Submantle- The Alpha Key

by Patrick Lane

  BOOK ONE

  Written by Patrick Lane

  CHAPTER ONE

  One hundred and thirteen miles beneath the earth’s surface, Nifty was in trouble, big trouble; the kind of trouble he wasn’t so sure he’d trained for at the Ranger academy. He pushed images of broken bones and his inevitable hospital stay to one side, tried on his most disarming smile, and met the glares of the six grim-faced guards he’d been playing Lag and Slash with for a better part of the evening.

  He pointed to the target in the middle of the gaming table. “Fellas, easy does it,” he said. “Those last three were lucky throws, that’s all.”

  But as he followed their gazes to the resin playing board suspended from the ceiling, pierced with five razor-edged playing cards in the shape of his game-winning Royal Slash, he knew he should have held back a little, maybe lost a hand or two.

  Damnable fire draught.

  Rogarth stood quickly, pushing his stool back with a screech and a thud. “You hustling us lad?” he growled. The eight-foot man-mountain flexed his shoulders under a well-worn strife jacket. His captain’s insignia barely discernible under a thick layer of ore dust.

  “No, I swear,” Nifty said as Rogarth’s men rose from their seats and stood by their captain. “Just a lucky throw…or two, that’s all.” Nifty repeated nervously, glancing at his right hand and the silver-blue bird pendant he’d just won. It was very pretty, and assuming he could escape this mess in one piece, he knew exactly who he was going to give it to.

  He shoved the pendant into his breast pocket and scooped up a handful of his coins from the neatly stacked pile on the table.

  “I tell ya what, fellas,” he said, “the next drink is on me.” He signaled to Helena, their tall, raven haired server, and shouted across the crowded tavern, “A round of Sakurian fire draught for me and my new friendses,”

  Friendses? Is my speech slurred? Nifty thought to himself. That can’t be good.

  She didn’t look impressed, her angry scowl conveyed that she already knew what was about to happen as she watched the men gradually fan out in a circle, cutting off Nifty’s escape.

  Slagg it, Nifty thought to himself.

  He was there to get information on the ore scorching crews in this sector of Submantle, not to get into a bar fight. Scotty would have his hide if he didn’t figure out a way to fix this situation, and quick.

  The Ranger Corps had assigned them the mission over a month ago. They were there to find out who was stealing priceless 2156 Flux ore from the Constantine Helix mining tunnels, specifically from Bolengrath city, where entire shipments and crews had gone missing without a trace. There were whispers of a Key, but if such an item did exist the localsre being frustratingly tight-lipped about it.

  The only lead Nifty had found was a security detail led by Captain Obie Rogarth, the man-mountain presently bearing down on the Ranger like a brunt grizzly on a bee hive. They had been working before each theft, and after a thorough search of Rogarth’s office and apartment had yielded nothing, Nifty knew his last hope was the Captain’s mantle watch, an item he kept with him at all times.

  Nifty had brought along a duster to help him out, a clever little mantis named Dart that would the dirty work unseen as he tried, and evidently failed, to keep the peace.

  “He’s a cheater,” one of Rogarth’s men shouted, shaking Nifty from his musings. The blonde man, at just over six and a half feet tall, was nearly a head shorter than Nifty, but like all Yolons, he more than made up with it with a muscular girth nearly twice that of the younger Ranger “He played you for a fool, boss,” the man added.

  Nifty saw the anger flare in Rogarth’s eyes, practically felt the heat from his fierce glare, and at that point he knew his night wasn’t going to end peacefully.

  “Take him,” Rogarth roared, his clenched fists, coming to rest on his hips as he stood back to enjoy the show.

  First rule of a bar brawl. He who strikes first drinks last.

  Nifty launched himself at the Yolon, scooping up a flagon half-filled with Fire Draught and bringing it crashing alongside his temple. The man staggered back several feet, spluttering and cursing as the stinging liquid filled his eyes.

  Nifty spun to meet the next guard, his steel-toed boot finding the man’s kneecap with a satisfying crunch as he dodged a drunken roundhouse punch. He clipped him behind the ear with a short jab, causing him to drop like a sack of potatoes, taking a chair with him as he fell.

  The nearby tables cleared quickly, their occupants keen to watch the evening’s entertainment. Many shouted encouragements to Nifty as he took an unexpected jab to the face, followed by a clumsy chokehold that he finally managed to escape from with a desperate eye gouge.

  He suspected a few of the patrons were, as typical for a bar fight, rooting for the underdog, but if his research on the gang was correct, the majority were probably hoping that Rogarth’s gang of bullies were finally going to get a good thrashing.

  As he fought his way through the remaining men and found that what they lacked in training they more than made up for with a willingness to absorb knees, elbows and fists. Yet he couldn’t help but feel he was taking a bit too much punishment, due in no small part to the Sakurian Fire Draught, but it was worth it. The aches and pains would be tomorrow’s problem.

  Nifty was just finishing off the last two guards when he noticed a flicker on Rogarth’s wrist. Dart had made her move, using the chaos as cover. If Nifty hadn’t known what to look for he would have never caught it—the duster had changed her color to a near perfect match for the big man’s jacket. He knew from experience that the manitis’s highly attuned touch would likely go undetected by the enormous man given his agitated condition and degree of sobriety.

  Good girl!

  She would download the data he needed and ensure that this chaos, this brawl, and all of the aches, pains and complaints that followed, were not in vain.

  Nifty made a mental note to give the mantis an extra share of cinnamon once they returned safely to their quarters. She would need less than a minute to download the data, so Nifty just needed to keep Rogarth busy a bit longer so they could be on their way.

  Unfortunately, Rogarth had other ideas. He reached inside his jacket and removed a pair of fist tasers.

  “Well that doesn’t seem fair,” Nifty mumbled as he circled to his left, trying to edge closer to the metal playing cards still buried in the Lag and Slash board.

  Rogarth threaded his fingers through the palm grips and the tasers growled to life. He smashed his fists together, his knuckles releasing an ugly-sounding blast of energy.

  Nifty moved closer to the cards. “Easy big fella. Can’t we just talk this out like men?”

  “Not likely, Nifty Orediten,” Rogarth replied with a knowing grin, noting Nifty’s surprise. “Oh yes, I know all about you,” he continued, “and I know what you’re up to. Do you and your partner—Scotty is it?—think you can come into my port, prying into my bloody business and not have me and my boys take notice?

  “You have it all wrong…I swear,” Nifty said, cursing inwardly.

  “Stow it Ranger, your game is up. I was informed by some very important friends that the Ranger Corps was onto me. I was—“

  Nifty didn’t wait around to hear what Rogarth had to say. He dived at the board and in one practiced move he retrieved a metal playing card and flung it at Rogarth.

  The card grazed his cheek and left its bloody mark before lodging in the wall behind him. Nifty didn’t wait to admire his handiwork—he shot to his feet, grabbed another card and took aim. The Fire Draught and the exertion had affected his aim, but the second throw still hit its mark, leaving a second long gash over Rogarth’s right eye sending the captain of
f balance and causing him to topple over a felled chair.

  Nifty prepared himself for another attack, keen to use his advantage, but before he could launch himself at his fallen foe he felt the crushing blow of a blunt object connect with the back of his head.

  He fell forward, clattering onto a table and bringing it down with him. He rolled onto his back and looked up just in time to see Rogarth climb to his feet and position himself next to his savior, the smug Yolon holding an iron bar. The thug raised the bar above his head as Nifty looked on, powerless, hazy, feeling like he was losing his grip on consciousness.

  Rogarth moved his arm in front of his bar-wielding companion, halting him. “I hope you don’t mind travel, young fool,” Rogarth said to Nifty, spitting as he spoke, the calmness now completely gone from his voice. “Because you’re going to be paying a visit to my business associates. You’ll find they have a real knack for extractin’ information from stubborn Ranger lads like yourself,” he finished, moving his arm and letting his companion finish his task.

  As Nifty, still too stunned to move, saw the weapon swing for him once more, he thought about Dart and hoped beyond hope that she had the good sense to abandon her mission and flee to find Scotty.

  Then contact was made and blackness took him.

  CHAPTER TWO

  Nifty was awoken by a tiny tongue tickling his brow. With an inward groan he cracked an eye and was unsurprised to find his new friend, Otto, had rested his front paws on his cheek and the little fella was obviously attempting to soothe one of the fresh welts on Nifty’s face.

  “Ok, ok, I’m fine,” Nifty croaked, wincing as the pain from his injuries invaded his senses.

  Otto, with a relieved chitter, quickly scampered back, his large blue eyes regarding Nifty seriously as the Rocktower Ranger sat up and studied his surroundings.

  Yup, he was still in the windowless cell. The same one he’d been a guest in for the better part of a week.

  He prodded his ribs and let out an involuntary groan, they still felt tender from yesterday’s meeting with the Inspector. He needed to escape before things got too much worse.

  His partner, Scotty, should have found him by now and arranged some kind of rescue. The fact that he hadn’t suggested Nifty had been taken to a secret base, unknown to the Ranger Corps. If that was true, he was on his own and couldn’t rely on anyone but himself.

  As Otto chittered sympathetically, Nifty took a moment to study the little creature, once again trying to remember what he’d learnt about slipmunk lineage at the Ranger academy. Definitely part flying squirrel but also something else. Something with six legs and a mixture of iridescent blue- green scales. Whatever it was made for an interesting bundle of enthusiasm.

  He had emerged from a small crack in the wall moments after Nifty had been dumped in the cell. The flight webbing between two of his six legs was missing—a likely run-in with a local predator. The poor fella, rather worse for wear, had probably fled to the safety of the building, picking up scraps where he could.

  Otto broke off his inquisitive gaze and scampered across the room to a covered food tray that had been pushed under the door—the real reason he had woken his human cellmate.

  Nifty pushed himself to his feet and retrieved the meal. He was surprised to see that in addition to the usual lump of old bread and suspect chunk of cheese, there was a handful of moldy chestnuts.

  He quickly divided the food into two piles, taking one and leaving the other on the tray, which he placed within reach of the slipmunk.

  Otto cautiously approached the smaller pile. “Go ahead,” Nifty ventured, “you look like you need it more than I do.”

  With a delighted squeak Otto sprang on the meal, hungrily forcing food into his chubby cheeks.

  Good. Nifty thought with a smile. At least one of us is going to enjoy this.

  As was the case with most creatures in Submantle, the slipmunk had clearly inherited significantly enhanced intelligence from his genetically modified ancestors. Nifty wasn’t sure how old the little fella was or how long he had been here, but he had learned to recognize certain words and phrases. Someone or something had also taught him basic body language.

  Good, good. Otto signaled happily.

  As he ate, Nifty reassessed his options. He’d been over every inch of the cell already, trying to recall what he could from apprenticing as a stonemason for his father, when he was just a boy. For years he’d learnt alongside his younger brother Ericon, until, at the age of fourteen it had been decided he would apply to join the Ranger Corps. It was a long shot, his qualifications barely met their minimum requirements, so it came as a bit of a shock to everyone except his mother that he’d actually been accepted to the Academy.

  Nifty sighed, besides the crack that Otto used to get in and out, and a dozen or more vines working their way through the stone, the place was sealed tighter than a tiger toad’s butt.

  The only thing Nifty was sure of was that the distinctive orange hued light that had streamed through one of the windows he’d seen on his way to his interrogation, confirmed he was still inside the Constantine Helix, all seven hundred miles of it. If the base was properly hidden, as he suspected it was, then, to use a topsider phrase, finding him would be like looking for a needle in a haystack.

  Scotty would have called for backup once he realized Nifty was missing, and if Rogarth was stupid enough to stick around he would have undergone some none-too-gentle questioning from the senior Ranger.

  Still, that wasn’t helping Nifty at the moment. He’d already established that his current captors had very little to do with Rogarth’s band of thugs. For one, their uniforms were different—much cleaner, which was a nice change, and with an unfamiliar black and green pattern. For another, without exception they were men and women from the Acendant Alliances. Races that favored a wide variety of genetic tinkering to contend with the Linker Alliance citizens, like Nifty, who preferred to work closely with the earth’s life blood, the organic metal called Flux.

  But who was in charge here at the base? Nifty had been trying to figure that out, but clues had been few and far between.

  The familiar sound of boots in the hallway pulled his attention away from his meagre meal and caused Otto to squeak anxiously as he jammed the remaining food into his mouth—his overstuffed cheeks making for a difficult exit through the crack in the wall.

  Nifty steeled himself, pushed a lock of fiery red hair from his brow, took a few deep breaths, and waited. The door scraped open and three guards entered wearing metal banded strife armor, complete with shock gauntlets. Nifty had learned very quickly not to mess with the gauntlets, especially without the protection of the force jacket and power boots he’d been wearing at the tavern. As it was he’d been stripped down to just his shirt and breeches after his first painfully unsuccessful escape attempt.

  “On your feet please, sir,” drawled Doran, the leather skinned, Tolenraker guard. He handed Nifty a set of manacles. “Inspector Svenkon is a busy man and doesn’t like being kept waiting.”

  Nifty grinned and shrugged as he put on the manacles, not wanting to give them the pleasure of seeing the fear in his eyes. He’d discovered that the rumors about the shark toothed Tolenrakers were true. They were very polite, cordial and incredibly dull, but that changed in an instant if you crossed them. They had a vicious side, reacting with disproportionate violence to whatever had triggered them.

  Nifty had been on the receiving end of their wrath twice already. And as he’d recovered from their over zealous attacks he’d found himself wondering what family gatherings were like in their home Helixes when someone ate the last bread roll.

  He was led out of the cell, down a long white hallway woefully in need of a pair of pruning shears. The jungle outside had made its way into the base over the centuries and several times he had to step over a root or branch on his way to the questioning room. It was a journey he had taken several times over the past few days, but this time when they passed the training barrac
ks it was in full use. Nifty slowed to look inside. He saw at least twenty guards at various combat stations, grunting and sweating as they practiced. While not quite up to Ranger training standards they still managed to look impressively dangerous.

  “Mind your business, please,” one of his guards said, driving Nifty forward with a well placed kidney punch.

  Nifty grumbled but picked up his pace, the odor of their destination penetrating his nostrils long before they arrived. It was the smell of suffering and it emanated from a large cargo room that doubled as a primitive laboratory. Off to the side were several dozen large metal cages occupied by a broad array of augmented animals from Linker Helixes, nearly half of which were those that partnered with the Ranger corps in combat.

  Nifty had been especially surprised to find that three of the cages contained shatter-paws. The armored, boar like creatures easily topping fifteen feet at the shoulder had been genetically designed thousands of years ago by his Submantle ancestors for heavy mining. But from Nifty’s experience the highly intelligent animals were usually quite passive and not something he would have considered as a threat that needed to be experimented on. It was one of the main reasons they were so highly favored by mining crews—well that and the fact their powerful front claws could make short work of all but the most stubborn ore deposits.