by K. J. Coble
Something scraped across metal above. Her mind froze with the realization of her mistake. The flechette rifle came blurring back up.
A blaster bolt leapt from the hole in the airshaft. The white glare highlighted the bared teeth of a worm holdout.
Tan-Ezatz didn’t feel the bolt strike. Suddenly, she felt nothing at all. Solidity left her limbs. She saw her rifle drop to the floor. She looked down at the neat hole burned through her sternum. Tendrils of smoke clung to tags of bodysuit fabric.
Can’t be...I...can’t...
Blackness engulfed Tan-Ezatz before she hit the floor.
CHAPTER FORTY-THREE
“They blasted right through us! Didn’t even slow down to make a fight!”
The image of Hrangar plastered across the inside of Crozier’s helm visor was grainy and shuddered every time an energy weapon discharged in the park.
“We shot them up as they went by. Took down three vehicles and damaged several others. But they on their way to you now. I am sorry.”
“You did what you could,” Crozier replied. “That gives us ten minutes, anyway. Get your teams scattered before somebody triangulates your transmission and brings in a heavy hurt on you. Good luck.”
“To you, too. I will see you at rendezvous point.” The image of the Grak cut out.
Crozier scanned the ground before him. The snow was tapering off. Wreckage and corpses burned in the park. Blaster and conventional rifle fire sputtered fitfully to either flank. The last five minutes had seen an ominous drop off in the fighting and Crozier’s helm AI could find little sign of movement.
The Korvans were laying low. They knew help was on the way.
Party’s over. Crozier blinked a command to his AI. The computer transmitted a pattern of chimes across the general tactical net, nonsense to eavesdropping Korvans but clear orders to the partisans. Break off attack, abandon heavy weapons, leave mines and booby-traps for pursuit. Disperse.
Crozier turned to the commander of his headquarters platoon. “Get your wounded ready to move.”
“Yes, sir.”
Crozier stared off into the smoldering horizon, his gaze fixing on the hazy outline of the Korvan headquarters pyramid. The nervous flicker of energy weapons continued to play in sporadic bursts to the north. Crozier felt his gut take a sickened twist.
Please, please don’t be in that mess...please, be out of there...
The partisan officer touched Crozier’s shoulder. “Sir, we’re ready to roll.”
Crozier clenched his blastrifle in a white-knuckled grip. He felt anchored in his crouch against the ground, Lurinari’s gravity suddenly too much to bear.
There is nothing left for you here, fool, he thought to himself. She’s a survivor. She will make it.
Flashes lit the sky to the northeast. Thunder came rolling across Crozier seconds later. The Korvan relief force was not far. Not far, at all.
“Major?” The young partisan’s voice went up half an octave. Crozier sensed him fidgeting.
Crozier looked at the partisan and nodded. “All right. Time to go.”
SANDY’S WORLD FOCUSED around her. Cold concrete bit the side of her face. She moved and felt slivers of pain through her body, the abuse very real now that adrenaline had faded.
She opened her eyes, saw a dark room full of boxes around her. She sat up, grunting with the effort, and wavered. For a moment she thought she would vomit. She steadied. Her senses sharpened. She made out the faint rumble of Mondanberg in chaos. Her jaw ached and her tongue had swollen one and a half times its size.
Events rushed back into her head. She remembered the attack, she remembered running through the streets alone. She remembered...
The sound of steel grating across stone froze her. She turned.
Vorsh leaned nonchalantly against a stack of crates, honing his dagger. His blastrifle was propped by a doorway behind him. Beyond that door, Sandy made out what looked like a store sales floor. Reddish light filtered in through cloudy front windows, occasionally punctuated by a white or cyan flicker.
“Vorsh...” The name sounded funny, spoken around her bitten tongue.
“Hello, Sandy.” The strokes of his blade across the honing stone sped up.
“What...what’s happening?”
Vorsh paused in sharpening his dagger and looked up, as though he was listening to the air. “Sounds like the Movement pulled it off.”
“That’s not what I meant.” Sandy’s gaze went to the glinting steel of the blade. She felt herself slide involuntarily from the Shmali. A crate blocked her way, rough wood biting at the back of her bare head.
Vorsh flashed a fang-filled smile. “I know.”
Sandy shrank against the crate, her innards chilling. She had always heard stories about Vorsh, had even seen him do things to Invaders that left little doubt he enjoyed his work. But he had never shown any malice to one of his own.
“Vorsh, what is this?”
The Shmali seemed to chuckle as he tucked the whetstone back into a pack at his belt. He began to twirl the dagger, amazing agility of the fingers, fascinating patterns as feeble light danced off the steel.
“You know, I don’t normally enjoy human women. Too much resistance and that annoying independence. But recently, I’ve acquired something of a taste for them.”
“You don’t...I don’t understand. You can’t—”
“Sure, I can.”
“Vorsh, we’re comrades! We’re on the same side!” Sandy couldn’t keep her voice from trembling. “Vorsh, why?”
“Because it amuses me.” Vorsh stood up straight and took a step toward her. “That’s all I’ve ever asked of the Universe...amusement. And, as for sides, you must certainly know I have always been on my side.”
“Bastard.”
“Yes...” Vorsh took another step toward her and let out a sigh. “Your sister provided me quite the amusement.”
Sandy felt her breath leave with a rasp. The room went motionless around her. Beads of sweat became ice crystals across her skin. Somewhere in the background, behind the crackle of distant gunfire, she felt the thrum of anti-gravity drives approaching.
“What...?” Sandy’s voice sounded tiny.
“Come now,” Vorsh said as he drew nearer, “you and I both know she was a traitor. I saw you.”
“Bastard!” The cold sickness in Sandy’s stomach vanished in a searing wave of rage. “Fucking bastard!”
Sandy launched at Vorsh. She didn’t care if he hacked her and mauled her. She would claw his eyes from the sockets with her fingers.
Vorsh’s backhanded blow struck her face with sledgehammer force. Vision exploded in sparks and the room spun. She felt her feet leave the floor. Concrete crashed through her. The cool surface was relief compared to the burning imprint of Vorsh’s knuckles on her cheek.
Sandy coughed, blood pouring from mouth and nose. The strength of moments ago was gone, shocked away by the blast of Vorsh’s fist. She began to pull herself up. The world shuddered in crimson shades before focusing. She wanted to sob. She had so little strength left. She turned herself over to face Vorsh.
The amusement was gone from the Shmali’s face. His jaw clenched in annoyance. His eyes lit with a demonic fury. The dagger no longer twirled between his fingers. He held it with the point down.
Anti-gravity rumble grew and the air and walls began to pulse with it. A plasma cannon discharged in the near distance, a crash followed by a roar of collapsing rubble.
“She was scared. She didn’t know what she was doing. You had no right!”
“Right had nothing to do with it. Haven’t you been listening?” Vorsh moved toward her. “And right has nothing to do with what’s happening now...”
The anti-gravity engine sounds reached a roar. Vorsh swore something in his native tongue and flicked a glance toward the doorway.
Cyan light washed through the storefront, catching Vorsh’s bared fangs in a gleaming moment. Wood, concrete, and drywall exploded in a wave. Sandy ducked a
nd let it wash over, thousands of tiny impacts plucking at her back. The air swam with debris and white noise. She made out Vorsh’s high-pitched scream.
The blast subsided. The racket of Korvan armor gliding by coupled with the sporadic snarl of plasma cannon lashing buildings along the street. Wreckage clattered and sifted.
Sandy groaned and lifted herself from a pile of shredded drywall and splinters of two-by-four. Blood matted her hair. She blinked it from her eyes and wobbled to her feet. The front of the building was a tangle of collapsed wall and frame. Small flames licked along support planks. Cold air blew through gaping holes. Sandy saw the squat hull of an Invader battle-car slip by.
Vorsh’s blastrifle lay a few meters away under a chewed skid. Sandy stumbled across the short space, lifted the flimsy wood and tossed it aside.
Hands grabbed her feet and tore them out from under her. She landed face-first on a pile of rubble, sharp edges biting her hands. Vorsh grunted behind her, his hands clawing. A stream of Shmali invective spilled from his mouth. He began to drag her to him. The blastrifle was too far to reach.
Sandy thrashed, kicking and screaming. Vorsh’s grip on her loosened. She grappled for the weapon’s pistol grip. Too far. His hands crushed down on her ankles, pulling her. She fumbled at splinters, at anything. Her palm slid over something smooth and cool. She realized what it was and grabbed it.
Vorsh got his fingers into her hair and tore back. She whimpered and let herself go limp. His other hand went to her shoulder and pulled, twisting her to face him. His torn features had blurred into a mask of blood and fangs and wild eyes.
Sandy plunged Vorsh’s own dagger into his chest.
Vorsh stiffened and the snarl across his features melted into a look of confusion. He grunted and tried to pull away. Sandy put her remaining strength into the ivory handle, thrusting the blade into Vorsh up to the hilt. He fell off of her.
Sandy staggered to her feet and limped to where the blastrifle lay. Vorsh slid to a pile of wreckage and pulled himself upright against it. His breaths dragged out in wheezes and rattles. He looked down at the protruding handle of his prized weapon. Sandy knew nothing of Shmali physiology but the wound didn’t appear immediately mortal. She leaned over and picked up the blastrifle.
Vorsh tried to grab the dagger handle with both hands. A shriek like an air bladder deflating left his mouth in a burst of blood and saliva. He gave up. His body rose and fell with labored breaths. He looked up at Sandy, the fog of pain in his eyes clearing. A defiant light lit his face.
Sandy took aim with the blastrifle. She squeezed her eyes shut for a moment. Cynthia danced in a summer dress under the sun in her mind, liquid laughter trilling through her skull. She was with mom and dad and grandpa. She was safe.
She opened her eyes. Vorsh stared at her, still now, his gaze on her and a fanged smile on his bloody lips.
“Bitch,” he rasped. “Your sister was...nothing but a stupid Collaborator whore.”
“Maybe,” Sandy said in a little girl’s soft voice, “but she was my sister.”
Sandy put the blaster bolt square into the center of Vorsh’s chest. The screaming white glare deadened her senses into darkness for a moment. She blinked. Vorsh quivered once and slumped back on the pile of debris. His features loosened into something like horror, like his last fraction of a second had brought him an image of something uncomprehendingly awful.
The reload light on the blaster weapon’s stock blinked red. Sandy let the rifle drop from her hands.
I’m sorry...so sorry I wasn’t there for you at the end, Cynn. I’m sorry I didn’t see what was happening to you. I hope this can start to make up for it. I hope you can have peace, now.
Sandy turned and scurried from the wreckage of the store.
And perhaps I can begin to search for some, myself...
CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR
Too late, Zarven thought as his hovertank slid into the outskirts of Mondanberg.
The snow had stopped and the sky was now red with flame. While much of the District Capitol remained largely untouched by the partisan attacks, the city looked black and dead.
The Awareness felt very much the same.
Battle-cars entered the streets ahead of Zarven, platoons dividing off on minor roads, sections splitting into alleys. Plasma bolts snarled, short bursts probing dark corners. A sustained blast occasionally tore houses into crumbling ruin. Zarven thought it unlikely many holdouts remained in the city. But agitated Korvans needed little excuse to shred Collaborators foolish enough to be out in the open.
Zarven wiped sweat from his face and leaned back in the cupola, wincing as metal pressed against his bruised back. The pain was preferable to thought.
Tan-Ezatz screamed from someplace in the back of his skull, her death tones sometimes reverberating forward into his eyes. There was no accusation in that final wail echoing across the Awareness. But when the worms finally got to her, she had had little time to thrash at everyone who had failed her.
Zarven’s AI highlighted an energy blast down a street ahead and to the left. He would not normally have given it any thought, with Korvans punishing the city with plasma weapons around him, but he preferred to mull over minutiae than consider the disaster’s full implications. A query to his AI matched the burst’s signature to that of a worm blaster weapon.
“Left on this street,” Zarven said to the hovertank commander.
The thrumming of the hovertank’s drives rose for a second as the huge vehicle negotiated the turn. The driver, weary from fear and her exertions, used little finesse. The hull dragged across the front of one building and tore a fence from the yard of another.
The street ahead had suffered the attentions of a previous sweep. Plasma blasts left shops and apartment buildings chewed and spilling smoke. Flakes of snow mingled with shreds of paper and drywall and paneling. A worm child screamed in the near distance.
Zarven’s AI drew an icon over the building within which it had detected the blast. He ordered the driver to slow to a walking pace and swept the cupola mounted plasma blaster across the mauled storefront. Small flames danced across overturned tables and crates inside, their glow glinting off shards of glass.
Nothing. Zarven relaxed.
Footsteps scuffled across icy pavement behind him. He spun, the cupola weapon whirring with him. A small figure sprinted across the street to the tank’s rear. Its foot caught on something. The worm let out a cry and tumbled to the concrete. It lay still, save the quiver of sobs wracking its frame.
Targeting icons coalesced on the worm. It carried no arms but the ragged synthe-leathers and battered blastisteel plate marked it a guerilla. Zarven leaned into the plasma blaster, an impulse away from the kill.
And stopped.
The worm, a female he saw now, got to her feet. He heard a sniffle and a curse. She turned slowly and stared through him, blood-streaked face held high. Tears drew tracks through filth and reddened eyes seared with hatred. Zarven felt his lip quirk into an admiring smile. She was beautiful in her defiance.
A corner of his vision divided off into a pair of holographic portraits cross-referenced from the data files from a holding camp shut down three local years ago. Recognition jolted through Zarven. The upper picture was the whore he and Tedeschi had used in Cedar Valley. The lower recording was...the sister.
Zarven’s smile faded.
“Quickly, my Haust! Before she—”
Zarven cast the driver from his mind, at the same time slaving the hovertank’s control systems to him. The image of the twins fluttered from his skull like ash from charred paper, replaced by a bloody vision of a worm girl-officer hiding in a sewer beneath a butchered city.
Zarven’s Universe quivered. The back of his throat stung with bile. Afraid to move too quickly, Zarven straightened in the turret. He blew out a long breath that twisted into vapors in the air. The pain and weariness of mind and body weakened his limbs to the point of collapse.
The worm watched him with a clenc
hed jaw. She hadn’t moved.
Zarven raised his open hand in an expression he hoped she would understand.
The worm blinked, then turned and ran for a side alley. Shadows swallowed her. The night felt suddenly calm.
“My Haust, you can’t let her run! She was one of them!”
“I think neither of us will be speaking of this again, Fanrohaust,” Zarven said, climbing back down into the turret. “I’m certain you agree.”
“I—of course, my Haust.” The driver’s harmonic shrunk from Zarven. She found the controls of her vehicle returned to her and saw to them.
A gift to you, worm, for your courage. And because I have seen enough ruin for one night. Zarven settled into his seat. “Take me to the headquarters building. We’ll be setting up a temporary CP there. Then, we see to mopping up.”
The hovertank turned with a growl of anti-grav motors, smashing building fronts as it rotated in the narrow street. The driver’s harmonic was sour with annoyance and fear of Zarven.
He ignored her as he pondered a war he no longer believed his people could win.
CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE
Crozier lay in the midst of evergreens at the crest of a low rise. Below lay a narrow clearing flanked by snow-capped boulders to one side and thick forest to the other. A dense snowfall the night before had covered the tracks of partisan bands passing through on their way to the rendezvous point.
Something slid through the undergrowth behind Crozier. The young Grak partisan prone at his side hissed a challenge. A hushed reply sent the Grak wobbling sideways to make room for the newcomer.
Crozier ignored the rotation of the sentries. The guerillas had teams ready to enfilade the clearing from the woods and rocks, all invisible, even to Crozier, who knew where to look. Also, unseen were the mines and the flechette packs strung through the branches. The partisans had made certain they could turn the narrow space into an abattoir within seconds.
