Submantle- The Alpha Key

by Patrick Lane

  He also knew that the only thing keeping them in their cages were massive shock collars cinched tight around their necks.

  All the animals were in various states of distress. From what Nifty could piece together many had been experimented upon so their captors could figure out the best ways to neutralize any special abilities granted them by the Flux rods, stored either in their harnesses or grafted directly to their bodies. He’d heard rumors of labs like this before, and as he entered the room once again his heart sank and a futile rage boiled in the pit of his stomach. He needed to help these creatures.

  He was seated, none too gently, in a lone metal chair in the middle of the room, and tried to signal a greeting to the imprisoned animals without the guards noticing but was instead rewarded with a harsh cuff to the back of the head for his efforts.

  “Eyes front,” Doran snapped.

  Along the wall opposite the cages were half a dozen large transports of some kind. Even hidden under their drop cloths they managed to carry an air of menace about them.

  Standing at a long heavy table lined with gauges and the cage controls was Inspector Svenkon, a Yolon. His uniform stretched tightly across a muscular back; a fully stocked utility belt at his hips.

  The Yolon turned to face them. “Niftmire Orediten,” he said, in a deep baritone.

  Nifty winced inwardly. Years ago Niftmire had been shortened to Nifty by his friends at Ranger academy. It was a change he gladly embraced, as Niftmire always seemed a little too old fashioned for Nifty’s taste.

  The guards stepped back as Svenkon walked to the center of the room. His long blonde hair was slicked back into a neat ponytail, complementing a beard that had been trimmed into a neat square. He would have passed for quite the elegant dandy back in Rocktower were it not for the three long scars down the left side of his face, passing through a dead white orb that served as an eye.

  Nifty tried once again to ready himself for what was to come; several animals began to mewl and pace nervously in their cages.

  Inspector Svenkon regarded a page of notes on a task-tablet as he spoke.

  “Fear not, young Ranger, there will be no questioning for you today. I just wanted to afford you one final opportunity to tell us any information you have with regards to the Key we seek.” He pointed to the missive displayed on the tablet’s surface.

  Nifty remained quiet, contemplating the reasoning behind this change of tact.

  “Silence, eh? Are you sure that’s a good idea?” The Inspector asked, approaching Nifty with a penetrating gaze.

  “You must be going crazy in your cell,” he continued, allowing a smirk to curl the corners of his mouth. “You must be wondering who wants the Key, and why it’s such a big deal. Are you going to get murdered? Well, let me tell you a little secret.” He was within arm’s reach of Nifty now, a tempting target. “We don’t know exactly who wants it either.”

  The Inspector let out a booming laugh at that and turned to the guards, expecting them to join in on his joke but instead he was greeted with silence. His face quickly registering his disappointment as their blank, leathery faces reminded him that his joke was falling on Tolenraker ears, probably the least receptive audience in all Submantle. Nifty almost laughed at that but wisely chose to bite his lip instead.

  With an embarrassed cough Svenkon continued, “But as it seems like you have no information regarding the Key, I had no choice but to contact our business partners. They have been very displeased with my progress.” He waggled a thick finger at Nifty.

  “So displeased, in fact, they decided to send one of their own to question you personally.” He grimaced. “What kind of history do they teach at the Ranger academy, lad? I am sure it is fairly thorough; you Rangers seem too smug. You must have something to back it up. Are you familiar with a device called a dredge helmet, yes?”

  Nifty blanched at that. Of course he was aware of dredge helmets, they were one of the techs outlawed nearly fifteen hundred years ago. They were perfect for extracting or ‘dredging’ information directly from a person’s brain, if you didn’t mind the very real possibility of permanently removing all memory once the extraction process was complete.

  “I can see that you have. Good.” Svenkon was clearly holding back his joy. “It seems our friends have ‘dredged’ up one of these helmets from one of the abandoned Helix tunnels, and as misfortune would have it, they’ll be here tomorrow with one of their Monitors to see what they can squeeze from that Ranger brain of yours.” He paused for a moment to let his words sink in. “That is, of course, unless you can give me good reason to change their minds.”

  Nifty shook his head. “I told you before, I know less than nothing about this Key. We were looking for the missing 2156 Flux shipments, you know that already.” Nifty decided to try his luck, “this riff raff questioning me tomorrow will just get a head full of useless information.”

  “Actually, wait, that came out wrong,” Nifty corrected, “not useless, I do know stuff, just not about this Key. Besides, are you sure your masters even know how to work ancient tech? Not many do, you know. They may end up infecting this whole place with the Jax virus or something worse. I would clear out a whole wing if I were you.”

  As the words left his lips, Nifty noticed a small flicker over Svenkon’s shoulder. Something was happening on one of the boxes stacked against the far wall.

  “I agree, it is doubtful you will have much to contribute. And make no mistake, the visitors are not our masters, nor are they riff raff. You can call them greenbacks if you like, most do. Soon enough they will make their presence felt. You and the Ranger corps will come to realize they are very well resourced, dangerous, and have extremely deep pockets.”

  Nifty’s heart sank, not at the inspector’s words but at the realization that it was Otto who had appeared on the boxes behind the inspector. Silly creature, it should know better than to sneak into a room with armed guards. Nifty’s gaze was caught between the Inspector and Otto. The slip-munk had locked eyes with Nifty and waved its paws before eyeing the guards nervously.

  Is he trying to help me? Nifty wondered.

  Nifty tipped his head and raised his eyebrows, trying to signal for Otto to flee.

  Svenkon stepped between Nifty and Otto, locking gazes once again. “Are you in some sort of pain? I’ve already told you that there will be no questioning today.”

  “No no, I’m fine,” Nifty replied. “Just a sore neck, you know from yesterday’s…beating.” He flickered his gaze over the inspector’s shoulder once again, and quickly regretted it.

  In a blurred motion that belied the cumbersome musculature usually associated with Yolons, Svenkon spun, drew one of the weapons on his hip and shot something directly at Otto. Whatever it was, Otto managed to scramble out of the way, but the shot released a blast of energy that sent the slipmunk slamming into one of the crates before dropping to the floor.

  Several imprisoned animals howled at the assault, gnashing teeth and clawing at their bars. The inspector crossed to the cage controls and pushed a red button, sending an energy blast through the cages, punishing all the creatures at once.

  “Stop!” Nifty spat, above the howls of pain. He tried to lunge forward but his movement was cut short as one of the Tolenraker guards grabbed the back of his neck, his power gauntlets crackling dangerously with pent up energy.

  “Best not to even think about it, Ranger,” the guard said, dispassionately.

  “Is this a friend of yours?” Svenkon asked, removing his finger from the button. He crossed to the immobilized slip-monk. “I’d heard there were several creatures from the jungle that had made a home here in the barracks. But I thought that Dap, my pet fire weasel, had taken care of them all.”

  Nifty bit his lip, he couldn’t afford to say anything, and Svenkon wasn’t above using Otto for leverage if he felt he could.

  The inspector picked up Otto and examined him with his single good eye. “Good, it’s still alive, Dap likes to play with her food.” He ha
nded Otto to one of the guards, who dropped him into an empty crate near the door and latched it shut.

  “Really?” Nifty said, with a heavy sigh. “Why don’t you just let it go? The jungle is right outside the door.”

  “Why would I deprive my dear Dap a good meal? Unless there’s something I need to know about our friend there?” Svenkon replied, approaching Nifty.

  “No, no.” Nifty said, cursing inwardly. “It’s just the right thing to do is all. But really, do what you like, I don’t care.”

  Great, now both of us need to be rescued.

  “Good, that’s settled then, we should get you back to your cell so you can rest.” The Yolon grinned unnervingly. “It’s going to be a big day tomorrow.

  A deep rumbling sound slowly wiped the grin off the Inspector’s face as the walls began to shake. It was replaced by a look of concern as the animals erupted in a commotion of excited howls and shrieks.

  CHAPTER THREE

  Nifty knew immediately that the sound wasn’t an earthquake. The nine hundred mile long Helix tunnel they were inside, hung from the underside of the earth’s crust, like an enormous coiled spring and was immune to such seismic events.

  Svenkon knew this as well, and the concern in his face was growing with each passing second. “Return him to his cell and chain him to the wall,” He barked to the guards, just as the sound of emergency klaxons screamed through the tunnels.

  Nifty was tempted to attack as the men hustled him from the room, but he thought better of it. His time would come.

  He recognized the rumbling all too well. In the hallway guards streamed past carrying a full array of weapons—splinter staffs, drill mauls and snap swords were all being powered-up ,growling dangerously as the the men and women ran towards the direction of the noise.

  When they arrived at the cell Nifty was hastily shoved through the door. One of the guards grabbed his throat with an energized gauntlet as the other readied the wall anchor for Nifty’s manacles.

  A terrible scraping noise was the man’s only warning as an enormous ridged snout ploughed it’s way though the cell wall as if it had been made of paper, sending two of the guards crashing into the far wall and nearly knocking Nifty off his feet.

  Nifty’s mount, Snort, had arrived! The enormous tan pushsnout, nearly nine feet at the shoulder, circled to face the third guard, who had wisely abandoned any attempt to keep Nifty captive. The giant boar flicked his head in the guard’s direction, catching the man’s armored vest with one of his tusks, and sent him up into the ceiling with a dull thud.

  “Good to see you, my friend,” Nifty exclaimed with a heavy exhale. “It took you long enough. How many of you guys are there?”

  No talk, time to go. Snort signaled with a complex mixture of body language and muffled grunts.

  Snort pulled back from the hole he’d made in the cell wall to reveal an even larger boar behind him named Grunt. The silver white pushsnout carried Nifty’s mentor Scotty.

  “Best not to tarry lad, we should be on the move,” barked the broad man. Scotty’s combat jacket, nearly the same pale shade of grey as his handsomely upswept handlebar mustache, was covered in a fine layer of debris from their explosive entry.

  “Alright, alright, but just a moment, I need to gear up,” Nifty countered, his heart racing as he attacked Snort’s saddle pack to search for clothing and something to deal with the cuffs. In moments the cuffs were on the floor and Nifty had retrieved his Ranger uniform jacket and power boots from where he’d stored them before his mission had taken him into the tavern.

  He dressed quickly, then retrieved his shatter-bat — named Riot—from its holster near Snort’s pommel. She was a military grade weapon, with an augmented power rod and a penchant for trouble. Pressing a recessed button on her handle she powered up and he could feel the Flux Link surge through him as he and Riot became one. He depressed a similar button on his belt buckle and both his jacket and boots responded in a similar fashion, a full awareness of them flooded his senses. He could feel the metal plates beneath his boots as if he wore no boots at all. His reinforced jacket felt like a second skin.

  “Stick with the arc-shot, lad,“ Scotty said loudly as the noise of combat began to grow.” I doubt we’ll be at a range long enough for you to get good use of the shatter bat.”

  Nifty jumped into Snort’s saddle, returned Riot to her holster and reached back for his trusty arc-shot. The weapon unfolded as soon as he squeezed the handle. Like it’s namesake it was shaped with a slight curve to extend the reach of his arm as he hurled a variety of programmable metal discs stored in the handle.

  It was a simple weapon, powered by one’s own muscle, yet the extra reach the arc-shot gave him could accelerate the discs to well over five hundred miles an hour with a well-coordinated throw. Like the rest of his weapons it Linked with him immediately, the bond significantly increasing the weapon’s accuracy.

  As he put on his flat brimmed helmet, he briefly examined the leather skinned guards. Fortunately, none of them were dead—they may have treated him poorly but that didn’t mean they deserved to die. Satisfied, he signaled Snort forward, managing to grab his clothes, along with the bird pendant he’d won at the tavern, from a cubby outside his cell as they went.

  Snort, eager to be on the move again, plowed down a few more walls as Nifty guided him towards the sound of combat. Grunt, not to be outdone by his junior workmate, created an equally impressive swath of destruction behind as he sidled up beside Snort so Scotty could talk. The senior Ranger held out his circular mantle watch, which was projecting a 3D image of the base.

  “Standard recovery, lad. The Fergraniteson brothers are in the courtyard kicking up a fuss with Drella and Constance while the dusters are out setting off incendiary and concussion blasts for distraction, here and here.” Scotty pointed to different glowing dots on the hologram.”

  Nifty nodded, absorbing the basic layout of the facility. “Sounds good. Thanks for the rescue, I owe you one. By the sounds of it tomorrow was gonna be a rough day if you hadn’t found me.”

  “Owe me one? Try again, lad, the team here will be expecting a full night of drink at the Roosters Bounty once we get back to Rocktower, their throats are feeling rather parched after all this searching.” Scotty smirked. “In the meantime, we need to meet up with the others.”

  He nudged Grunt past Snort. “The courtyard should be on the other side of this wall, it’s reinforced and a might deal thicker than the rest so let’s try to make quick work of it.”

  The sound of something large and mechanical lumbering down the hall erupted from the direction they’d just come. Both Snort and Grunt, taking cues from their riders, attacked the wall just as what was left of the hallway screeched with the sound of metal scraping metal.

  “Is that what I think it is?” Nifty said, his gaze torn between the pushsnouts progress and the sounds of the machine closing in on them.

  “A rock-ripper, that machine is not something intended for combat, clever slaggers,” Scotty yelled back. “We best be quick.”

  The rock-ripper finally appeared. Intended for industrial mining the digger was equipped with over a dozen energy tipped cutting wedges, which were currently spinning wildly, eating up everything in their path.

  “Slagg,” Nifty cursed, even as he wondered what the machines ill trained pilot was even thinking of, ripping up his own base in order to reach the Rangers. What a fool.

  Light broke through the wall ahead. The boars pushed the rest of the way through, and just in time as the room behind them fell victim to the rock-ripper.

  In the broad courtyard, overgrown with vines and shrubs, Nifty and Scotty were greeted with chaos. A quick scan revealed that the base was better equipped for intruders than the rescuing Rangers may have expected. Four nimble machines, with similar blades to that of the rock-ripper, were closing in on the Ranger teams at the far end of the yard. They were joined by over a dozen well armed guards with their own versions of arc shots.

 
The Fergraniteson brothers, both mounted on the aggressive hyber-rams, were drawing most of fire as they cantered back and forth at the far end of the yard. Weighing in at close to four thousand pounds the silver bearded rams with their curled ebony horns had an almost legendary ramming speed. They were joined by Rangers Drella and Constance on the deadly fast shankwing’s. The towering mounts were a cross between an ostrich and a hawk, with chiton-like feathers sharpened to a razor’s edge, their wings were useless for flight but provided an excellent defense against most projectiles and a nasty offence in close quarters.

  Both Drella and Constance carried triple fire arc-shots and were peppering the ranks of the guards as they attempted a flanking maneuver. Nifty knew immediately that they weren’t really trying to break through, it was just meant as a distraction to confuse the guards. Both Rangers spotted Nifty’s party immediately and began focusing their attention on the outlying defenders.