into Trix and kept reversing out of the cargo bay.
Trix clambered onto the boot. Into the backseat. The driver attempted to shoot her. Trix deflected the bullet with her sword. Thrust through his spine. She was still reversing out of the cargo bay. Down the broken loading ramp. Trix removed the driver’s corpse. Hopped in the front seat. Changing gears with a Formula X driver’s fluidity, she punched the Aeon coupe back into the cargo bay. More reinforcements were coming in.
Damn it. At least this time no innocent lives hung in the balance. This was just taking out the trash.
Bullets riddled the coupe as it glided over the cargo bay floor. Inspired by Myven Daebas’ act of valour, Trix slid the car ninety degrees then jumped out the left side. She gave it a firm whump as she exited, sending the car tumbling into the six remaining soldiers.
‘Trix, you’re alive,’ Sif said in her earpiece. ‘I was so worried. I thought you were dead, or in some other reality. Triangulating your position took longer than usual.’
‘Tell Altayr his magic worked, sort of. Can’t talk. Busy.’
The Aeon’s trajectory felled four of the last six soldiers, crushing their bodies. Only the vanguard and a zirean remained.
Inside the Red Queen proper, Serena Alura was working her way up the cleared hallway. Alan guided her. She knew exactly where the soldiers were coming from with his help. She was about to flank the ones assaulting Valentine.
The author was well and truly pinned down. No highfaluting tricks could be called upon. No corpse surfing, no bone breaking bionic kicks. He couldn’t move close enough. His body begged for him to stop as the knife wound from Zilvia flared despite numerous painkillers.
He wasn’t up to anything crazy. Or as he often said, “anything Trix would do.” It was only a matter of time before the soldiers tired with trading shots and threw grenades. In fact, that was exactly what they did.
‘Fuck me right up the arse,’ Valentine said, using his thrusters to clear the blast zone. He made it behind the couch as his writing desk was obliterated. Hell, that whole half of the room was wrecked now. With any luck, they hadn’t seen him move from his position. Valentine hugged the wall. Winced from the agony that cut across his back. He needed something to throw.
Valentine holstered his weapons. Patted himself down. Shit. He had nothing. There were some unbroken bottles on the bar, but abandoning his post for too long would enable the soldiers to flood the lounge. Then his hands settled upon his beanie, still wedged into his back pocket.
He took it out. Attached three sticky C4 in a triangle shape. The author flung it around the corner like a frisbee, waited a moment, then detonated.
The concussive force blew chunks of armour and flesh into the lounge.
‘Alan, how we looking in there?’
‘All attackers have been neutralised, sir. Though I’m detecting more lifeforms approaching from the loading ramp.’
‘God damn it.’
I’m too old for this, Valentine thought, with a realisation that he might actually be right. A century, even in perfect health, was not being 22 again. You could afford all the surgeries in the world, remove all the cancerous cells year after year, but the mind grew weary even when the body believed it was fine. And unfortunately, the mind was driving.
Serena emerged from the hallway Valentine had just blown up.
‘Sir, ma’am, I’m detecting a small group of soldiers who have just entered through the starboard airlock. It’s hard to obtain a reading. They may be using cloaking devices.’
‘Come on, old man,’ Serena said, reloading her bullpup from compartments in her armour plating. ‘Let’s go squash some bugs.’
Calling enemies “bugs” was a habit from Meteor Brigade’s halcyon days since they only ever killed anghenfil.
‘These bastards have put enough damn holes in my ship.’
Valentine and Serena moved towards the breach.
In the cargo bay, Trix had killed the zirean soldier by taking off his arm with her sword then tripping him over with it. Two quick strikes from her boot heel caved in his helmet. Then there was only the exo-suit soldier left.
That was until reinforcements came around the corner.
How many are in that damn ship? Trix wondered as she ran for the airlock which was now partially blocked by a rolled Aeon coupe. She needed something big. That was when she remembered the explosives Valentine had planted in the guest bedroom. She didn’t have much time. The exo-suit soldier would be on her in less than a minute.
Moving her fingers with dexterity normally reserved for sleight of hand experts, Trix grabbed Valentine’s armed explosives. Lined them up along the airlock.
‘Val, I need you to detonate the guest bedroom explosives on my mark.’
Trix only shortened Valentine’s name when she was in a rush. She could’ve called him Aleks, but that sounded alien. He didn’t even use it on his books. The by-lines all read: A. V. Valentine.
‘Alright. We’re dealing with five commandos up here. They’ve used every measure of smoke bomb that’s available. Not even Alan can score a clear reading.’
That was when the exo-soldier came over the crashed Aeon coupe. Trix didn’t want to blow her up. She wanted that woman alive. The explosives were for the reinforcements. Where the hell were Nadira’s vanguard party? Were they standing around with their dicks in their hands?
Trix ran for the bar as the exo-soldier unleashed a flamethrower. That was different. Maybe she bought into the belief that machinas hated fire, like vampires. First off, every biological being hated fire. It burned and hurt like slap across the bare ass from a rusty metal glove. And vampires hating fire was no longer true. In Earthen tales — which, since the acknowledgement of magic and monsters had been given greater credence — vampires disdained fire and sunlight.
But like all creatures, certain strains had evolved.
And there was no species more evolved than a Valkyrie machina.
Trix threw bottles of alcohol at the exo-soldier. Flames began engulfing her armour. She shut off the gun. Ah, so that had been why she was using it. Her shoulder mounted cannon with tracer rounds was preparing to fire.
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br /> Son of a bitch.
Trix saw the reinforcements reach the car in her peripheral vision.
‘Val, blow it now.’
Trix received no response until she heard a single, harrowing, beep. Valentine had well and truly over estimated how many bombs he needed. The Aeon coupe was vaporised. Any reinforcements close to it were either killed instantly or maimed too badly to stand. The noise cancelling in Trix’s helmet stopped her eardrums from exploding.
Then tracer rounds hit her in the abdominals. Trix screamed in pain. They packed a wallop. Visions of Dai of Thyria landing body shots came hurtling to her mind.
There was blood. Not good. Trix had been shot just about everywhere you could be. She knew that her gut hadn’t been penetrated. Or anything especially vital. Only good old-fashioned veins. Fantastic.
Trix drew her sword as the exo-soldier’s tracer cannon cooled, automatically reloading for the next go around.
‘Nadira, where are you and those damn Hidden you promised?’
‘There was a secondary party who blocked off the elevators at the bowels. My men are taking care of it. They’ll be with you soon.’
‘They’d better be,’ Trix said, dodging a slow hook from the soldier whose armour still had flames dancing on it.
‘Trix we need help up here,’ Valentine said.
A beacon appeared in Trix’s HUD. All she had to do was knock this bitch out. Trix drew her utility cannon. Went to fire. She had a spectacular idea. The trigger compressed. Dry click. Shit. She’d never replaced the discs from Orix. The ones that’d burned out while holding the mirror.
Trix holstered her UC. Dashed right. Went to put the couch between herself and the soldier. A servo-motored kick hit her in the shoulder. Dislocated it. The machina dropped her sword. Rolled backwards. Popped her shoulder back in. Increased her density. Became considerably heavier. Her hands turned to wrecking balls.
The machina launched herself at the exo-soldier, breaking her tracer round turret off. Trix caught it in mid-air. Belted the woman across the head.
Flames engulfed Trix. The heat she felt was equivalent to a summer’s day with the sun in full swing. It was strangely comforting. Trix summoned her sword by manipulating gravity.
Tungsten carbide sang as it sliced through the flame-thrower’s barrel. The result was spectacular. An explosion which peppered Trix with shrapnel, cracked her visor, embedded into her helmet, and decorated her ribcage, incinerated the exo-soldier’s left arm. She clambered from her suit, limbs burned to crisps inside her armour.
Trix sheathed her sword. Broke the woman’s leg by kicking through her kneecap. This caused her head to slam into Trix’s waiting hands. The Valkyrie wrenched her helmet off. Tossed it across the room.
‘I’m not going to kill you if you tell me what I want to know,’ Trix said, holding the barely conscious woman by the neck. ‘Why do you want me?’
The woman, who looked like life had lived her rather than the other way around, could barely speak. Trix loosened her grip, all the while attuning her ears so she wasn’t caught by surprise.
‘Trix,’ Serena said. ‘We need you.’
Fuck, Trix thought. She carried the woman behind the bar. Ripped off her comms gauntlet so the mercenary couldn’t call for help.
‘Don’t even think about killing yourself before I come back.’
Trix ran further into the Red Queen.
Nadira: ‘Machina, my men have entered the docks. They’re coming for your position now.’
‘And what about you?’
‘I have to make sure my assets are secured.’
Well, at least Nadira was sending backup.
As Trix drew closer to Valentine’s position, she started seeing fog. Only it wasn’t fog at all. It was smoke. Incredibly dense. It became even more disorientating with the flickering lights. Red hazard lights blinked along the floor and the ceiling. They were leading to the exits. Looked like lanterns to Trix.
Trix felt like every step she took was one step closer to being in the Riddling Arena again.
Every time you see fog bathed in blood, know I’m watching from the shadows, down here in the mud. My hands are achin for a chance to hold you, baby. I want to get my nails under your skin and tear you open til you’re nasty. But that’s how I’ll always love you, my little slut. Bruised, broken and bloodied, lying in your own vomit in my Riddling Arena. That begs the question: are you still here?
Your soul will taste sweet against my lips. Come on now, don’t be shy, open those legs, it’s all in the hips. My you’ll suffer, oh how you’ll beg, standing in agony, there on your last leg.
Come back to me, yes, come all the way. Summon me, darling one, and under the devil’s moon we’ll play. If you want to be rid of me, there’s but one solution. Wish for my freedom, and end this nightmarish pollution.
The machina shuddered. The blood coming from her stomach brought back memories of the hourglass. Time which worked against everyone, there, just beyond her fingertips. If you could only grab it. Reverse its flow. How many deaths could be erased? How many decisions?
Iglessia Vialle at her coronation. Regal. Kind. Scarred by what she’d seen. Damaged. Shaped. Bathed in Vitliaeth’s flames? Holding the fate of everyone in her bloodline.
Putting Dheizir Crohl in the Realm of Glass rather than the Hole.
Letting people go. Killing them. Taking sides. Forgoing neutrality.
All these decisions converged in Trix’s head. They were given voices by the shapes which moved in the fog ahead. Muffled sounds reached her ears. Her memories clashed. She was singlehandedly setting up two patterns of dominoes. One would fall and bring doom. The other, prosperity.
But which? And why?
Trix shrieked. So much information was passing through her brain that it tormented every fibre of her being.
There will always be a purpose for machina among the stars.
Garth Roche’s voice. It comforted her in a way that made her disgusted. He was the enemy. But he had created her.
The shapes moved faster. Trix drew her sword. If they wouldn’t shut up, she would make them.
The shapes, as it so happened, were the Guild’s commandos. Supposedly elite. They were novices next to Trix. She punched the first one so hard in the solar plexus he bent down. Trix raised her knee to greet him, splintering his visor into his eyes.
Gunfire.
She saw Valentine and Serena on either side of her. They moved as one up the corridor with Trix leading the charge. To the machina’s eye, she was no longer in the Red Queen, but walking one of the Riddling Arena’s eighteen paths. Monsters lay before her. She cut them down.
Bullets hit her. One broke through her HUD. It grazed the side of her face. She sunk low, knocking a commando off balance with her shoulder then bringing her sword up through his crotch. She activated his helmet’s high beam lights, then twisted his neck three hundred and sixty degrees, blinding the commandos behind him.
Trix swapped her sword for her pistol. Serena’s bullpup filled the next commando with bullets. Trix put him down with a bullet through the skull. Valentine took out the next one by shooting him in the kneecap, then burying another slug in his head on the way down.
One more commando survived. He went to take cover in one of the Red Queen’s rooms, but Alan prevented him access. Serena used her glue-gun to stopper his gun barrel. Two more rooted his feet to the floor. Trix shortened him at the knees and turned, allowing the commando to fall forward. Trix brought down her sword like a guillotine as he fell. Finally, the voices inside her head ceased.
All she could hear was Nadira Vega on the battle-net, asking for live reports as her Hidden took the Guild’s ship. Screaming resounded in her earpiece, but Trix hadn’t snapped back to reality just yet. Alan stopped the lights flickering. Powered up the life-support vents to drain the smoke.
Gore was everywhere. The Red Queen’s interior had been turned into a sodden quagmire.
Aryagyr’s words came to Trix with
such resounding clarity that the machina turned to see if the dryad was behind her. She was not. Though the words were spoken nevertheless.
You have not just taken death in your own hands, you have become him. You wield the power to create unforeseeable destruction, or to prevent it. Both paths lead to death, white one. It follows you everywhere…
Unforeseeable destruction, or preventing it, Trix thought. Siella’s prophecy. Did Aryagyr know, even then?
Trix’s eyes turned to the floor. Valentine was lying on the ground. Blood was coming from his chest. There was too much of it to tell the entry wound’s location.
‘Trix,’ Serena was shouting. Her voice was heightened. Her hot pink armour was awash with blood and various other liquids. She had retracted her visor. ‘Help me carry him. The med-bay’s just over here. Come on, old friend. Don’t die on me now, alright?’ Serena retracted Valentine’s helmet then embraced him. She whispered low, though Trix still heard what she said.
‘I love you. Don’t leave me alone in this place. Don’t leave me.’
Trix was still bleeding from the tracer rounds. Her phantom wounds flared haphazardly across her body. Absently, and rather selfishly, she wondered if those wounds would affect her for the rest of her life.
She knelt beside Valentine. Picked him up. Groaned.
Serena ran ahead, shouting frantic instructions to Alan so that he could begin preparing the necessary equipment using the med-bay’s robotic arms.
Trix was ashamed that her first thought when she looked at Valentine’s body was revenge. She forgot that she’d already exacted it. Savagely too. Her bloodied footprints lined the hall. Maybe Death stepped where she did so he wouldn’t be noticed?
The machina heard Nadira’s men claim victory in the Guild’s stealth liner over the comms. Dark’s Hide was secure once again.
At last, this crazy escapade seemed to be over. She looked at Valentine. He was still breathing. Trix knew in an instant she would set foot in the Riddling Arena again if it meant saving his life. In a way, that was what she had done on Orix.
