“Don't lie to me on top of everything else.” The words sliced the air like sharp Ninja stars. “So, you had a plan. What's your angle? What did you expect to achieve by seducing me?”
“You are the one who invited me to your place for dinner, remember? I said I didn't want to cause any trouble.” Although no one knew, Kostas had always kept his place. “Clones are programmed to remain in the background.”
“But you forgot to mention the most important thing about yourself. You have no soul... and no business being a councilman. You certainly shouldn't be teaching martial arts unsupervised. You are a Human-looking machine, a non-entity.”
His head dropped into his hands. This was worse than any defeat in battle. The recycling biovats seemed preferable to the hurt, the humiliation that crushed his insides right now. “I'm sorry if that's the way you feel.”
“It is the way I feel. And from now on, I don't want to see you, talk to you, or anything else to do with you. Whatever delusional relationship existed between us is over.”
“I wish you would reconsider.” But he knew there was no hope of that.
“There is nothing to reconsider. Your behavior is unspeakable.” Trixie turned and walked away in a big hurry. He heard a sob catching in her throat.
“I still hope you do reconsider...” he called after her. “Eventually.” But Kostas knew deep down inside that nothing would make a Human accept a clone as a mate. As a sexual partner, maybe, but he wasn't a pleasure unit. And even those never rose above the level of sex slaves.
His throat constricted. Kostas wished he could explode and destroy the forge, bring down the walls with his bare hands, just to distract him from the searing pain of losing her. But a clone never damaged friendly property.
As Kostas sat there on his stool, numb, spent, empty of all motivation, Viking the cat trotted up to him and rubbed his big head on his shins. Kostas picked up the big furry ball and scratched him under the chin. The cat purred loudly.
A tear fell on the furry head. For someone without feelings, Kostas certainly hurt like a sonovabitch.
He rubbed his face into the cat's fur. “At least you don't care what I am. You love me anyway, don't you?”
The cat purred even louder, as if he sensed his friend's need for comfort.
“Thank you, my furry friend. I love you, too.”
Chapter Twelve
Trixie sat up in bed. No moonlight or starlight seeped around the edges of the solid wood shutters, and the last embers in the fireplace barely glowed under a dusting of ashes. She wondered what had awakened her, other than her guilty conscience.
She sorely regretted the way she'd treated Kostas. He might be a clone, but she had acted like her father toward his servants. Kostas might not be Human, but he had earned her respect. She couldn't get past the fact that he had kept this monstrous secret from her. Especially from a clone, that was unforgivable. Clones were manufactured to serve, not to betray or lie, not to seduce Humans. Although she'd been the one doing most of the seducing.
She listened to the night, still unable to discern what had pulled her out of her achy slumber. A dog barked in the distance. Her overworked muscles protested, and she rolled her shoulders to ease the stiffness. Then she heard the faint, faraway tumble of wooden pails on the cobblestone. Cats? Rodents? Unlikely. And the wind seldom woke her.
It was the wrong time of night for workers switching shifts at the mine. Back on Earth, she might have suspected a drunken man staggering home, but here, with no alcohol and under the present circumstances, it couldn't be. And the faint noises she heard sounded stealthy. A twitch in the pit of her stomach told her to get up and check it out.
Shivering at the chill of the room, Trixie slipped out from under the sleeping bag. She felt for her clothes on the back of the chair next to the bed, pulled on her shirt and pants, and slipped her socked feet into her boots. A pat on the cold leather confirmed the hidden dagger inside. Then she rose and reached for her weapons utility belt on the hook above the bed. As she cinched on the belt, she heard another tumble outside... closer this time.
It sounded as if something or someone disturbed the utensils of daily chores left at the doors along the streets of the citadel. Definitely not rodents or cats. Her eyes adjusting to the darkness, she secured the blaster to her thigh, then snatched her warm jacket from the peg and slipped it on. She reached for the rifle hanging by the door, checked the charge. The light came on green. Full charge. Good.
Moving quietly, she opened the door, thankful for the oiled hinges, and peered into the street. By the small sliver of the largest moon, she saw nothing out of the ordinary. Then from the corner of her eye to the left, up the street, she sensed a hint of movement. Two silhouettes frozen in the shadow of a sunken doorway, furtive, silent... naked... Zerkers!
Heart pounding, she stepped onto the street, aimed the rifle and fired. The shot sizzled in the quiet night. One Zerker fell. The other bolted around the street corner, vanishing from sight. Trixie thought they always attacked in numbers. Where were the others? How many? How did they breach the wall? Or was this a recon mission?
Trixie fingered the radio at her belt. “Under Zerker attack. Repeat. Under Zerker attack. Get your weapons and your teams. Not sure where the enemy is coming from. They are inside the walls. Be alert. They could be anywhere.”
Only the garrison officers and her crew had radios and would get the message. She had to warn the population, sound the alarm. What alarm? The council didn't have a contingency for an attack inside the impregnable citadel... something she'd have to remedy. They'd have to assign watch duties, initiate a system of defense.
She fumbled with her utility belt and pulled out a small flare drone. She deployed the small wings, activated the battery, and threw it like a paper rocket. It climbed, high into the night air and flared. Then it started circling. It would illuminate the entire area for the better part of an hour.
Should Trixie yell and knock on doors to alert the settlers? No. It might place them in greater danger. They were safer behind locked doors and shutters. Instead, she climbed the outdoor stairs leading to the flat terrace on top of the three-story building for a better view.
As she reached the flat roof, a chilling cry, muffled by the distance, rose into the night from the higher part of the city. Trixie glanced up the sloping streets, north, toward the mountains. She pulled out her binocs. By the amber light of the flare, she saw a wave of Zerkers unfurl upon the sleeping fortress, swarming through the streets. Armed with clubs and gouged blades, they bounced and leapt like the soulless demons of her childhood holovid games.
They climbed outer stairs, prying open the doors of the three-story buildings. Fortunately, the higher sections of the citadel only held official buildings and stood empty. But the Zerkers were quickly gaining ground toward the lower part of the fortress and its inhabitants.
And she was responsible for the safety of these settlers. Wraith!
Something flashed from the battlements above the main gate. A blast of incendiary cannon exploded above the upper part of the walled city, turning the streets into rivers of fire. Zerkers screamed and bodies ignited and fell, rolling on the cobblestone like dropped torches... Kostas. Trixie's radio spit out some static.
“Don't thank me.” Kostas, full of sarcasm on the air waves. “I'm always glad to serve.” The clone phraseology rankled.
If Trixie didn't know better, she'd sworn she heard pain in his voice. But clones couldn't feel pain, physical or otherwise. And as for sarcasm, it definitely wasn't a desirable trait in a clone. No wonder the Kostas models were scheduled for the recycle biovats. Defective indeed.
Another cannon blast set the higher citadel ablaze. Dismembered Zerker body parts flew in showers of blood and flames. Wooden shutters burned brightly. Fortunately, the stone walls were impervious to fire. Despite the incendiary cannon's repeated blasts, however, the naked savages still rushed down the sloping streets.
Tom, Cheng, and Tabor came runni
ng up Trixie's street, rifles in hand, each followed by a few armed garrison recruits.
“Spread out on the rooftops,” Trixie broadcast on her radio, pointing to the outdoor stairs of the buildings across the street. “From up here they make better targets.”
“I'll take the east side,” Tom straightened his red beret and motioned his team to the right.
Her radio crackled.
“I'll take the west side,” Cheng announced and took off at a run with his five recruits toward the closest intersecting street.
Tabor waved at her and directed his small team to the building across the main fare from Trixie. He always managed to position himself close to her. Sometimes it made her uncomfortable, but in this case, she welcomed the support.
“They are coming from the upper section of the citadel,” Trixie broadcast for her officers. “Let's try to form a barrier three blocks below the level of the capitol. Don't try to engage them up close. They are crazed and afraid of nothing. Shoot them from the roof tops. Understood?”
“Understood,” came several familiar voices.
“Good luck. Trixie out.”
Another salvo of the incendiary cannon exploded in the night, now as bright as day, except for the obscuring smoke. But no matter how many times Kostas flooded these streets with fire, more Zerkers kept pouring down the streets toward the lower section of the citadel.
Trixie could smell the fire. As the swarm came into rifle range, she aimed and peppered the cobblestoned main fare with a barrage of pulse fire. Tabor and his team, from a roof across the wide street, added their firepower as well.
Soon the cobbles were strewn with dead Zerkers, and the rest of them hesitated to cross the killing zone. Then one rallying cry in a harsh tongue spurred the naked savages forward. Stepping over their dead, they pushed onward under the renewed salvos, as if motivated by something stronger than life, stronger than death, stronger than any fear.
Trixie hoped the few soldiers defending the other streets were still alive and shooting. The deafening noise of her own battle prevented her from hearing what happened a few streets away.
Despite her best efforts, the decimated throng of Zerkers moved through the smoke and breached their firewall, trickling into the maze of streets below. Trixie aimed and fired at any moving enemy target, like an obsessed killer, rage in her heart. Despite the weapons barrage, too many enemies escaped and vanished into narrow alleyways and passages... and even one Zerker could kill many settlers.
Cries of alarm erupted in the lower citadel as the settlers now faced the pounding clubs of naked savages breaking down their doors.
Below her, Trixie caught a glimpse of a Zerker dragging a screaming woman by one ankle, toward an alley. All kinds of unpleasant scenarios crossed Trixie's mind. Was he going to rape her? She seethed inside at such barbarism. She aimed and shot the naked savage. As he collapsed, the woman scrambled to her feet and ran to the relative safety of an open door, disappeared into its darkness, and closed the door. Trixie heard the heavy crossbar lock into place.
She released her breath. What did the Zerkers want? Revenge for the carnage at the cave? Then she caught glimpses of another naked savage fleeing through narrow alleys, dragging a woman by the hair. She shot and killed him, too. But other enemies, incredibly swift and agile, pulled, shoved and tugged their hostages, vanishing into the network of small streets. Why take the women?
It seemed their attack had a specific purpose. It didn't make much sense to get decimated just to steal a few women... especially when they had their own females. Trixie clearly remembered pregnant female Zerkers during the battle at the cave. An easy distinction when they attacked naked.
She wished she could pursue and kill the kidnappers, but she could inflict more damage by remaining at her post. The rooftop offered the best strategic position. Besides, down in the street, she might become another potential victim, and be overpowered by sheer numbers despite her arsenal.
No matter how many Zerkers she killed, and the dead bodies strewn in the street attested to her deadly accuracy, there always seemed to be more. They oozed from the smoke to carry on their dark purpose.
* * *
The power pack on his incendiary cannon flashed yellow. Kostas launched a few more shots above the higher streets of the citadel. The blaze flared, igniting the dwindling flow of incoming Zerkers. When the power pack flashed red, he tossed aside the useless weapon and set his precision rifle to kill.
From his high vantage point above the main gate, he had a wide view of the square in front of the gate, and of the main fare leading to the higher part of the citadel. He had a good view of the teams on the roofs, but the surrounding smoke, and the height of the cubic buildings, obstructed many of the narrow streets.
He aimed into the streets below, where the Zerkers sprawled into the maze. Kostas pinpointed one Zerker dragging his loot by the back of the collar along the main fare. He shot the man in the head. The woman scurried to safety into a building, while Kostas picked his targets among the savages who might catch up with her.
A group of Zerkers at the foot of the fortress wall spotted him and started up the stairs. Kostas activated and threw a grenade in their midst. It exploded, sending bloody parts flying, and destroying in the process a section of the stairs leading to his perch. No big deal. He knew other ways up and down the rampart.
His sensitive hearing discerned various sounds of struggle among the chaos. He directed his heat scanner toward the commotion and glanced at the screen on his wrist. Blotches of red and yellow had ganged upon one smaller Human, while other heat smudges huddled inside the house. Probably a man, standing up to the savages to protect his family.
Kostas barely heard the shot that killed one of the blotches... a Zerker, partly covered by the guttural clamor of the savages and the strident screams of struggling women. The shot had come from Trixie's roof, from Trixie's weapon. More shots erupted from a roof across the main fare. Tabor's team killing the other Zerkers involved. Why was Tabor always so close to Trixie? Kostas didn't like it a bit.
Through the power lens of his rifle, he picked one by one the savages who'd swarmed through the first line of defense. The crazed faces of his enemies made him recoil. Such demence in their bloodshot eyes, and a total disregard for life, including their own. They carried on under fire, propping dead comrades or holding them above their heads as a shield, as if their death had no meaning.
They regrouped and followed each other like a pack of rats. Strange behavior for a humanoid culture... not characteristic of a natural, organic tribe. Something else was driving these Zerkers. They also didn't react to pain, as if they didn't feel it. It almost looked as if they were drugged. But such a barbarian culture would not have the pharmacopoeia required to manufacture mind-altering substances... although sometimes native plants could be potent... Still. Why throw away their lives?
Kostas remembered making a similar observation about their lack of reaction to pain after raiding the cave, but tonight, their total disregard for their own lives became even more evident. The Zerkers didn't seem to care whether they lived or died... only to carry on their purpose, like machines... like automatons, like programmed clones.
He flinched at the notion of clones. If Trixie likened him to these mindless, soulless beings, unable of feelings or pain, no wonder she couldn't look him in the eyes... and why did it hurt so damned much to know that she thought of him that way?
His heat scanner beeped a warning. The battery pack was running low. No wonder. He'd set the scanner to record the assault from the beginning. The Zerkers had not breached the walls but emerged from the underground maze of tunnels. The enemy knew the citadel above and below better than the settlers did.
Could this be how they had exterminated previous populations? That would explain why they found the citadel empty of remains, animals, food, or anything alive. The Zerkers were the scourge of the citadel, its natural predators. And Kostas was willing to bet the Godds would let the Zerk
ers do their dirty work whenever it suited them.
Except that tonight's attack couldn't possibly benefit them. The kidnapping of women didn't fit, not when the Godds needed all hands to work the mine. So, the Zerkers were autonomous, but what did they want with the settlers' women?
Kostas raised his binocs and checked on Trixie's position on the roof three blocks away. A handful of Zerkers had spotted her and started climbing the stone stairs winding around the rectangular building. Tabor and his team, across the main fare, couldn't see the stairs hidden from their view. The Zerkers carried dead bodies over their heads as shields. Trixie shot at them but kept hitting the dead bodies. Didn't she have grenades? Probably not. Damn! The sudden thought that they might take her away, or kill her, made his blood turn to ice.
The Zerker team climbed toward Trixie's roof. Kostas cursed the wide chimneys on the adjacent buildings blocking his view through the scope. When he finally had a clear shot, they were so close to Trixie, his heart turned to stone in his chest.
He fired, twice, three times. Then the three Zerkers still standing leapt upon Trixie. He could not risk a shot. Damn the savages. If one of them harmed his woman, Kostas would exterminate them to the last.
Forcing calm into his mind and body, Kostas called upon his rigorous training and aimed, waiting for the right angle, the right moment. Trixie's rifle dropped from her grip under the shoving of a savage three times her size. When the Zerker straightened, Kostas fired. The savage fell, but his two comrades lunged to grab Trixie. She pulled out her blaster and shot one Zerker. Kostas shot the other.
Close call. Trixie stared at him across the distance, but her grim face only registered determination. Did she know he'd just saved her life? It didn't matter. To her, he was only a military machine doing its job.
Slowing his racing heart, Kostas refocused his attention on the streets. After all, he was a clone, and nothing could interfere with his mission. Just like the savages down there, he shouldn't care about anything other than getting the job done. The problem was, he did care... and it hurt like hell.
Noah's Ark Page 15
