Queen Myrrah. It was an odd choice of title. It smacked of termite colonies and ants, an analogy he knew she’d find offensive, but he suspected she’d chosen it in an attempt to make herself feel more embedded in Sera’s history, more Seran than the humans who’d long since discarded their monarchies.
You know that’s not true, Myrrah. You know all about your origins. But this is no time to argue that with you. Come on. Come and get it over with.
He knew her too well. The quaint radio receiver he’d always used to contact her finally vibrated on the bench, buzzing against the varnished wood.
“Adam, you knew this day would come.”
It was a familiar voice: silky, imperial, polished, and utterly human.
“Hello, Myrrah.” Adam found himself thinking of the terrible Locust food again. “You got my message, then.”
“And how right you were. We do need you. And we shall take you. I hope you’re not planning anything foolish. You have responsibilities, Adam.”
It would be a living death. She’d never release him, even if he developed a countermeasure. But he didn’t deserve any better.
“I also have my service pistol.”
“And I can take your son at any time.”
He had the measure of her, then, and she had his. “You leave Marcus out of this. It’s a condition.” He opened the desk drawer and took out the handgun, a 9mm officer’s weapon. It made a distinctive clunk on the wooden desktop as he slammed it down. “If anything happens to him, I don’t care what happens to the rest of Sera.”
“Ah, no, Adam, you find it easier to care about grand impersonal ideals than the flesh and blood at your side. And you were never very good at threats.”
It stung, like all painful truths. And it provoked him. He picked up the pistol and chambered a round right next to the mike. Myrrah would hear that and recognize it. He waited.
“Try me,” he said.
“You try my patience. Stop this game.”
“Leave my son alone.”
“If he dies, Adam, it will not be by my order or at my command.”
“I’ll take that as a deal.” Adam put the pistol back in the drawer, safety on. He hadn’t carried a weapon on a regular basis in years, but today it made him feel strangely naked to discard it. “You have my word.”
“We will come for you when my troops have dealt with the defenses near your home.”
“I’ll be ready.”
The radio clicked off. Adam sat back in his chair, resigned to the fact that he was probably the only human being on Sera who had ever waited patiently for the Locust to come. He was certainly the only one who had any kind of relationship with them.
Imagine how fascinating this would have been in another world, another time. First contact, of a kind. No. More like understanding the full intelligence of another animal.
And whatever Myrrah said in her speeches to rouse her troops, humans weren’t to blame. They were just accelerants. That didn’t make them any less greedy, violent, and destructive, but nobody could be blamed for Lambency. It simply existed.
And that’s what I need to understand more than anything. I wish you were here to help me, Elain. Dear God, I do.
That was something he’d forgotten to pack: her picture on his desk in his study upstairs, so much a part of his day that it sometimes became invisible. He tried not to think that he was killing time while the Locust army was killing humans. The house was more empty than it had ever been before. Mrs. Ross had been evacuated to Jacinto—Adam still had some pull—and Marcus probably wouldn’t have a legacy to inherit once the fighting got this far. As for the art treasures, mankind had made them once, and could make them again. The paintings would have to take their chances.
I’m sorry, Dad. I really am.
There were too many ancestors to preserve, almost all of them men and women Adam had never known. He re-arranged the tightly packed data discs and notes in his briefcase to make space for a few more items—the picture of Elain with Marcus aged ten, and Elain’s journal—and dithered over the Octus Medal. He hefted it in his hand, then placed it in the small box that he would leave for Marcus, along with the certificate and his will. The photo of the presentation that had stared down at him like a rebuke for too many years went into the box. Damn: this was getting to be a lot to carry. And if he took it with him, would Myrrah ever make sure it got to Marcus? If he left it here, would anyone find it?
Too late to visit my lawyer’s offices now … not that they exist any longer.
And where the hell is Nevil? Okay, he needs time. I should never have burdened him with all that. But better that he knows what I am than he spends his life respecting a man who never deserved it.
The sound of a Raven distracted him. It sounded as if it was right overhead, but that wasn’t unusual, and then it faded away again. He was about to sit down and drink in the image of his sanctuary for one last time when a massive explosion shook the room and he heard someone calling up the stairs.
“Professor Fenix? Sir? We’ve come to get you out.”
It was Dom Santiago. And rescue was the last thing Adam wanted.
Now he could hear a firefight outside, and heavy boots thudded up the stairs. The next voice was bittersweet. It was Marcus’s. “Tai, Jace, hang on—we’re checking.” The footsteps were coming along the landing, heading for the study. “Where the hell is he? Dom, go check the bedrooms.”
Damn, Marcus, not now.
Adam wanted to see his son again more than anything, but this was bad timing. How could he ask them to go away because he was waiting to take his research to the Locust tunnels? Concealing E-Day had been bad enough, but there was no way of explaining this.
He looked out the window at the smoke rising right across the west of the city, and knew he never could. Then he spotted the Locust drones pouring over the orchard wall and realized that he was staring down at rubble and slates. The explosion had been close. Perhaps a shell had even hit the house. Haldane Hall was so big that he’d have to walk outside and stand back to check for damage.
The rattle of automatic fire and the sound of a Raven answered his question. The house was now the battlefield, and Myrrah’s promises couldn’t be kept if the COG was engaging the Locust. They’d defend themselves and he would be collateral damage. It was just a matter of who got to him first.
My research. Whatever happens—wherever it’s completed—that’s got to survive.
Adam grabbed his case, shoved a folder under his arm, and went out onto the landing. Marcus and Dom, Lancers raised, stared at him for a second. All he could do was blurt out a rebuke in the way of all guilty men caught in the act.
“Marcus, what in God’s name are you doing here? You’re going to get yourselves killed, both of you.”
Marcus hesitated. For a moment Adam thought he was going to step forward and hug him, but he stopped and just held out his hand as if to take the case.
“We’ve got a Raven waiting. Let’s go.”
“Is this Prescott’s idea? I didn’t want you to try to rescue me. I just wanted to say—”
“Later. We’ve got to go now.”
“There’s something I have to collect from my lab.”
A window shattered across the landing, showering glass on the carpet. Dom swung around, smashed a pane, and returned fire. “Sir, I don’t think there’s time for that.”
“Look, Dad, there’s a goddamn war going on outside,” Marcus snapped. “Forget the lab.”
“Marcus, you don’t understand.” How could you? I did nothing but lie to you. “You don’t realize what this research is. It’ll stop the war. It’ll—”
“Leave it, Dad. It doesn’t matter now.”
Marcus was drowned out by another explosion as a shockwave swept up the stairs like a wind and blew out a door. The rattle of a Raven’s door gun filled the stairwell. Adam braced for the Locust to pour in. He’d agreed to go with them, but they were now in a full-scale firefight and all bets were off.
>
“I need your sidearm, Marcus.”
“Yeah, you can be a hero later, Dad. Keep moving.”
“Damn it, I was a Gear too. Give me the pistol. Mine’s in the lab.”
Marcus ushered him along the landing, managing not to touch him. Even now, there was still that embarrassed distance between them. “Leave that to us.”
Dom broke off from the contact and aimed down the stairs one-handed with his other hand to his earpiece. “Tai? Tai, you receiving?” He was talking to someone on the radio. “What do you mean, they’re waiting?”
“Who’s waiting?” Marcus demanded.
“The grubs. He says they’re massing outside.”
“What, they’re too polite to storm us without a formal invitation?”
“No idea what they’re up to. Come on.”
Dom went charging down the stairs and ran across the hall to flatten himself against the wall on one side of the blown-out doors. Adam had no choice. What did he do now, tell Marcus he had a deal to go with the Locust? It didn’t matter. He’d continue the research wherever he was. He followed Marcus down the stairs and wished he had a damn weapon. He could still hit a target.
“You must have really pissed off the grubs to get a special visit, Dad.” Marcus squatted on the other side of the doorway and reloaded. The fight seemed to be going on outside, judging by the noise. A Raven roared overhead spitting heavy caliber rounds. Adam knew that sound too well. “Forgot to send a card?”
Dom gestured frantically. “Did you hear, Marcus? Tai and Jace are roping down.”
“For fuck’s sake.” Marcus shook his head angrily. “Tai? Don’t. They’ll pick you off.”
Adam could hear the responses now: Marcus must have had his receiver open. A calm, heavily accented voice was audible even over the gunfire.
“We are a small moving target, Marcus. But you can distract the grubs if you wish.”
“Goddamn,” Marcus muttered. “Don’t get yourself killed. Not now.”
“Hey, Marcus, chill.” That was a much younger man. It must have been Jace. “Here we come—whoaaaa!”
Marcus and Dom both burst out of the door before Adam could move. He prided himself on still being combat-fit in his fifties, but he was still the age he was, and his reflexes weren’t as fast as a younger man’s. He stumbled outside into a firefight and almost tripped over the splintered remains of the ancient green doors that had stood guard at Haldane Hall for centuries, clutching his precious briefcase and flapping papers to his chest with both arms. Perhaps the pistol hadn’t been such a good idea after all. He dropped behind Marcus in the cover of the low courtyard wall. Rounds zipped over his head like angry insects. The fire was coming from both directions, focusing on the courtyard. Every few seconds, Marcus just shoved his Lancer over the low wall and fired blindly. Adam could see Dom edging along the base of the wall at a squat, springing up every so often to open fire. Adam risked a look over the wall.
It was a bloodbath. Locust drones lay dead in a pile while others used their bodies for cover like sandbags. Above the perimeter wall of the estate, smoke palls hung like a forest of tower blocks. Suddenly a huge Gear with a crest of black hair and facial tattoos burst over the wall, hosing the drones with Lancer fire as he ran, and vaulted over the bushes on the other side. The air was full of noise, screams, and smoke. It brought back too many memories of a simpler, more solvable war.
“Ah, shit.” Marcus pressed his finger to his earpiece, frozen for a second. “We’ve got Boomers inbound, people,” he yelled. “Yeah, I hear you, Strachan. You ready?”
There was a brief silence. Adam couldn’t tell if the Locust had been cleared out but he took another look. Nothing was moving. He could see the big South Islander with the tattoos kicking over some of the bodies to check if they were still alive, and a young Gear with cornrowed hair was recovering rifles.
The Raven was right overhead now, descending on the rubble and churned flowerbeds of the courtyard. Adam felt the downdraft whipping his face as he struggled to hold on to his papers. It was a very small space to land in.
Imagine Hoffman diverting a helicopter in the middle of a pitched battle just to extract one man. Perhaps I’ve misjudged him.
The Raven pilot seemed to be having problems setting down. He lifted a little and turned to take another run at it, probably because the tail was perilously close to the shattered fountain that was gushing water. Adam was still watching, adrenaline starting to ebb, when movement in a gap in the thick yew hedge caught his eye. It was gray, it was moving surprisingly fast, and the first one he’d ever met had been in very different circumstances.
“Boomer!” he yelled. “Down!”
That was all Adam had time for before the whoosh and the yellow flame streaked upward and a huge explosion knocked him flat. Thick black smoke and roaring flame rolled right over him. The smell of fuel was choking.
“Fuck, it’s the Raven.” That was Dom. “Now we’ve got Reavers.”
Marcus was calling out. “Dad?! You okay, Dad?! Come on, let’s get out of here.”
Adam curled up to protect his head as debris rained on him. His briefcase went flying. He could hear the noise of something whirling through the air before it thudded into the ground a few meters away like a javelin, probably a rotor blade, and then another explosion lifted him off the ground. Something very heavy hit him in the back. Everything went dark. He was still conscious but he had no idea what was happening to him, only that he couldn’t move and he couldn’t see.
But he could hear, and it was Marcus yelling the same thing over and over: “Dad? Dad! Dad!”
Then there was a third explosion and Adam couldn’t hear a thing. He stopped trying to move. Then he understood that he couldn’t. Every breath hurt.
“Marcus?” But there was still no sound, not even his own voice. Am I dead? The courtyard wasn’t there any longer. “Marcus …”
If he’d lost consciousness, he hadn’t noticed. But the attack had stopped and something was pressing on his back. At first he thought Marcus was holding him down, covering him, but he realized eventually that it was the dead weight of rubble burying him.
When he managed to suck in a deeper breath, his nose and mouth filled up with dust and the pain brought tears to his eyes. He couldn’t cry for help, and he couldn’t hear anything apart from distant gunfire—no helicopters, no voices, nothing. He had no idea how long he’d been trapped but he knew he had to try to move or call for help. All he could see was a patch of ground through a gap in the rubble, but he couldn’t even move his head.
He tried to call out. It didn’t matter who found him now. But the only sound that emerged was a gurgle.
Have I broken my spine?
No, he could move his toes. He could feel that, so at least he wasn’t paralyzed. But breathing was an agony. He took short, shallow breaths that set him off coughing, and that hurt like hell.
I’m going to die here. Where’s my research? Where’s Marcus? Oh God, I should have told him. I should have handed over my papers. Marcus?
Adam stared along the ground at that small patch of gravel. He could feel cool air on his hand and realized at least part of his arm wasn’t buried. Maybe someone would see it moving.
Who, exactly? There’s nobody out there. You’re going to die.
Then the gravel crunched. One, two pairs of boots, maybe three, definitely more than one person. Marcus had found him. Adam stretched his hand as far as he could and tried to shout.
“Oh, fuck. Prescott’s going to go nuts.” Adam didn’t recognize the voice. It certainly wasn’t Marcus or any of his squad. “Is he dead?”
“Don’t think so, sir. Look.”
“Well, damn well get him out of there, then. Jerge? Find his stuff. He had a briefcase somewhere. Then search the house.”
“It’s on fire, sir.”
“So get a move on. See if you can get into the basement. He’s got a lab down there.”
“I’ve called for casevac.”
“Better hope we don’t lose him.”
Adam still didn’t know who it was and he wasn’t sure if it mattered as long as they got him out. The weight started to lift off his back. He tried to speak, but every breath was unbearably painful, and then hands grabbed him and he found himself looking up into a smoky sky as a man in a plain black uniform leaned over him, frowning.
It didn’t make sense. Maybe he really was dead and he’d been all wrong about an afterlife.
“Okay, don’t try to talk, Professor,” the man said. Adam’s head lolled and his nose was almost touching highly polished black boots, not Gears boots at all. The sound of a helicopter was getting louder. “The Raven’s here. You’re going to be fine.”
Marcus. Adam thought he was saying his name, but he was just thinking it. Marcus. Are you all right? Then something dug deep into the back of his hand, making him flinch, and the pain and light and the smell of burning aviation fuel melted into black, blissful oblivion.
RAVEN KR-80, EN ROUTE TO CHANCERY BRIDGE.
It wasn’t the first head injury Hoffman had received and it probably wouldn’t be the last.
He cradled the Hammer targeting laser in his arms, wondering if he was concussed or shocked. Gettner was going flat out for Chancery Bridge but there was no straight route with that many Reavers in the air. Barber, her crew chief, sat on the door gun, squeezing off a burst every so often.
“Sorry, Colonel,” Gettner said. The Raven was jinking all over the damn place. Hoffman thought he was going to puke in a helo for the first time. “One door gunner, Reavers every-frigging-where. I’m trying to keep them on one flank.”
Hoffman tried to focus on his watch. They’d lost twenty or thirty minutes. Maybe it wouldn’t matter. Maybe he’d get the Hammer there in time and he could deal with Marcus later, man-to-man and no rank, before forgetting it ever happened.
Bullshit. You can’t. It’s not some error of judgment. He knew what the stakes were. He’s finally cracked up. Happens to the best of us. Come on, Gettner. Move it. Fucking move it. Get me there.
Gears of War: The Slab (Gears of War 5) Page 12
