“You think the great device is housed somewhere in the copper tower?” said Corbie finally.
“I think the tower is the device,” said DeChance. “A single huge machine, still functioning after God knows how many centuries.”
“So what are we going to do when we get there?” asked Corbie. “Blow it up?”
“I don’t know. Maybe.” DeChance rubbed at her forehead, as though bothered by a headache. “Somehow I don’t think it’ll be that simple. The device can defend itself against attacks if it has to.” She broke off suddenly and stopped dead in her tracks. The two marines stopped with her. DeChance stared ahead into the darkness. “There’s something there, something … strange. It’s waiting for us to come to it.”
Corbie and Lindholm trained their guns on the darkness. For a long moment, nobody moved. The Squad’s force shields hummed loudly on the quiet. Corbie listened hard, but couldn’t hear anything moving. The filthy water was calm and undisturbed.
“How close is it?” he whispered to DeChance.
The esper frowned. “It’s waiting, just beyond the light. It feels … strange, unfinished.”
“Maybe we should just turn around and go back,” suggested Corbie.
“No!” DeChance urgently. “We have to get to the copper tower! It’s our only hope. Besides, the creature would only follow us.”
“Terrific,” said Corbie. “This just gets better and better.”
“We could always throw a grenade at it,” said Lindholm.
Corbie looked at him. “In a confined space like this? Are you crazy? The blast would come straight back and make mincemeat out of us!”
“Sorry,” said Lindholm. “I wasn’t thinking.”
“You’d better start quickly,” said DeChance. “It’s moving towards us.”
Lindholm and Corbie levelled their guns on the darkness. DeChance drew hers, but her hand was still too unsteady to aim it. She activated her force shield and peered watchfully over the top of it. A faint, glowing light appeared deep in the dark of the tunnel, growing steadily stronger as it approached the Squad. Corbie bit back a curse as the creature’s form became clear, lit by its own eerie light. It had no shape as such, only a frothing mass of eyes and bubbles that filled the tunnel from wall to wall like a wave of onrushing foam. Great snapping mouths appeared and disappeared as the creature surged forward. Lindholm fired his disrupter. The blast went right through the boiling mass. A few bubbles popped, but otherwise the beam had no effect. Corbie stepped forward and cut at the mass with his sword. The blade swept through the foam without pausing.
Corbie stumbled forward and fell on one knee, caught off balance by the lack of resistance. A snapping mouth tried for his hand and only just missed. More mouths reached for him. And then the creature came into contact with Corbie’s shield, and the bubbles popped loudly on meeting the energy field. The fanged mouths disappeared back into the staring, boiling mass. Corbie swept his shield at it, and more bubbles burst. The creature began to quickly withdraw down the tunnel. In a few moments it had disappeared back into the darkness and was gone. Corbie got to his feet again, and shook his wet leg disgustedly.
“I just know I’m going to catch something horrible from this stuff. Esper, is that thing out there, waiting in the darkness, or is it still running?”
“Still running,” said DeChance. “I don’t think anything’s been able to hurt it in a long time. Now let’s get moving again, please. It’s a long way to the copper tower, and we want to get there before dark. Things are worse in the city at night.”
The Squad moved on through the narrow tunnel in their own little pool of light. The tunnel branched repeatedly, but the esper always seemed to know which way to go. Ceramic pipes lined the walls for long stretches, coiled around each other as often as not, before disappearing back into the stonework. I suppose even an alien city needs good sewers, thought Corbie. And this place smells so bad it’s got to be part of a sewer. I’ve known slaughterhouses that smelted better than this.
The water grew deeper, lapping up around their knees. Fungi began to appear on the walls in shades of grey and white, often spread in wide patches more than two inches thick. Corbie was careful not to touch any of it. It looked like it might be hungry. Patches of swirling scum appeared on the surface of the water, and Corbie watched them suspiciously. He had a strong feeling some of them were following him. And then the Squad came to a sudden halt as they spotted a large smooth-edged hole in the stone wall to their right, some distance ahead.
“Can you sense anything, esper?” asked Corbie quietly
“I’m not sure. There’s something there, but it’s shielded. I can’t get a hold on it.” She rubbed tiredly at her forehead. “It could be some creature’s lair, or even some form of machinery.”
“You stay here,” said Corbie. “Sven and I will go take a look at it.”
“You could have at least asked for volunteers,” said Lindholm mildly. “Power’s gone to your head, Russ.”
“Moan, moan, moan,” said Corbie. “You never want to do anything fun.”
The two marines moved slowly forward, gun and sword at the ready. Their force shields muttered quietly to themselves. The hole in the wall seemed to grow larger the closer the marines got. Finally, they stood before a six foot wide hole, studying the darkness within from behind the safety of their force shields.
“Can’t see a damned thing,” muttered Corbie. “How about you, Sven?”
“Nothing. Can’t hear anything either. I suppose it could be a lair that was abandoned some time back. The esper said the aliens had all been asleep for a long time.”
“True. And I can’t imagine anything alien enough to stay down here by choice.”
Deep within the hole, something moved. Lindholm and Corbie raised their guns reflexively, only to freeze in place as an endless tide of darkness came rushing out over them. The esper cried out once, but neither of them heard her.
Corbie was standing on a snow-swept battlefield, surrounded by the dead. There was blood on his uniform, only some of it his. The double moons of the Hyades drifted on the night skies. The Ghost Warriors had been and gone, and the Empire marines had fallen before them. The marines were first-class soldiers, but they were only flesh and blood, and they’d stood no chance against the Legions of the living dead. Blood stained the snow all around, and the bodies of the slain stretched for as far as Corbie could see. Nothing moved save a single tattered banner flapping in the wind. Corbie’s sword was broken and his gun was exhausted. Out of a whole Company of Imperial marines, he was the only survivor.
Ghost Warriors. Dead bodies controlled by computer implants. The ultimate terror troops; unthinking, unfeeling, unstoppable. Corbie had thought himself a brave man, until he’d had to face the Ghost Warriors. They tested his courage again and again, until finally they broke it. The Legions of the dead were enough to break anyone.
Corbie looked around the silent battlefield. It seemed to him that he should be somewhere else, but he couldn’t think where that might be. There was a sudden movement close at hand, and Corbie fell back a step as one of the Empire corpses lifted its head from the snow and looked at him. Dried blood had turned half its face into a dark crimson mask, but its eyes gleamed brightly. It rose unsteadily to its feet to stand before Corbie. There was a gaping wound in its chest where one of the Ghost Warriors had ripped its heart out. The corpse grinned suddenly, revealing bloody teeth.
“You always were a survivor, Corbie.”
“Major …” Corbie tried to explain, to apologise, but his voice was harsh and dry, and the words wouldn’t come.
“Don’t talk to me, survivor. You haven’t the right. We stood our ground, followed our orders, and fought and died, as marines should. You chose not to, survivor.”
“I stood my ground.”
“Only until it became clear that we were losing. Until it was clear the Company hadn’t a hope in hell against the Legions. We stood and fought to the last man. You burrowe
d in among the bodies of the fallen, smeared yourself with blood, and hoped you’d be mistaken for just another corpse. And so the Company fell, and you alone survived to tell of it. I had such hopes for you, Corbie. But you betrayed us. You should have died with us, where you belonged.”
“Someone had to survive, to warn Command.”
“That wasn’t why you did it. You were afraid. You’ve been afraid ever since.” The corpse drew its sword. “Well, solider, now’s your chance to pay in full.”
Corbie threw away his broken sword, and drew the long Service dagger from his boot. “Only a fool dies for no good reason.”
Their blades met, the clash of steel on steel carrying clearly across the silent battlefield.
Lindholm stood in the centre of the Great Arena, and all around him the Golgotha crowds cheered their appreciation of another death. The losing gladiator was dragged away, leaving a bloody trail behind him. It wasn’t a subtle crowd gathered here today. They had no eye for the finer points of swordsmanship and defence. They wanted blood and suffering, and they didn’t care whose. They’d paid to see death, right there in front of them, and they couldn’t get enough of it. Their cheers grew louder and more frenzied as Lindholm’s next opponent entered the Arena. Even before he turned to look, Lindholm knew who it was; who it would have to be. Tall, lithe, and graceful, Elena Dante acknowledged the cheers of the crowd, and saluted Lindholm with her sword. Dante, the smiling killer, the darling of the Golgotha crowds.
“I never wanted to fight you, Elena,” said Lindholm quietly.
“It was bound to happen sooner or later, Sven,” said Dante. “That’s how the Arena works. Don’t think I’ll go easy on you, just because we’re friends.”
“More than friends.”
“Maybe. It still doesn’t make any difference. Out here on the sands there are only winners and losers. And I always fight to win.”
“You can’t kill me,” said Lindholm. “Not after all we’ve meant to each other.”
“You always were a romantic, Sven.” Dante grinned widely. “Tell you what. We both know I’m going to win, so you just put up a good fight, give the crowd their thrills, and I promise you a quick death.”
“You’d do that for me?” said Lindholm.
“Sure. What are friends for?”
Lindholm frowned. “I remember this. I’ve been here before. We fought in the Arena, and I killed you.”
“That’s right, Sven. And then you killed the fixer who arranged the match, and twenty-seven other Arena officials, before they finally dragged you down, clapped the irons on you, and gave you to the Hell Squads. But now I’m back, and you’re going to have to kill me all over again. If you can.”
Their swords met in a clash of steel.
DeChance stood knee-deep in filthy water in a tunnel beneath the alien city, and stared passionlessly at the familiar figure emerging from the hole in the wall. Corbie and Lindholm stood unmoving between her and the hole, staring blindly into the gloom. The familiar figure stepped into the lantern light. He was of average height and weight, with the quiet bland looks that can make a man invisible in a crowd. He smiled confidently at DeChance.
“Hello, Meg. Surprised to see me?”
“You’re not real,” said DeChance flatly. “There’s no way you could be here, on Wolf IV. You’re still out there in the Empire somewhere, doing what you do best. Getting people to trust them, and then betraying them for a handful of change.”
He laughed quietly. “I’m as real as you want me to be, Meg. Believe in me and I’m here, as accurate as your memories can make me. And you do want to see me again, don’t you? Even after everything that happened, there’s a part of you that never stopped caring for me; never stopped believing that deep down I cared for you.” He smiled warmly at her. “After all, what did I do that was so bad? We all have to make a living.”
DeChance moved a step closer to him. “I loved you. Trusted you. Gave you every credit I had, to get me a berth on a ship heading for Mistworld. I would have been safe there; finally free from the Empire and the way it’s always treated espers. You were going to join me there, and we were going to make a life together. But there was no berth and there was no ship, and when the Security Guards came for me you were nowhere to be seen. I found out about you later, of course. But by then I’d already been condemned to the Hell Squads.”
“Of course,” said the smiling figure. “They always find out when it’s too late. I do try to be professional in my work. Francis Shrike; licensed traitor, double-dealing a speciality.” He cocked his head to one side, and fixed her with a glittering eye. “You’re still not sure how you feel about me, are you? Are you angry at me for betraying you, or at yourself, for trusting me? Could you really have been so blind and foolish as to love someone who didn’t give a damn about you?”
“I know who was to blame.” DeChance’s sword seemed almost to leap into her hand. “I know who I hate.”
Shrike shook his head condescendingly. “You always did carry a grudge, Meg. But things can be different here. I can be anything you want me to be. I can love you like you’ve always wanted to be loved. I can be everything you ever dreamed of. Just put down your sword and come to me.”
DeChance moved forward a step, and then stopped. “Francis…”
“Come to me, Meg. I’m all yours.”
DeChance lifted her sword and gripped the blade tightly with her left hand. Blood ran down the blade as the keen edges cut into her flesh. The pain ran through her like a shock of cold water, and she grinned tightly at the figure before her.
“Nice try, but you’re not Francis. You’re not even real. And I hate him too much to be satisfied with a cheap imitation.” She tore her gaze away with an effort, and looked at the two marines, still standing silent and motionless. “What are they seeing? What faces are you showing them?”
“Whatever they want to see. It doesn’t matter. They’ll be mine soon.”
“That’s what you think,” said DeChance. She sheathed her sword, drew her disrupter, and shot him at point-blank range. The brilliant beam of energy tore through his gut. Shrike’s mouth stretched impossibly wide as he screamed. Corbie and Lindholm awoke with a start and looked about in confusion, torn abruptly from their dreams.
“It was just a trick,” said DeChance quickly. “Whatever you saw, it wasn’t real. It seems we’ve come across an alien with very strong esp. It tried to kill us with our own fears and desires.”
DeChance and the marines glared at the creature before them. Under the pressure of their minds, the alien’s shape began to blur and change, its features rising and falling as it tried to be three people at once. It quickly lost control, its humanity falling away like a discarded coat. The features fell apart, the eyes sliding down the face and sinking into the skin. The mouth widened and sprouted jagged teeth. The hands grew claws, and its back humped. What had appeared to be clothes became armoured scales, and a row of spikes burst out of its back. Corbie and Lindholm trained their guns on the creature and quickly backed away.
“Forget the guns,” said DeChance. “I already tried that. There’s a better way.”
She concentrated, focusing all her esp into a single burst of hate and rage, and threw it at the creature. The alien shrank back, snarled once, and then turned and disappeared down the tunnel and into the darkness. They could hear it running for a while, and then even that faded away to nothing.
DeChance leaned back against the tunnel wall, her eyes hot and moist. Corbie looked at her with concern. She hadn’t looked well for some time, but there was no denying she looked worse now. Her face was horribly pale and dripping with sweat. Her eyes were sunk deep into her face, and her whole body seemed to be trembling. Corbie started to reach out a hand to her, but withdrew it when DeChance glared at him.
“I’m fine. Just let me be.”
“Why haven’t the aliens used esp against us before?” asked Lindholm.
“I don’t know,” said DeChance. “I suppose
esp varies as much in them as it does among humans. The sphere showed me what happened when they use it on each other, but it would take an extremely strong projective telepath to work on non-telepaths like you. Or perhaps the aliens are simply growing more powerful as the great device awakens. It’s getting stronger all the time. It has been ever since …”
“You awakened it,” said Lindholm.
“Oh yes,” said DeChance bitterly. “I was the one who woke it up. I’m to blame. I’m to blame for everything that’s happened here.” Her voice began to rise sharply. “If I hadn’t been a part of the Hell Squad, none of this would have happened. The device would have slept on undisturbed if it hadn’t been for me, and you’d all have been perfectly safe!”
“Take it easy,” said Corbie soothingly. “No one’s blaming you for anything. Right, Sven? If you hadn’t triggered the device, some colonist with esp would have, and who knows how large a colony would have been endangered then?”
DeChance said nothing. For a long moment the three of them just stood together in their little pool of light, looking out at the darkness.
“Is this likely to happen again?” said Corbie finally. “If the aliens can tap into our minds, there’s no telling what we might end up facing. All our nightmares, every bad dream we ever had, could be out there somewhere, just waiting for a chance to get at us. And I don’t know about you two, but I’ve had some pretty awful dreams in my time.”
DeChance smiled crookedly. “Most of the aliens aren’t that powerful, even with the device to back them up. What we’re seeing are the aliens’ nightmares, given shape and form.”
“How much further is it to the copper tower?” asked Lindholm.
“Not far,” said DeChance. “The tunnel should start sloping upwards soon, and then we can start thinking about getting out of here.”
Hellworld (Deathstalker Prelude) Page 17
