Heart of Granite

by James Barclay

  ‘What happened to “three”?’ gasped Reynolds.

  ‘Never could count,’ said Sidhu. ‘Okay, take your hands away, man. I need to see what I’m working with.’

  Sidhu reached behind him and pulled his med supplies from the long pouch on his belt. Reynolds moved his hands and the pressure pack fell away. Whether it had been claws or teeth didn’t matter, but Reynolds was slashed multiple times from the centre of his ribs to the base of his gut and the only thing keeping his intestines in were the strips of skin in between the gashes. Reynolds was silent. He knew what Sidhu was seeing and they both knew the likely outcome.

  ‘Let’s get patching.’

  Sidhu tore open the suture strip pack, aware that every moment more sand was blowing into the wound. He tried to shield it as best he could but the sand was bloody everywhere.

  Each suture strip was ten centimetres long and one wide and adhered to the skin brilliantly, allowing Sidhu to fix one end and pull a part of the wound closed as far as possible before setting the other end. Fuck knew how the medics got them off. He had ten strips and cursed himself for not getting Reynolds’ packs out too but there was no point in worrying about it. Sidhu worked as fast as he could with the wind threatening to whip away the strips and blowing sand on to the adhesive. He worked methodically, from the outside of the wound to in, trying to knit the flayed skin as best he could but there were still going to be ugly gaps.

  He’d just about finished when the open com sparked up, making both of them jump.

  ‘Basilisks incoming. One klick and closing hard. I’ve got three contacts beading on stations four and five, two heading for s-three and three more beading on s-one and stwo.’ It was Jen Picolet from station three and the next voice was Meyer’s and he was furious.

  ‘How the fuck would you know, Pico? Are you still on station?’

  ‘Yes, sir,’ she said, voice rock steady and determined.

  ‘Someone has to relate and I’m the only one still in com range of everyone.’

  ‘I gave you a direct order.’

  ‘I’ll be happy to go on report back on the HoG, sir.’ Meyer cursed. ‘Your call, Pico. Leave whenever you want but if you stay, shout the numbers. You’re our eyes. Good luck.

  You’re more batshit than Sid.’

  ‘Copy, sir,’ said Picolet. ‘I’ll take that as a compliment.’ Sid chuckled and even Reynolds had a go at laughing but fell to a fit of coughing instead. Sid watched the suture strips, seeing them move and settle, remaining secure. He picked up the canister of gel skin, sobering quickly with Pico’s voice in his ear, telling him how close the basilisks were getting. ‘Sid, half a klick. Ganeef, seven fifty. Patel, Kapetic, two klicks.’

  Sidhu aimed it at the top of the wound and pushed the top stud. A foamy white substance flowed out, spreading on contact. With a few quick swipes he’d covered the wound and he smoothed the foam down a little, feeling it begin to solidify, providing a sterile barrier.

  ‘How much pain med have you taken?’ he asked. ‘All of it,’ said Reynolds. ‘Get your gun, Sid.’

  ‘Sid, two-fifty and fast. Ganeef, six hundred, Patel, Kapetic, one point seven and fast.’

  Sidhu pulled a hypo out of the kit and jabbed it into the wound at the side of the gel skin.

  ‘Sid,’ said Reynolds. ‘Gun.’

  Sidhu dropped the hypo and pulled his gun round. He flicked off his beams and switched to thermals, not that it did any good except make everything a whole lot darker. He thought to move from Reynolds but decided against it, instead moving to his other side so that he was facing station one, his weapon trained out over Reynolds’ legs.

  ‘Stay still,’ said Sid.

  ‘Oh damn,’ croaked Reynolds, voice a little slurred as the pain meds kicked in hard. ‘And I was just dusting myself off for a run.’

  ‘Shut up, I can’t aim straight.’

  ‘Don’t burn my legs,’ said Reynolds.

  ‘You’re on meds, you won’t even notice till later.’ Picolet’s voice rang out again, scared now. ‘Sid, one on you now. Ganeef, same for you. Kapetic, Patel, one K and closing.

  Two on me. Duck and weave . .. oh shit.’

  ‘Picolet!’ shouted Meyer. ‘Pico, do you copy!’

  A woman screamed and gurgled, the horrible sound fed right into Sid’s ears. It had to be either Picolet or Ganeef. Right in front of him, a basilisk sprinted out of the blackness. Just paces away and moving straight for them. It opened its mouth. Sidhu pulled the trigger and heard two dull pops; micro-grenades pumping out of the underslung barrel.

  ‘Fuck,’ he said.

  The micros flew like a dream. Little flares in the night, straight into the basilisk’s open mouth. The detonations were muted but their effect was devastating. The first blew the basilisk’s neck to shreds, taking the jockey with it, electronics flashing and flaring in the mess of blood and skin and flesh scattering in all directions. The second micro destroyed the remains of the lizard’s skull, sending bone fragments across the desert in an expanding sphere of razor-sharp hail.

  Sidhu had put his head down the moment he’d fired grenades but it made little difference. He was aware of the basilisk’s headless body plunging into the sand and ploughing right at them in the instant before the shock wave picked them both up and hurled them backwards.

  He felt shards of bone ripping into his combats and flailing at his helmet. One caught his goggles with a glancing blow and shattered the left lens. And then he was on the ground again, tumbling out of control before sliding to a stop. Sidhu didn’t care if he was badly hurt or not. He pushed himself to his feet, and ran to Reynolds, lying in the sand.

  He dropped to his knees by him and switched to his beams.

  Of course, Reynolds was dead. His body was torn up. Bone fragments were lodged in his back and helmet and one leg had been all but torn off at the knee. At least his eyes were closed and the meds would have dulled the pain.

  ‘Sorry buddy, I’m so sorry.’ Sidhu pounded the ground.

  ‘Fuck, fuck, FUCK!’

  He turned and sat with his to Reynolds crumpled body as the open com sparked up again.

  ‘They went straight past me,’ said Picolet. ‘Kapetic, Patel and the others too. Ganeef’s is still travelling north. I think Sid took his out.’

  ‘Good to hear you, Pico,’ said Meyer, still apparently charging across the sand. ‘I’m closing on Ganeef. Great work, Sid.’

  ‘Reynolds is dead,’ said Sidhu. ‘I fucked up, boss.’ There was a short silence across the com.

  ‘Stay with him, Sid. What’s the heading of the remaining basilisks?’ asked Meyer, flat-voiced.

  ‘If they carry on converging as they are, they’ll all be on bearing three-fourzero.’

  It didn’t take a genius to work out what they were after. ‘Horvald? Horvald, do you copy?’ asked Meyer. ‘You have incoming. I repeat, you have incoming.’

  Chapter 34

  Technically, the basilisk is only a one-jock lizard. But if you really want to, you can strap yourself halfway down its back. Now THAT is a ride . . .

  Corporal Raj Sidhu, Two Company, the Exterminators.

  ‘Do I copy?’ muttered Horvald. ‘Sadly, I do.’

  The gecko was at a dead sprint and he could feel the lizard’s anxiety in every fibre. It radiated from her in waves and filled his head with primal fear. She knew what was after her and she knew she wasn’t fast enough. Horvald triggered his open com.

  ‘Copy, Captain. We’re at top speed and seventy -five short of the Heart. I’m transmitting the emergency signal plus the broadcast warning every couple of minutes. Nothing yet, sir.’

  ‘They’ll be on you in maybe fifteen minutes, mate. How long can you hold them off?’

  ‘We’ve got a couple of tricks up our sleeves,’ said Horvald. Oh no we haven’t. ‘I’ll keep you posted. Stay safe out there.’

  ‘Meyer out.’

  Horvald closed his com. He wasn’t sure who was in the worse position. Them out there sitting
among their dead and waiting to be picked off by whatever came out of the storm next, or him, shortly to be breakfast for basilisks.

  ‘Right, let’s see if we can shorten this trip any.’

  Horvald brought up the terrain scanner with a gentle tick of his right little finger. It was mostly crocked by the sand storm but it gave him reasonable readouts up to a hundred metres ahead.

  ‘Okay, let’s run by image here,’ he said, trying to keep back the fear of the inevitable.

  He resettled his face, feeling the sensory mask push air bubbles out of the receptor mucous that covered the gecko’s neurological interface. He could direct its head and eyes from here, issue orders to attack or flee by thought alone.

  Horvald overlaid the terrain scanner on the gecko’s optics. Using his legs and eyes, he steered the lizard along the most level course he could find, minimising climbs up even the most gentle slopes so long as he kept to his general heading. It made a difference, probably in the order of a metre per second but it was nowhere near enough. The fact was, the gecko was too big and heavy compared to the basilisk – a creature that would take as direct a line as possible, feet barely kissing the sand as it ran.

  ‘Heart of Granite Flight Command, this is Lieutenant Jorge Horvald, please respond.’ Nothing. He had no choice but to continue anyway and pray they picked up the emergency carrier wave if not his voice. ‘We have seven basilisks inbound as vanguard for an enemy behemoth. Repeat. A behemoth is moving towards your position, bearing two zero zero. Do you copy?’ Come on come on come on.

  ‘Shit, this storm needs to let up.’

  But it wasn’t letting up. If anything, it was intensifying.

  Despite its low profile, the gecko was being buffeted by some major gusts and Horvald could hear the sand like hard rain on its skin. Horvald tracked the strength of the gusts for a few minutes while he moved the lizard as smoothly as he could across the shifting terrain. He tried the message another four times without a response.

  Below him the gecko shuddered and tried to find more speed. It squawked a warning that no one but him would hear. And he already knew the enemy were closing because the radar had just come alive. Horvald’s stomach knotted with fear that he immediately transmitted to the gecko, which chittered and ducked its head. He tried to force calm into his voice.

  ‘Meyer, Horvald, do you copy?’ Static hiss. ‘Dammit well just in case . . . I am sixty-three klicks out from the Heart. No confirmed contact with Flight Command. Am still signalling. Enemy on my six at two klicks and closing hard. Horvald out.’

  Horvald tried to focus but his breath was coming too short and he could feel his hands shaking in the gloves and it was making his fine control difficult.

  ‘Come on, Jorge, you’re a gecko jock, get a bloody grip.’

  But this wasn’t how it was supposed to go. Not for him. An Exterminator jockey at the top of his game. If only there was a voice in his ear but he was alone; just him and his ride in the middle of a fucking desert in the pitch-dark, eating sand and soon cooling in pools of their own blood. Horvald sighed and looked at the radar, seeing the basilisks in an arc a klick from his gecko’s tail and closing.

  ‘Heart of Granite Flight Command, this is Lieutenant Jorge Horvald, please respond.’ Guess what?‘For the final time: I’m about to be taken down by seven Maf basilisks, this is an emergency warning. A Maf behemoth is heading your way now. You’ll see it when the storm clears tomorrow. Trouble is, they’ll be ready and you won’t, because you didn’t think anyone would be fool enough to move a behemoth in a storm. I’ll take down as many of these bastards as I can before they spread my innards on the sand. Once again, you are under attack, Heart of Granite. Meyer’s platoon is dying out here and now it’s my turn. Horvald out.’

  He scanned the terrain ahead and moved onto a direct trajectory to the Heart, skittering across the tops of dunes, down slopes and across scoured flat areas. The basilisks were on his tail now.

  ‘Flight Com, Horvald. Maf behemoth moving on your position, bearing two zero zero. Basilisk outriders on me, Meyer lost.’

  A pair came up on his flanks. He moved the gecko’s head left and right, trying to keep them off. His radar was alive with signals around him. A third darted in to nip at the right rear leg. The jaws closed briefly and Horvald felt a sharp tug. The gecko stumbled right, sagging down into its hip. He pushed his right leg back hard, driving the gecko back to balance.

  ‘Repeat: Flight Com, Horvald. Maf behemoth moving on your position, bearing two zero zero. Basilisk outriders on me, Meyer lost.’

  The two flankers attacked together before Horvald had regained full speed. He felt the impact of their bodies and saw open mouths flash in, strikingfor his ride’s neck. The gecko lunged forwards at his command, ducking low, jaws scraping the sand. Through the neural net, he felt the rake of teeth slicing into skin as if the pain was his own.

  He gasped. ‘Flight Com, Horvald. Maf behemoth moving on your position, bearing two zero zero. Basilisk outriders on me, Meyer lost.’

  Horvald swiped the tail from side to side, feeling one satisfying contact. The gecko’s jaws snapped left and right too, not scoring a hit but forcing their enemies to drop away. He had at least four around him now, trying to trip or bite him. He found perfect calm now the fight was on; and he was going to take at least one of them with him.

  He began to repeat his message again but an impact high on the gecko’s back shook him from his words.

  ‘Shit.’

  The basilisk, only about a quarter the size of the gecko, dug its claws into its back and used the seats for grip to begin moving up the spine. Horvald felt horribly vulnerable, his own back exposed, the armour protecting him inadequate for an attack from above. Other basilisks drove close to box him in, and stop him shaking it free.

  Horvald moved the gecko’s head sharply right. The lizard bit out, catching a basilisk on the top of its head. Horvald ground his teeth together. He heard the enemy shriek and felt the gecko’s jaws find flesh and bone beneath the skin and clamp almost shut. The satisfaction was enormous.

  The basilisk slewed away and normally Horvald would have let go, but this time, he needed the momentum. He clung on. He could taste the flesh and feel the blood pouring from the wound. The basilisk’s legs crumpled and it tumbled to the side. Horvald bit harder, feeling the gecko’s body slewing round. He pushed his right foot down hard, forcing the gecko to drive its right legs into the sand and rolled, crushing the basilisk on his back beneath him. He bounced and bumped in the moulded sheath. The gecko squealed, a wholly involuntary sound as was the flailing of its legs and tail as it panicked in the search for balance.

  ‘Flight Com Heart, Horvald. Maf behemoth moving on your position, bearing two zero zero. Basilisk outriders on me, Meyer lost.’

  After what felt an age, Horvald forced some order on the gecko and had it back on its feet. Two down, or properly injured anyway. He stared out through those reptilian eyes. Both the radar and terrain scanner were down, lost in the tumble. He couldn’t pick anything up. The gecko’s tongue licked out but the air was too full of the scents of blood and sand to discern the position of their remaining enemies.

  Horvald moved back towards the HoG. His gecko was hurt. Its left rear had damage at the knee, seriously depleting speed and there were cuts on its back and flanks. He didn’t think he could repel another concerted attack. Without the electronic aids, their isolation was acute. His shoulders hunched and he shivered, anticipating the inevitable.

  Even so, the violence of the attack took him by surprise. He saw the basilisk tearing in at right angles at the last moment, jaws grabbing the gecko’s neck right behind its skull and driving him to the right and onto his side. The gecko flailed but the basilisk held on. Another sprinted in unnoticed until he felt the awful sensation of teeth tearing at his ride’s belly. The gecko struggled briefly but its life was pouring onto the sand.

  ‘Flight Com Heart, Horvald. Maf behemoth moving on your position, bear—’
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  A claw swiped down on Horvald’s barely protected back. He grunted, the sensation of pain mercifully brief because of the teeth shattering his skull.

  ‘Try harder,’ snapped Avery. ‘I need it clean. I know it’s a transmission. What is it saying?’

  ‘Trying, Commander.’

  The operator bent to his task, his ears reddening. Avery stalked away back to the tac-tables staffed by increasingly hollow-eyed staff. It was as busy as a daytime mission schedule but with Moeller in Flight Command, it was left to Kirby to spread some encouragement and calm a few nerves. Where the hell Solomon was, was anyone’s guess. Actually, it wasn’t. She was sleeping, as only the truly deluded can sleep, safe in the knowledge that she’d still be the all-powerful super-bitch in charge when she woke.

  Avery stared at the screens ranged around the front of the C and C, seeing vague washing images of what was pretty much right outside the front door. The HoG was as good as blind. There were atmospherics out there that defied physics as far as she was concerned. At her disposal, she had the full spectrum of light and radio wave technology and not one of them, not one, could pierce more than eight kilometres of the storm.

  As a result, every specialist worth the name had been turfed out of bed to try and squeeze the systems. So she also had Rosenbach in her ear telling her how everything she was doing was depleting the scant resources left to her by this or that fraction of a degree. If she believed everything the Tweaker said, the creaky old behemoth would probably keel over just after dawn.

  Worse than all that, the platoons she’d sent out to place a forward sensor grid had disappeared into the storm and none had been heard from since. She supposed she shouldn’t be surprised by that, but of course Moeller wanted to send out a whole load more to play hide and seek.

  And now they had confirmation that someone, from somewhere, was attempting repeated contact. It couldn’t possibly be good news. How bad . . . well that was the question.

  ‘A free night in the Bridge Bar to anyone who can give me an accurate weather forecast.’ Avery saw a line of heads drop a little lower and focus harder on their screens. ‘All right, what was the last best forecast? Still claiming this’ll blow over by midday?’