Game, Set, Deathmatch

by Edwin H Rydberg

  A heavy laser pulse exploded into the damaged cannon, followed by a second and it detonated.

  “One down,” Defcon said as the four Cowgirlz on the mesh rushed toward the next turret.

  A blue lance from Defcon’s cannon preceded them as they opened fire on the second target. DaemonS re-equipped the pulse cannon, again launching sphere after sphere of energy into the air before she was thrown forward by a concussive blast from behind her. Before she even fell from the webbing, lead sliced through her torso and everything disappeared.

  * * *

  The world shuddered as DaemonS reawoke, one word on her mind. Ambush. Her nose slammed against the moist duraglass of the clone tank as the truck shifted again under the impact of Genilon lasers. Climbing from the tank, she staggered through the aisles, thrown from one side to the other, until she reached the translocator pad.

  “Status?” she called through the comm. while accessing a weapon cache.

  “Two remaining, heavy damage to our cannon,” Bodybag summarized.

  “Roger.” She stepped onto the pad and was instantly in an empty corridor at the base of the ladder. Drawing her flak cannon, she hurried to the webbing, certain the sounds of battle would cover her ascension. One Genilon security guard stood directly before her and the other was ten meters away firing rockets into Defcon’s cannon. The center of the webbing was a maelstrom of laser pulses, purple energy globes and artillery fire.

  DaemonS rushed forward, jamming the barrel of her flakcannon into the first guard’s back. A pull of the trigger and he was nothing more than red meat-flakes falling to the water far below. The other turned as she pumped a grenade into his chest, followed by a round of flaknel. The rocket launcher fell from his hands, as his shattered corpse disappeared between the webbing. She scooped up the dropped weapon and turned her attention to the center battle.

  One turret was still undamaged; the other was smoking but active, with sparks spraying from the upper dome. Defcon’s cannon exploded as she watched.

  “All on the right front cannon, let’s finish it,” she said, launching a trio of rockets toward the target before racing down the webbing.

  The cannon exploded before she was fifty meters away and the others shifted target to the remaining laser turret. As she ran, it was clear that Vorpal was in trouble again. “Bodybag, Pincer, with me. Distract the auto-targeting. Vorpal, get out of there. Scout the end of the webbing, find us a way in, I don’t want to be caught in another crossfire.” That would keep her out of harm and give them a head start on the next phase.

  Bodybag sprayed lead at the targeting dome as Pincer lacerated it with a stream of purple shock pulses. DaemonS fired her remaining three rockets and dumped the launcher into the chasm, changing to the flak cannon as she neared.

  “There’s no entrance, Daem,” Vorpal called. “We’re going to have to make our own. My detonator is planted, but I’ll need two more to be sure.”

  “Defcon, you’re with Vorpal,” she said, seeing her teammate had rejoined them. “We’ll bring you the third detonator in a moment.” As Defcon sped off, the remaining laser cannon succumbed to their focused fire and burst like a popped zit, showering them with debris.

  In moments the five Cowgirlz were together and the final detonator was planted. “Watch yourselves,” DaemonS called. The explosives were shaped charges that should propel the force of the detonation in a single direction, but there was no sense in being careless.

  A deafening blast shook the webbing, followed by a loud crack as the circular piece of roof fell into the room, clattering on the floor. As the dust cleared, the Cowgirlz surged for the hole, eager to be one step closer to completion of this mission.

  * * *

  “You were quite right, they are rather skilled,” Pre-emptive strike said, as Bodybag and then Pincer disappeared into Genilon’s newly created ventilation hole. “They just might succeed.”

  At the moment, Figment’s only concern was that they survive. The image shifted, following the view of DaemonS as she jumped into the gap. He hated using her feed without telling her, but it had been necessary. Still, the bitter taste of betrayed trust made him uneasy. Keep all business relationships business. His current feelings were the price he paid for breaking the most important rule of a broker.

  A sideways glance to PS unearthed more feelings of unease. Was he also breaking the next most important rule? Always understand your contractor’s motives.

  The Cowgirlz had entered the island research facility. Figment’s full attention returned to the tri-vid feed as the team swept through the evacuated corridors and laboratories.

  * * *

  They were here to find evidence of a conspiracy, some link between the Bruuz and Genilon that would incriminate both in the heinous crimes surrounding the recent events of The Death Match. So why was this entire wing devoted to Legion research? Walls were covered with digital displays of human physiology, human psychology, human genetics, human anatomy and human neurology; there wasn’t so much as a hint of Bruuz anywhere. Genilon’s human bioengineering program was legendary and under ordinary circumstances the Cowgirlz’ discovery wouldn’t have come as a surprise, but they had been led to believe there should be something more.

  “Two minutes twenty seconds until lock-out override,” Vorpal informed them over the team comm. Pincer had hacked a terminal and was downloading everything even as she displayed random files in a desperate attempt to find something that made sense of this mission.

  “If we leave now, there won’t be a second chance. We’ve gotta stay as long as possible. That means a fight with security in... two minutes,” DaemonS said. It didn’t look good. Each laboratory was largely the same, devoted entirely to research on the Phalanx and Legion projects. Some advances with the latter appeared to have been made by hybridizing Phalanx DNA with near-humanoids. But there was still no evidence of cross-breeding humans and Bruuzs, or any indication of sinister plots involving The Death Match.

  “Boss, I got something yoos should see,” Bodybag called over the channel. “It ain’t bug, but it’s interesting.”

  “On my way,” DaemonS called before rushing from the room. If she remembered correctly, Bodybag was in the lab three doors down. With luck, they had found what they were looking for because they only had a minute-thirty until all hell broke loose.

  * * *

  What was it? From what Figment could see, it didn’t look at all related to the Bruuz.

  “Excellent,” came an unexpected whisper from the dark corner. It was one of few words volunteered by Pre-emptive Strike since the operation began. He suddenly sat up straight in his chair, watching the tri-vid with rapt fascination.

  Figment said nothing, continuing to follow the scene closely. The more he saw, the more confused he became. Their discovery didn’t seem to have anything to do with the ‘conspiracy’ of PS and NIGEL, or even the Bruuz.

  “Perfect,” PS said as Bodybag studied a busy hologram she’d extended from a wall display. The slight hyperactive stutter of the orbs was corrected by their transmission software and the contents of the plans were very obvious.

  Pre-emptive Strike jumped to his feet, “Thank you, Mr. Figment. You have done well. The mission is complete and our contract successfully concluded. Your services are no longer required.”

  Figment spun to face his employer. “They’re not out yet,” he said. “I’m not finished until all my contractors are safely out or dead.”

  “That won’t be necessary,” PS said. “Their extraction will be routine from this point.”

  “I’m afraid I have to insist.”

  “And I’m afraid I gave you an ord...”

  Figment spun back to the tri-vid. The feed went crazy, spinning and bouncing, as the Cowgirlz came under attack. He watched, desperate to help but unable to do anything.

  And then the room he was in began to fade.

  “What! What did you...,” he yelled at PS as everything turned d
ark.

  “I told you, your services are no longer required,” came the voice, faint in his ears as a translocator pulled him away.

  * * *

  “Incoming!” DaemonS called from the doorway to the laboratory as Genilon forces burst through the containment seal. Ducking back into the room, a barrage of artillery fire filled the corridor as she and Bodybag readied their weapons. In the post alpha-strike lull, they dove into the corridor and launched their own explosive ordnance toward the breached entryway. Moments later, Pincer and Defcon followed suit while Vorpal reloaded her sniper rifle. In seconds, the first wave of Genilon attackers was almost vaporized.

  “Not long until the next wave,” DaemonS shouted into the communicator. “Apart from Bodybag’s find, anyone come across anything interesting?” Only a trio of negatives answered her. It was decision time. Take what they found or search, possibly in vain, for ‘something’ else.

  “There’s nothing more for us here. Vorpal, have you located the jettison switch?”

  “At the edge of the module, Daem. Further into the complex, about two hundred meters.”

  “Great. Fall back, Cowgirlz,” DaemonS called. “And watch for the next....”

  “They’re already here, Daem,” Pincer yelled.

  “What! So fast?” The Cowgirlz scattered like lab rats in a gutter.

  They watched, weapons trained on the corridor, as the new group of defenders entered. There was something different about these ones, however. A squad of golden-hued synthoids sped straight down the corridor, ignoring all rooms, save one — the room where Bodybag had made her discovery.

  “What’s going on here?” DaemonS whispered to the others. Their faces showed the same surprise as her own.

  “Daem.” It was Vorpal, through the comm.

  “What ya got for me?”

  “I’ve got the newcomers in my sights.”

  “And?”

  “They’re not Genilon, Daem. Must be covert like us, no markings at all.”

  “Damn.” Could someone else have piggybacked on their infiltration? If so, who were they with?

  “Bodybag, you’re with me. Vorpal, Pincer and Defcon,” she said, “fall back to the lab closest our exit. We’ll meet you there in a moment.”

  DaemonS and Bodybag sped off after the other squad, keeping out of sight below the window that covered half the wall of each lab. They eased in to the lab, moving from bench to bench in a low crouch until they were as close as they dared get. Nothing.

  Damn synthoids; they weren’t communicating audibly. It was clear, however, that they were scanning the same information Bodybag had found. What to do?

  “Daem, more company. For real this time.”

  The synthoids started, as if they had heard the same comm. transmission. Almost before she could blink, they moved, smashing the equipment.

  DaemonS leapt up and, with Bodybag following her lead, they trained their two rocket launchers on the group.

  “Stop,” she yelled amid the din of artillery fire from the defense force that had just arrived.

  “Daem, we could use you guys!” Defcon called.

  DaemonS ignored the plea for a moment and addressed the synthoids.

  “Who are you with? What do you want with that data? Are you a second Halandri team?” The last she added, hoping against hope. There were too many sides in the universe for the Cowgirlz to be that lucky.

  One of the synthoids turned to her and said, “Your assistance was appreciated. But you are no longer required.”

  With that, the group disappeared in a multi-colored streak of light, translocator skipping out of the installation.

  “Blast! They can’t be far; they would have the same limitations as us. Maybe we can still catch them,” DaemonS said, half to herself, half to the group.

  A rocket exploded in the corridor and she awoke to their reality. The synthoids were gone and the Cowgirlz were in a big mess.

  * * *

  There was no way out. That was Figment’s conclusion after twenty minutes of crawling about in the dark and feeling the boundaries of the tiny room. And tiny it was — not more than eight feet in any direction, although he hadn’t yet reached the ceiling. There seemed to be no windows or doors, at least none that he could feel in the dark, and the walls had a strange softness to them. He was reminded of psychiatric wards, only these walls were damper. In any event, it appeared he was here until his host decided otherwise; there was nothing to do but sit and wait. And think.

  Pre-emptive Strike must have been setting him up from the beginning.

  “Blast!” Figment swore, hitting the unseen ground with his heel. He should have trusted his instincts. There was no chance that crazy conspiracy story could have been true. But then, if it wasn’t true, why send the Apocalypz Cowgirlz into Genilon? There was no need to get them out of the way since they didn’t know anything. Therefore, PS must have had a genuine interest in something that Genilon was working on.

  The image from the tri-vid flashed before him, accompanied by the strange reaction of his ex-contractor. Whatever PS had wanted, it seemed likely that the Cowgirlz had found it. Only, they had no idea what finding it had involved them in — what he had involved them in. DaemonS and the others were resourceful and far from helpless, yet he had a bad feeling they were in over their heads.

  * * *

  Another squad down, but now the Cowgirlz weren’t trying to get in, they were trying to get out. Security seemed to arrive more and more quickly; the taste of blood on their lips, knowing their quarry was trapped. Defcon caught up with them, rushing from the hidden beacon after being fragged.

  “Clone truck’s almost done,” she informed them. “The shell is cracked and half the first translocator pad is out. It’s too dangerous to rely on it any longer.”

  Pincer and Vorpal were trying to determine how to circumvent the lockdown they had triggered and how they were going to eject the module, while DaemonS and Bodybag held the rearguard position.

  “It’s a six digit, alpha-numeric....”

  “Sure, but there’s a black-out circuit....”

  “What’s the hold up, ladies?” DaemonS asked.

  “We think we can override the lockdown codes, but we’re not sure if they’re slaved to a black-out circuit,” Vorpal explained.

  “Meaning?”

  “A wrong button and we could lose all power to the module — including the jettison mechanism,” said Pincer.

  “And then we’d be trapped with nowhere to go,” DaemonS concluded.

  “We goin’ nowhere as t’is,” Bodybag added. “Only, we gonna be flak-fodder before dis committee decides what to do,” she said, turning. “Outta da way.”

  “What? No!” yelled Vorpal.

  “Move!”

  Never had DaemonS witnessed anyone speak more eloquently through their actions. As Pincer and Vorpal scattered, Bodybag ripped a burst of lead into the control boxes. The front panels fell to the floor and the circuitry beneath fizzed and sparked.

  For a moment, all was quiet. “Well, so much for tha...,” Defcon began. And then alarms blared and the room began to shake.

  “Hold on,” DaemonS yelled, but the warning was too late. The tremors increased to a full-scale quake in seconds and the Cowgirlz found themselves helpless, bouncing on the floor. Moments later even that shot out from under them, as the room lurched to one side. The five warriors were thrown like children against the far wall. DaemonS only had time to think they should have tried a different exit before she lost consciousness.

  13

  Distant voices intruded on the gentle gurgle of a mountain stream, and her dream of a peaceful forest vista faded to urgent reality.

  “Daem, wake up!”

  Her eyes flipped open to a surreal view. Around her, the Cowgirlz stood ankle deep in water while benches and laboratory equipment protruded from the walls like the bump that was surely on the back of her head.

  “
What the...?”

  “We’re in the river, Daem,” Vorpal said. “It seems Genilon has no qualms about jettisoning their hazardous waste downstream.”

  “How long...?”

  Pincer turned from the small window nearby. “We’re not sure, a few hours at least.”

  “A few hours!”

  “When did you guys wake.”

  “Only a couple of minutes ago,” yelled Defcon from her side of the room. The sound of the water was deafening.

  DaemonS crawled to her feet, bracing herself against the ceiling, which was now the front wall, and rubbed her head. Yep, a large bump. “Any sign of Genilon?”

  “Seems no.” Bodybag dropped to the floor from her perch at the ‘ceiling’ window. “We’d not be here if dey’d come fer us earlier.”

  “Good point.” It was curious, however. The only explanations DaemonS could figure were either that they’d caused too much damage and Genilon were still disorganized — unlikely for such a huge organization, they were distracted with the Halandri bots, or they thought the Cowgirlz were already dead.

  “Any thoughts on what we do now?”

  DaemonS drew a blank at Vorpal’s question. What were they going to do now? They were floating down a river in an Genilon laboratory. It felt only slightly less ridiculous than it sounded.

  “First things first. What’s our weapon status? Defcon?”

  “Flak cannon: three rounds, one grenade. Bio-gun: one charge.”

  “Vorpal?”

  “Lightning rifle at half charge, pulse cannon empty.”

  “Pincer?”

  “Pulse cannon: half charge, plasma rifle: empty.”

  “Bodybag?”

  “I got nothin’ ‘oman. Enough ta frag a cockroach — if ‘e’s asleep.”

  Her own armament wasn’t much better. “I’ve got a machine gun: fifty rounds, flak cannon: five rounds and no grenades.” She tossed the cannon to Bodybag.