Age of the Marcks

by Gregory Benson

  Crix slammed his fist against the hardened doorframe. “You butcher! You lowlife filth! Just get on with his release before we do everyone a favor and bury you here . . . right now!” He was outraged at the sight of Creedith’s face.

  “Very well,” Merik replied, cross, as he moved the cube to the diffusion platform.

  Crix let out a fleeting groan, and Kerriah looked back at him. To her dismay, she observed Sintor standing atop him with a large metal bar pressing against Crix’s head. Crix, taken off guard, struggled to maintain consciousness as the immense pressure increased from the giant Marck’s wrath. She whipped her rifle around at Sintor only to have it smacked from her grasp before she could get her sights on him. He laughed, the echoing chuckle gloated over them.

  “You see, now I will kill this one and remove the orb from his lifeless corpse. Then I may have Merik make a few modifications to you so that you may be my personal entertainment.” Kerriah’s heart sunk as he laughed again and put more pressure on Crix’s skull. Crix started to bellow in pain and frustration. Unable to move or think, he could feel his consciousness slipping from him.

  Looking for anything she could use to level the odds, Kerriah took notice of a section of fusion tubing sitting on a glass shelf near the door. When contacted with metal, it would instantly create heat for makeshift welds. If she whipped it around the narrow section of Sintor’s knee . . . maybe . . . but no, it was just out of reach.

  However, all was not lost. Realizing she still had a move left to make, Kerriah remembered Plexo’s transmitter. Feeling behind her left ear for the tiny speck implanted there, she gave it a hard pinch. Her heart was pounding, hoping this would work. Within several seconds, an unusual vibration shook the walls and ceiling.

  Sintor took notice and let up slightly on Crix in an attempt to ascertain what they just felt. Within a minute, an alarm chirped from the panel in front of Merik, and a green image swirled into view, an image of a Marck guard alerting to something. The console flickered in and out. Merik tapped the console’s sensing controls, bringing its clarity back. The ceiling rumbled repeatedly.

  “Alert all personnel . . . we are under attack . . . we are under attack . . .” the guard announced as he continuously looked over his shoulder. Plasma bolts zinged back and forth in the background, and the image shuddered.

  Merik was bewildered and annoyed by this announcement. “What’s that you’re saying? Attack . . . by whom? Thraxons?” He asked.

  The image went dark, and the lights flickered around them as another rumble shook the walls even more violently than before, toppling any loose objects in the room.

  “How can Dispor be under attack?” Merik said, turning to Sintor for an explanation.

  “It is of minor concern to us. Besides, whoever it is will dispose of Zeltak for us.” Sintor’s obsession with power and vengeance blinded him of any danger, and he viewed this unexpected peril as an opportunity for him to take his self-proclaimed place as Master of Dispor. Ever since his relegation from that title due to his unsanctioned acts of cruelty, he had made it his primary focus to see Zeltak meet a toxic fate.

  “Energize and release the racks if they make it down here. I doubt they will get far against such numbers,” Sintor said.

  “As you wish, but realize this, my lord, most are unregulated, and we cannot predict their behavior. Marck control graciously provided them to us as parts for a reason,” Merik advised.

  “Their standard protocol is still to neutralize threats . . . so they will serve our purpose here. Activate your arch battle hybrids as well, if required. We will use them to quell the rabble once we are in the clear,” Sintor ordered. Just then, Kerriah reached for the fusion tubing she had seen on the shelf and whipped it around Sintor’s knee. On impact, it glowed with intense, blinding heat, causing the separation of the lower part of his leg. Sintor fell back and braced himself against the doorway. He struggled to pull himself to an upright position.

  Crix struggled up to his knees, and his mental cognizance slowly started to return. Kerriah helped him to his feet. “Keep an eye on Sintor.” She hurried over to deal with Merik. Crix gave Sintor a shocking jolt from his orb, which sent him flat down on his face.

  “Free Creedith, now!” she demanded. Merik gave her an edgy smirk and then triggered the holographic controls energizing the Marck retention racks. He let out a sardonic chuckle.

  “Here’s your beloved Andor,” Merik said, pointing to the containment cube still sitting on the platform. “And . . . here are seventeen hundred Marcks with no central control and no orders . . . only their primary directive, which is threat neutralization to drive their actions. I would say your chances of leaving here with your lives have just dwindled to something less than naught!”

  “Crix,” her voice was cool and calm, as she looked sharply back at him, “please explain it to him.” Crix’s eyes flashed blue as he pulled his fists tight against his chest. His skin started glowing brighter, and Merik felt his insides twist and retch. Merik buckled over gasping in excruciating pain. He placed his hand up to signal for Crix to stop. Crix looked over at Kerriah.

  “Give him a few more seconds for assurance, and then let’s see if he sees things our way.”

  Merik grasped his chest, turned to the control panel, and completed the sequence to free Creedith from the cube. An alert system sounded off with a female voice. “Warning . . . mechanized retention system jump process has been finalized. Warning . . . unsupported Marck systems now activated.”

  Merik regained his composure. “You’re still not leaving here alive . . .” The area shook, and the lights powered off then on again. A massive explosion sent all of them off their feet.

  Crix was feeling unsettled over the turmoil. “Let’s get Creedith and Krath and get out of here.” He grabbed Kerriah up and pulled her to the doorway. Before they could make their way out, a vice-like object seized Kerriah’s heel, sending her smashing down into the metal floor. An echoing laugh filled the room. Sintor crawled back onto one leg, and he drew Kerriah closer, and then followed with a grasp around her neck. The pressure from his clamp would have killed most, yet Kerriah found a way to endure the cracking in her neck even though it was paralyzing her movements. Blasts continued to rock the area around them, causing metal support beams to buckle, and whistling bursts of energy rang out in the distance.

  Crix swung around, hoping to send a debilitating orb blast at his tenacious foe’s head, and then paused in fear of burning Kerriah in the process. Instead, he pointed his index finger straight at Sintor. Every emotion bottled up within him pulsed, and he was able to bring to bear all his anger at that single point.

  Sintor stared into his eyes. “Pathetic Tolagon, strike me with your power, and this pitiful being you care for will certainly die. Do it! I am going to kill her regardless.” With that, a thin blue needle shot from Crix’s finger and passed through Sintor’s head, severing his central processing core. Sintor’s body instantly crumpled to the floor.

  “Are you okay?” Crix asked, running over to her and sliding down onto the floor next to her small frame. They clasped hands, and he helped her stand up. Kerriah winced in pain as she rubbed her neck, trying to get it to move. She knew that time was their biggest opponent and that she could not let it gain a minute on them due to her pain.

  “Yes . . . we have to get going quickly. Remember, that Eatek is going to detonate once his power core finally overloads. We have to be off Dispor before that happens!”

  They raced out into the area lined with the containment cubes. Marcks scurried in every direction, firing frantically at any object out of place. They located the diffusion platform, but there was no one there.

  “Okay, I saw Merik complete the release sequence for Creedith, so where is he?” Kerriah said panning the area for a glimpse of the Andor.

  “Looks like something was here.” Crix stood over the scattered remains of Guttel.

  A heavy thump came from behind both of them. As they spun around to
see what it was, a muscular, well-weathered Andor grabbed Crix and pulled him down into a chokehold with both hands firmly around his neck. Creedith’s eyes were crazed, and veins bulged from his neck. He let out a rasping snort and tightened his grip.

  Crix clenched the old warrior’s arms with both hands turning white, trying to free his breath. “Who are you? Why am I here? Speak!” Creedith shouted, his voice gravelly but imposing. Kerriah carefully approached with her hand extended in a calming gesture.

  “We came here to free you of this place, and the one you hold there is the Tolagon of Soorak, Crix. Please . . . I don’t have time to explain, but we need to leave here quickly.” Upon hearing the name Crix, Creedith immediately loosened his grasp and looked into Crix’s face. He took a deep gaze, almost peering into his soul.

  “Crix? The child of Corin Emberook?” Creedith gently placed Crix down and fell to his backside. Sitting heavily on the ground, he pulled his tattered mane back from his eyes. He noticed his synthetic appendage when it brushed up against his side, and he stroked the side of his face with horror over what he had become.

  “I . . . I remember now. I would have never dreamed of seeing you again, much less here. A young Tolagon you truly are.” Creedith’s voice carried with it a gentle assertion.

  Kerriah stepped between the two warriors. “Look, I realize this is quite a bit to take in at the moment, but we really have to go now, or we are going to be buried in this place.” The ground trembled and fragments of metal and stone showered down. From the distant tunnel, the blasting had suddenly ceased.

  Crix snapped a look toward the tunnel. “Agreed. Eatek may be down. We don’t have much time. Let’s get Krath.” He rushed over to the holding cell containing Krath and looked down. Krath leaned casually against the wall and stared up at Crix. He cracked a brief smile as he noticed his all-white hair and how it made it look more like Corin.

  “Well . . . are tya going to get me out of this rodent trap or what?” His tone was annoyed, but at the same time, there was an underlying hint of pride for his young pupil as he cracked a smile from the corner of his mouth.

  Crix dropped to his knees and placed his palms face out to Krath. The young Tolagon started to glow a bright blue, and the air swooshed around Krath as he slowly rose up to the top of the cell. Krath buckled over and chuckled as he reached the top.

  “What could possibly be so amusing?” Creedith said with some friendly scorn in his tone.

  “Well, it started to tickle somewhat. Anyway, who’s askin’?”

  “Try giving a good rub on those old black circles that reside in that big plump head of yours and take a look,” Creedith replied.

  Krath’s mouth widened up with a rare smile. “Well, well, well, finally! There tya are, a whole bunch uglier, but hey, everyone pretty much thought tya were dead already anyway.”

  “Not quite yet, but when time permits, I would sure be interested in what you’re doing here,” Creedith said just as he felt the heat from a plasma shot zipping over his shoulder. A large group of Marcks, having gained sight of the prison escapees, were storming down the tunnel.

  “Where do we go from here? I mean we can’t exactly go back the way we came in.” Crix was praying that someone would have a clever reply.

  “There was a lift that stopped between levels. At least, that’s what they sent me down here in. Of course, they bash’d me in the head to get me on there and again to get me off of it, so I’m a bit fuzzy on where it was.” Krath rubbed his head, recalling the sharp blows he took.

  Several more blasts hit near them as the Marcks opened up into the main containment area. Krath looked over calmly at the incoming Marcks and then tilted his head as if he just had some sort of recollection.

  “That’s it,” he stormed out, leaping into the air and crashing down upon several Marcks in a reckless display of boldness. With a focused rage, he started ripping and tearing Marck limbs off and swinging wildly, taking down double digits of the incoming hoard.

  Crix noticed that Creedith stood with a posture of casual spectating. “Shouldn’t we assist him?”

  “Not to worry, young Emberook, hand-to-hand melee is Krath’s passion. He would take offense to the notion that he required assistance.”

  CHAPTER 23

  B ehind a billowing heap of smoke and popping power discharges emerged a lumbering silhouette dragging Marck heads attached by their ripped optical lines. Without saying a word, Krath passed the group and started down a nearby stairway. Creedith shrugged and gave Crix a wink before following down the stairs. A blinding light slowly filled the area in the distance as Eetak Two overloaded its power core for detonation. Kerriah was growing frustrated by the casualness of her companions.

  “Am I the only one here that cares at all about the gravity of this situation?” She and Crix followed them down into a hexagon area. This recessed area had two levels with the lower filled to the knee with scrap metal and discarded electronic components, much like a small landfill.

  Krath was busy pressing his confiscated Marck heads into a pole that lowered from the ceiling and then chucking the head to the side before trying another. This pole had a clear panel of swirling red lights, which followed a repeating pattern that pulsed side to side at its base.

  Krath started grumbling to himself, and he tried one after another. “I know this is what they did. One of these garbage cans stuck their ugly mug in this and activated this thing.” Then a familiar laugh bellowed out from behind them.

  There was Merik, flanked by three heavily weaponized arch battle hybrids, the apex of his military work, with their armor stamped with the Kreillic, the mark of the house of Spancer. The Kreillic was a menacing, four-winged creature of the ancient lore that had a long pitchforked tongue and drove fear into its prey. It was difficult to tell what the original species of these weapons of terror were due to the heavy assimilation of Marck technology into their forms.

  “Step back, mongrel!” he ordered Krath as one of the archs raised a rotating missile launcher. “By the way, I did get the privilege to see your customized Marck that was the cause of all this panic. Impressive as it was, it did fall to my own arch soldiers. What a shame that its ingenious power core is building up for eventual and inevitable detonation. That will turn this facility and all my precious work into a molten slab. We even tried to move it to see if there was a way to re-stabilize it, but alas, its core has permanently fused itself to the floor.” He stepped up to the panel and stared into it.

  The red lights went from a back and forth to a circular pattern, and then hexagonal tubes lit up and made a steady hum, letting its operator know it was ready. Merik and his arch troops stepped upon the elevator. “I fear our parting is bittersweet as I would have enjoyed better understanding you. These caverns are now to be hollowed with your corpses, and I bid you farewell.” He stared at Kerriah with a slight touch of admiration.

  “Do you think we are going to let you just leave us down here and you escape?” Krath said, lurching forward. Merik’s arch troopers aimed their weapons on him right as the cavernous facility gave out a slow and continuous vibration.

  “I don’t see that you have any options at this point. I will leave you with this, however. I was able to get a rough estimate on the time remaining before your rogue Marck obliterates this place. Since I would like you to feel every second before your demise, I will tell you. You have roughly two minutes and thirty seconds.” He sent the elevator upward just before one of his arch troopers blasts the control panel, rendering it inoperative.

  Krath kicked a piece of the exploded control panel across the room. “Well, that’s it then.”

  They felt deflated, stranded in a place that they had just come to realize was to be their inevitable tomb. It was enough to throw even the most positive individual into a fit of despair. Yet a voice filled with confidence cut through the thickness of inevitability and provided a twinkle of hope that was to regain their strength once more.

  “No, that’s not i
t.” Creedith stepped forward, pointing to the scrap pile below them. “The refuse propulsor. It shoots all this out from the sub-levels into orbit. That’s how all the garbage is removed from the scab mines, and I would think the same holds true here.”

  Krath leaned in, peeked up the shaft, and gave his chin a curious rub. “So tya are saying that we have less than two minutes to decide if we want to get incinerated and buried down here or suffocate in orbit. That is if the G’s don’t turn us into piles of goo on the way up.” He jumped atop the scrap and debris. “What tya waitin’ for? My buddy Crix has us covered on this one.” He gave Crix an assured nod as if he knew what to do without explanation.

  They all jumped on the refuse platform as a slow rumble intensified to a panicked quake, giving the sensation that the world around them was about to end. “Didn’t they just shoot the control panel? How are we going to activate this thing?” Kerriah shouted above the noise.

  “That was for the elevator; this is for garbage.” Creedith slammed his fist into a nearby recessed switch, sending them firing up with an intensity that turned everything around them into a blur.

  Crix fought to keep focused as he created a protective sphere. Within seconds, they launched deep into orbit with the ghostly surface of Dispor below them. Fire spewed from the same opening they just launched out of seconds ago. The flames curled upward at them like a finger coaxing them back. Floating helplessly in a lifeboat bubble of pressure and a rapidly depleting air supply, the four of them stared back at the surface of Dispor with the vastness of space behind them, looking for any hope of cheating death once more. Again, with rapidly depleting air, time was not on their side. His palms pressed against the side of the orb’s sphere, Creedith, the steadfast warrior, panned the lifeless skin of Dispor for a shard of something that could steal away this short fate they now faced.