Game, Set, Deathmatch

by Edwin H Rydberg

  “What is it, what’s wrong?” DaemonS asked.

  “I seen ‘em. When I was... before. I seen ‘em. Huge machines, ‘oman. Breathin’ fire and lightning an’ tearin’ a piece outta anyt’ing in der way. It’s da end. Jus’ like I saw!”

  In the ensuing silence, one could almost hear the walls growing, feel the low throbbing pulse of the building.

  At last, DaemonS interrupted the stillness with a question she was surely on all their minds. “How do you remember any of that? We restored your P-matrix from before the accident?”

  “I donknow ‘oman, but I do. I remember. Not much, but da voices come back, bit by bit. Stronger after da first time ‘ere. Now dis triggered dem, triggered da visions.” The strong woman was now visibly shaking.

  DaemonS turned to Figment. “Do we have enough samples?”

  “Yes,” he said with a last look to the newly growing machine.

  “Then let’s get out of here. We can figure what to do about this thing back at our base.”

  “Fire! Destruction! Da city be burning,” Bodybag wailed.

  “The sooner we leave, the better. Defcon, help Bodybag. Cowgirlz, back to the elevator.” DaemonS cradled her weapon, keeping it at the ready and waited just long enough to watch Figment stow his samples in belt pouches before turning to follow the troop as they retraced their steps back through the corridor.

  Before her, Defcon supported a weakened, shaken Bodybag. The pair staggered through the passage, soft fevered mumbling audible above the hum of the walls.

  “I hope what you found was worth it,” DaemonS said over her shoulder. Figment didn’t answer, but his soft footfalls told her he was still there.

  Then, as they rounded the final turn the sounds of a firefight erupted into quiet air.

  “Daem! We got problems!” came the cry from ahead.

  “Stay with Bodybag,” she yelled to Defcon as she squeezed past the pair, while thumbing off the safety on her cannon. She reached the others seconds later.

  Pincer and Vorpal were crouched behind one corner of the corridor. Pinned by enemy fire, they were only managing an occasional stolen shot. It would be pure luck if either the pulse sphere or gauss projectile actually hit anything.

  DaemonS pumped a pair of grenades into the room before crouching behind the duo. “How many?”

  “Three or four I think,” Vorpal said. “Only got a quick look before they opened up on us.”

  “They seem content to wait us out,” Pincer added. “They’re holding under the platform near the other passage.”

  DaemonS pumped another grenade into the room. “I don’t like it. They outnumber us, why just wait?”

  “Only two reasons to hold ground, Daem,” Vorpal said. “First is to prevent access to a crucial target or resource, and second is....”

  “To await reinforcements,” she finished, glancing back down the corridor. “Defcon? Figment?”

  “We’re okay, Daem,” Defcon answered as she staggered into view, still supporting a Bodybag who appeared to be getting worse with each passing minute.

  “And Figment? Where is he?”

  “Stopped for another sample back in the corridor, something about temporal progression.”

  “Blast it! Sit Bodybag here and help Vorpal. Maybe you can lay down enough lead cover to give her a clear shot,” DaemonS said, turning to the corridor entrance. “Pincer, you’re with me.”

  The two raced down the corridor, weapons ready as they twisted and turned through the winding passage, running straight into a speeding Figment. DaemonS and Figment went down in a heap.

  “Hurry,” he said, clutching his chest and staggering to his feet, “they’re coming.”

  “They’re already here.” Pincer crouched firing off several purple spheres, exploding them once they reached the distant corridor. The wave of compressed air pounded DaemonS’s already aching head, but she forced herself to stand, retrieving the flak cannon from the floor.

  She pumped a grenade in the corridor behind them. “Fall back. Let’s have an orderly retreat. We need to take them out or we’ll be caught between both groups.”

  Figment slipped behind her, fitting his newest acquisition to a belt pouch. “Any idea how many were chasing you?” she asked him.

  “Just two, I think. They caught me by surprise,” he said, drawing twin adjudicator pistols. “But now I’m ready.” The pistols seemed made for his hands, DaemonS noted.

  “We don’t have time to play,” she said, as the trio backed down the corridor “so we do this quick — grenade, pulse sphere, and we go in blasting.”

  Pincer adjusted her rifle. “Right-o boss, following your lead.”

  The clumping of feet neared until DaemonS dared not wait any longer. She leapt to the side for a better view around the corner and pumped a grenade at the arm of an approaching enemy. She leapt back just as Pincer launched a pulse sphere. The grenade exploded followed by the burst of the sphere and the trio rushed forward.

  DaemonS led with a burst of flaknel from her cannon while Figment kept pace, emptying his enforcers into the dust-filled hallway. Pincer was more reserved, firing spheres only when the hint of a limb peeked out from the haze.

  And then, as if by silent command, they stopped. The dust settled and two almost-human creatures lay motionless on the floor before them. One of the faces was vaguely familiar.

  Figment moved to examine the corpses. “Human, just like in the other base,” he confirmed as he rolled the nearest on onto his back.

  “I’ve seen that guy before,” DaemonS said, thinking back through recent events. “The face in the blob!”

  “What?”

  “The face in the... there was this gelatinous blob hanging from the ceiling, a holding chamber or something. I found it last time. He was one of the people suspended inside.”

  “Well, that confirms a certain hypotheses I’ve had,” Figment said.

  “Hey, if you too are finished jawing,” Pincer interjected, “we should be getting back. I’m sure the others could use the help.”

  “You’re right,” DaemonS said, turning back to Figment. “I’m sure you have enough samples by now. Let’s go.” He tucked one more small jar into his belt and got up to follow them.

  In moments they had rejoined the rest of the Cowgirlz.

  “Two left, Daem,” Vorpal said, ducking as a splatter of bullets ricocheted off the wall.

  “Yeah, Vorpal sniped one, right between the eyes.”

  “Great work you two, how’s Bodybag?”

  “No change,” Vorpal said, indicating the supine Cowgirl.

  One glance showed Bodybag had deteriorated. She was muttering to herself, and her skin had turned a deathly grey. “We have to get her out of here fast,” DaemonS said, looking toward the elevator and as much of the room as she could see.

  “Only two, right?”

  “Yep.”

  “Both under the dark end of the platform?”

  “Far as we can tell.”

  “Good enough. Defcon, you and me are the front line. We’ll lay down covering fire. Pincer, Vorpal, it’s your job to take ‘em out.”

  Defcon inserted a new clip, locking it into place. “You got it, Daem.”

  “They’re as good as gone,” Vorpal added, checking the scope.

  “Alright, on my mark. Ready. Go!”

  Defcon opened up with a storm of lead as DaemonS slid around her. Dropping to a crouch, she began lobbing grenades, punctuated by the occasional burst of flaknel. Moments later, a pair of energy spheres sped toward the far walls, ignited by a beam of charged particles just before reaching their destination. The air in the room erupted before going quiet and seconds later both creatures slumped to the ground.

  “Great work team! Now, let’s get out of here.”

  17

  After he left them at their Match home zone, the Cowgirlz had to wait a full day for Figment’s next contact. Bodybag had appeared to stabi
lize once removed from the strange base, and was now back to near full capacity, although her skin still had a grey pallor. Now, after spending a restless twenty-four hours wondering what all this craziness meant, Figment finally showed up and, without any explanation, had them follow him.

  He had his own ride secured, an air-truck large enough to fit all of them comfortably, and once again DaemonS was reminded that Figment must move in some powerful circles.

  As the truck lifted off, the Cowgirlz began pelting him with questions until he finally gave in.

  “Brass has called them ‘Nekroid’, the living dead,” he answered. “It sounds suitably ominous and death-related to properly represent them.”

  “Just what is it they do? We still don’t understand what we saw. Or who we fought.”

  “We don’t know their origin, or even that much about them. For example, what is their original form? How could they have evolved? All we know is that, from the locations of the bases we know of, they appear to have arrived on that asteroid two years ago, and they possess an ability to animate almost any inanimate matter.”

  “By inanimate, you mean....”

  “Trees, rocks, duracrete and plastisteel, dead bodies... almost anything. The animated object appears to possess some of its old traits, but is also imbued with life-like qualities.”

  “And the base? Is it being dealt with?” Vorpal’s voice mirrored the concern they all shared.

  “There’s been a problem on that front,” Figment said.

  “What’s that mean?” DaemonS asked.

  He stared out the window a moment before answering. “Remember how fast the changes seemed to have spread in the short time between your visits?”

  “Yeah, it was like it had been awakened.”

  “That’s a good way of putting it. Well, after the second visit, the growth accelerated further. An energy shield now surrounds the base and orbital recon has detected both an increase in thermal signature from the base itself as well as energy trails reaching out underground. They’re moving toward the city. Most likely toward the other base, the one I was in.”

  “We’ve gotta stop’em,” Bodybag said, suddenly.

  “Agreed,” DaemonS confirmed. “Drop us in again and we’ll take it out properly this time.”

  “This is too big now. As good as you are, there’s no way you can take on something of this scope alone.”

  They’d landed in an interior hanger and followed Figment as he led them through a network of corridors to a large door. Only now had DaemonS begun to realize where they were.

  “But don’t worry, I’ve secured some help,” Figment said, as he pushed open the door, revealing center field of the Death Match stadium.

  Memories of the opening ceremonies flooded back to DaemonS. Instead of only a few weeks, it seemed a lifetime ago that she had stood on the stage, listening to the cheers and watching the introduction of her heroes. Now the arena was filled with scurrying soldiers, arming, refueling or equipping squadrons of Falcon fighters and Scarab heavy gunships. “I called ahead,” Figment said, leading them to one side where several small groups clustered.

  As they approached, the other faces appeared in the faint illumination of the overhead lights and DaemonS halted in shock. “But that’s... but they’re....”

  “Apocalypz Cowgirlz, I’d like to introduce you to the rest of the special ops team.” Figment pointed to the first of the groups, “Defense Gryd. I’m sure you know Josh and Nina?”

  A tall, handsome man with perfect hair stepped forward to shake her hand, “A pleasure.” DaemonS found it hard to believe he and his girlfriend were mercenaries. Josh looked more like he should be running for president.

  “Nice to meet you,” Nina said, taking her hand in a warm, deceptively soft clasp. They seemed very friendly and she had to wonder what could possibly have caused the schism between them and Duncan all those years ago. She gave each a dumbstruck nod as Figment continued around the groups.

  “Of course, you know The Phalanx and The Legion.”

  “Heya.” Chasm was even more square in person. His voice was gruff but surprisingly friendly.

  A surly group of punks with multi-colored hair lolled amid crates of weapons a short distance away. Figment motioned in their direction, “El Loco Lobos have kindly donated their services — free of charge. I suppose they realized that, under the Nekroid, opportunities for business would be much scarcer.”

  “Hellspawn,” Figment said, pointing next to a loosely clustered team of nightmares. Many of the freaks looked like hideously deformed clowns with fragments of metal protruding from their bodies, or weapons grafted directly to tissue. Some danced around the perimeter of the group in a crazed two-step, others were preternaturally calm. In the center of the sextet, DaemonS recognized Sheol, a creature more machine than man. His entire skull was plastisteel as was most of his body. His abdomen was completely missing, replaced by a protective cylinder stretching from below his chest to his hips that encased, or replaced, his spinal cord. Figment bent close, whispering, “Most of them have been driven insane by the deformations and modifications of the research that was done on them. I’m not sure what’s worse, that Global Earth undertakes such studies or that some people volunteer for them.” He led her away from the depressing sight and to the last of the matcher groups.

  “And here, I’m sure you recognize the Rakurai.” Figment turned to the leader of the team, “Duncan, you picked one hell of a year to come out of retirement.”

  “Or perhaps I picked exactly the right year,” the tall, powerfully built man clasped Figment in a firm handshake. “Nice to see you, old friend.”

  It was the legend himself. Standing before her. Looking at those broad shoulders, the stern, piercing gaze, the aura of command, she couldn’t doubt that many considered him almost a god. DaemonS had to resist the urge to drop to her knees in worship.

  “Daem,” the soft voice touched the edge of her awareness. Moments later, a gentle hand pushed her jaw closed. “You’re drooling,” Pincer whispered.

  As she recovered her wits, DaemonS couldn’t help but take in the scene again. Surrounded by legends of the tournament, teams she had grown up watching on the tri-vids, emulating in the forests of Ranir, she was more than a little awed. There were a few noticable absences such as the synthetics teams, Shadow Strike for example, and she mentioned this to Figment.

  “After what happened with Geneslicer, and the fact that most synthetics are property of Halandri, the brass thought it better to err on the side of caution.”

  That made sense. She certainly didn’t want a replay of the base incident, not while who-knew-what Nekroid weaponry was bearing down on them.

  Suddenly, a voice blasted over the comm channel, “Spec-ops teams, attention please!”

  The groups turned, watching as a Falcon alighted on the field a short distance away. One man — General Narcorn, Figment told her — left the craft and was met immediately by a second who saluted. The two turned, striding toward the matchers.

  Stopping before them, the general briefly saluted before beginning. “You are assembled here because you are needed. Not just by your country, your planet or your species, but by all life as we know it.

  “We first encountered the Nekroid on an outer rim colony almost a decade ago. We watched, but left them alone, hoping they would do the same. However, Global Earth command has confirmed that, over the last two decades, while moving their way to the center of civilized space, they have perfected a means to convert both biological and inorganic matter into a hybrid, semi-living state. Their technology includes the ability to reanimate dead bodies and to rearrange both living and non-living matter into forms useful as weapons.

  “Furthermore, we have confirmed that the asteroid that lit the skies so amazingly during the Death Match two years ago was indeed an attack by the Nekroid and, although diverted, that fragments of it that crashed on Earth contained the nanoviral components necessary
to initiate the conversion process here.

  “Fantastic as this all seems, there are members among you,” he nodded to Figment and the Cowgirlz, “who have recently witnessed this first hand and have fought some of the new Nekroid warriors. I’m sure they will vouch for me when I say this is a threat unlike any we have previously faced.”

  The general paused, sweeping his steady gaze from one group to the next until he had taken in each of the matcher teams. After a moment more, he resumed in an even more grave tone, “You are here because we cannot fight this threat alone and you are the best that exist. We are fully aware of your previous records — both the good,” he nodded toward Duncan and the Rakurai, “and the bad,” he glanced toward El Loco Lobos, who just shrugged. “As of this moment, both are irrelevant. The only thing that matters is victory over the present menace. Because, if the Nekroid win, it will mean everyone, everywhere, loses.”

  In the quiet that followed, DaemonS was sure that everyone had taken the General’s words to heart. Before leaving, the General added only, “I know you will all do your best. We are counting on you. Sergeant Margan will now fill you in on the details and outfit you with any further gear you require. Sergeant?”

  The general turned, moving back toward the falcon as the sergeant stepped forward. “Right. You heard the General and you should know that he is not given to bouts of exaggeration. As of oh-nine-thirty yesterday, Global Earth Command confirmed the presence of the Nekroid on Earth in the form of an autonomous factory. At precisely thirteen-hundred hours, after a thorough evaluation of the facility, the recon team painted the target, calling down a strike from a low-orbit satellite. The surface structure was destroyed but an energy shield protecting the lower levels remained intact.”

  The sergeant paused, ensuring that each person listening was aware of the importance of his next words. “At twenty-hundred hours last night, two bogeys were detected on slow approach to the city. Small teams have been unable to get near due to the powerful laser cannons mounted above a swiveling chassis. The entire vehicle rides upon a flexible-legged tripod, which makes it slow, but agile and deadly.