The machine outpaced him, and a two handed blow struck Daniel in the chest and knocked him back. His nanofiber armor dispersed the impact, but it left his insides rattled and sore.
Daniel shook it off and closed the gap between them. He jumped, spun and whipped his armored foot at the target. He met only empty space.
The thing caught him in midair, and he felt immense pressure tugging at his shoulder and hip before pain erupted in his lower-back. The Samson machine had attempted to break him over its knee.
It was mostly successful, too.
It stepped away on its ruined foot, retrieved its hurt ally and Daniel's rifle, then disappeared into the forest.
Daniel Grey lay still on the cracked and thinning pavement. "Grey to HQ. Samson has escaped, heading north. Requesting evac."
"How's the pain, Ajax-Five?"
"Not bad," he said. The UI guys had done a bang-up job this time; the pain was strong enough that he could easily recognize his damage levels, but without being obnoxious.
His damaged internal mechanisms were already repairing themselves, but it was slow and clumsy, an imperfect process. The technology of these self-healing prosthetics was still very young, and like every thing else on Daniel, highly experimental.
After a few minutes, he sat up and started to perform a diagnostic stretching routine they'd taught him in training. It helped calibrate his cybernetic parts, and gave HQ more data to use in directing repairs.
His artificial spinal column slipped into place another few seconds later, and the last of the pain receded. He placed his hands on the ground, lifted himself up and brought his legs under him. They moved a little uneasily at first, but firmed up quickly. Then he put his feet on the ground and stood, hardly worse for wear.
"Moving to higher ground for observation," he said.
He picked a tree and scaled it, gripping it as easily as a rope in gym class. About twenty meters above the ground, he found an unobstructed view of the valley and stopped to watch.
Samson was far in the distance, having just entered a clearing. Its ankle looked to be whole and complete again, and its movements were an exhibition of raw mechanical grace.
Something dropped out of the sky, came to a halt and gently set down on the grass. It was a bit larger than Carbon's Orca transport helicopter, but shaped like one Donovan's vehicles. Insect and mollusk, leathery flesh and shining, metallic shell. Fucking alien tech.
Daniel said, "Visual on unknown vehicle type."
"Copy, Ajax-Five. We have it on radar. Air support inbound."
He activated his target designator and an invisible laser marked out Samson for the approaching jets. It was a mistake.
In a single motion, Samson turned, aimed the rifle and fired.
Daniel's synaptic hardware crackled to life. Time slowed, and everything moved deliberately as if dunked in gelatin.
His eyes picked out the bullet in flight. Spinning. Arcing. The air behind it compressed, distorting light like a glass bowl. Even in slow motion, it raced toward him too quickly.
Daniel's muscles flared, flexed, and his torso twisted away. Arms pressed at the tree and he threw himself into the air.
The bullet struck his shoulder, ripping a ragged hole through flesh and bone. If he'd been any slower, that would've been his heart.
Synaptic accelerators powered down and time resumed its normal course. Daniel landed on one hand and both legs, the other arm left dangling uselessly. Then the pain rushed in, and the UI designers missed their mark; it was all consuming this time.
Daniel buckled over, cried out, and waited for help to arrive while listening to the alien ship slice through the air and back into space.
Chapter 05
The Stranger
Marcus and Legacy watched the gunship approach. It was one of the newest vehicles, built from the skeletons of her ancient past but hammered by human hands into new shapes. These new vessels were sometimes startling reinterpretations of old ideas, but they still felt like her own kin.
Marcus' people called this type the Humboldt, after a small and fast breed of squid. A sea creature. A cephalopod. The red devil. It was a light attack ship that could (by Marcus' estimation) massacre the entire Union armada without assistance. Legacy agreed.
Sending it was to be a show of force, letting the New Union know that Legacy wasn't just a power to be reckoned with, but a boot hanging above their heads. The core message was that mercy alone held that boot at bay.
But they screwed it up.
Marcus returned to his own senses and found himself on Legacy's bridge, a multi-level chamber of smooth white porcelain like an upturned crockpot. He hovered in air, half-way from floor to vaulted ceiling within a cylindrical field of faintly throbbing yellow light. That effect was caused by microscopic machines that conducted and amplified synaptic impulses, making Marcus more thoroughly connected to Legacy there than anywhere else.
The bridge's white walls slowly faded to glass mode to reveal the outside with near perfect accuracy, in addition to a completely fictional cage that provided a subtle sense of being safely enclosed. The bridge crew could now see the vast surface of Legacy stretching for kilometers out before them, an intricate landscape of rolling flesh and smooth armored carapace, as well as the infinite darkness of space beyond.
"Faulkland," Marcus said.
The admiral's image appeared on the room's inside wall, seeming to float out above the ship's dorsal hull. He wasn't wincing for once.
Marcus knew Faulkland well. When the admiral was absolutely silent and placid, it was usually a good indication he was suffering deep inner turmoil. He became a hardened shell while he tortured himself inside.
"I asked you for one thing, Admiral."
Faulkland nodded.
"We lost four good men today," Marcus growled. He was incensed. His eyes began to glow.
These weren't just soldiers he'd lost. They were his elites, true believers with pure hearts. They were his personal circle of knights, and now they were gone.
All but one.
Data continued to stream in from the Humboldt gunship, and thankfully nothing there was out of the ordinary. Subject Two hadn't gone berserk and slaughtered everyone aboard, and Marcus took that as good news.
He pursed his lips. "This was a pyrrhic victory, Alex." He tightened his eyes. "We'll discuss this more when you arrive."
Faulkland nodded again and his image disappeared.
To Legacy's port side, the small vessel approached fast. Marcus had planned for it to come in more deliberately and give him time to size up their guest, but reality never quite matched a good plan.
The entity's rescue of Kazuo Nagai seemed to be a promising sign, at least. On the other hand, that could be exactly the impression it wanted give off.
Marcus mentally sent a command to the Humboldt telling it to dock, then he withdrew himself from his synaptic bath. The nearly invisible machines retreated into organs in the ceiling and floor, and Marcus felt an immediate emptiness, a bitter quiet despite the fact that he still retained his link to Legacy.
He straightened his white coat, a design that mixed traditional labwear with modern military flair, then he used Legacy's gravity controls to fling himself up into the tunnel at the back of the bridge. The transit system took over from there and delivered him through the ship's dense network of tubes at several hundred kilometers per hour.
He emerged at the other end and came to a gentle stop above one of many identical landing bays. A medical team was already there on the floor below him, dressed in red jumpers and waiting for their patient to arrive.
A large portal dominated one wall with empty space beyond it. The ability to retain air pressure was another example of Legacy's mastery of gravity, this time displaying precision rather than brute force. A razor-thin film of dense air was held in place by turbulent gravitic pulses that caused the surface to shimmer like a desert mirage.
The gunship pierced the gaseous film and flew inside, prod
ucing a subtle and healthy warbling noise as it went. Marcus found the sounds of the new living ships comforting, almost like a housecat's purr.
The Humboldt set down on the metallic pad, and legs beneath it flexed under its weight. The squareish mechanical toes held firm.
Marcus came around the gunship and stopped a few meters above the floor in a position he used whenever he thought someone else ought to feel small.
The ramp came down silently.
The Humboldt's crew rushed out immediately with Kazuo on a stretcher. The red and black sight of him filled Marcus with nausea, with fury. Light again came to his eyes, another peculiar side-effect of the device buried deep in the side of his head. Another thing that set other people's teeth on edge.
Subject Two walked down the ramp. Its pace was disturblingly even, like an early computer animation. The movements were free from imperfection, and as such simply didn't look real.
The machine stepped down on to the landing pad, and it glanced in several directions so quickly that its head became a blur. Then the thing looked up at Marcus with hard and angry eyes, and in that instant Marcus knew something. Even through the mask, he could tell that this wasn't a soulless killing machine like every witness claimed. There was the wariness of old age in those eyes. There was a sadness that only comes from seeing one's ideals shattered.
"Identify yourself," Marcus said.
Subject Two dropped to one knee and placed its fists on the floor. "My name is Kai, and I am the emissary of the Somari that once were. I come to you in peace, Marcus Donovan, bearing information about the Nefrem."
Marcus now possessed another puzzle piece that refused to fit.
The Humboldt's crew, Kazuo and the medics attending him were all long gone, having disappeared into the tube system. Marcus and Kai were all alone, but Marcus didn't feel the slightest bit afraid, much to his surprise; he realized it was Legacy's confidence shining through him.
She wasn't threatened, but something about the visitor did disturb her.
"Legacy doesn't recognize you," Marcus said with a start. His eyes glossed over as memories streamed into him through the link. "Your gene pool is unknown, derived from no source extant in the Eireki record. She recognized samples taken from Oikeyan stock... knows their bloodlines... but not you."
Kai watched Marcus' movements closely. "You and this ship are one?"
"We are two," Marcus replied offhandedly. "Where do you come from? Where are the rest of your kind?"
"Gone. Burnt in their own fires rather than fall to the ancient enemy." There was a subtle new thread of paranoia about Kai as he reappraised his surroundings. "Why haven't you taken me to a more secure location?" he asked.
Marcus smiled with cold confidence. "Every location inside this vessel is secure."
Kai looked to the undulating barrier where captured air failed to spill forth into the void, an entirely casual use of immense power. Then he looked back to Marcus floating above him, and nodded with understanding.
Marcus lowered himself nearer the floor, closed the gap with Kai. "Now... tell me what the fuck you know about the Nefrem."
Kai was silent for an awkwardly long pause then said, "Demons." There was no irony in his voice. "The oldest myths of my kind warned of a beast that slept in a cage, a living planet whose entire purpose is to eat all life. Nefrem. Nemesis. The devourer."
Marcus squinted. "Nefrem and Nemesis... Those exact words?"
Kai repeated, "Nefrem and Nemesis." He had a different accent, something Marcus couldn't compare to any human language, but they were the same words.
Marcus overflowed with doubt. Some of what the alien said was common knowledge on the surface, but other parts were not. "A word doesn't survive unchanged for a millennium, let alone for sixty-million years," he said.
"Normally, I'd agree," Kai said, "but this is the tale of our creation. These were the fears that gave my people purpose, drove us to stop hiding in the trees and become the greatest fighters we could. We didn't strive far enough, though, and when our destiny came... we were not ready."
That had a certain resonance for Marcus. Legacy remained silent, but a feeling at the back of his skull warned him that this all smelled like a con. It was too convenient.
During the early days of the war, Marcus had lost dozens of men on the surface. Some simply went missing. Were they interrogated, tortured? Could information about the living planet have made its way to this dangerous and manipulative being?
It didn't seem so far fetched; not with what he already knew of Kai's capabilities.
Marcus looked him in the eye and said, "I have no reason to trust you."
"But as you also pointed out, you have no reason to fear me. If you decide to hear me out, I will offer you whatever I know, Donovan... On the other hand, if you plan to dispatch me, get it over with."
Marcus could do it. He could tear Kai to shreds. In the blink of an eye, there would be only a swirling cloud of red mist, torn apart by fundamental forces that the alien couldn't fight. All it would take was a thought.
That fact alone convinced him to let Kai stay.
Chapter 06
Huntsman
Twin helicopter rotors thumped and the cargo bay was a racket of shaking equipment, beeping sensors, and a commanding voice. "Can you hear me, Lieutenant?"
Daniel Grey snapped out of the fog. "Yeah," he said. "I'm here. I'm here."
He tried to focus his vision but something was wrong. A wire was frayed. Numerous lenses in his eye jumped, tightened, jumped again and gave up. Everything was a soft blur.
Bright light.
"Follow the light, Lieutenant."
"Something wrong, doc. Eyes are out of whack."
"Hmm."
Daniel didn't care for "hmm."
The situation could've been worse, though. Someone must have slapped a nerve inhibitor on him, because he wasn't feeling a thing.
He knew the shoulder was totaled. That meant more repairs, more replacement parts... more time out of the field. But the rest should still be in working order, he hoped.
He felt a cold disk press against his temple. It was an adjustment tool, a small array of electromagnets that manipulated machinery under the surface.
His eyelids fluttered, then focus came back to him. The first thing he saw clearly was the doctor's Tannhäuser Cross, similar to an old Christian cross but shattered through the middle.
"Yeah," Daniel said. "That got it."
He could hear attendants chattering and their portable MRI machine going behind him, making a loud and wavering hum. When he focused, he thought he could feel its magnet nudging components around in his head.
The doctor eyed Daniel's shoulder wound and said, "You're relatively unharmed. Should I ask how the other guy looks?"
Daniel gritted his teeth. "How long will it take to fix?" he asked.
The doctor squinted as he did the math. "Two days, maybe more depending on parts. Assuming you check out alright, of course."
Daniel sighed. "Take the arm off, and wake me when we get to base."
He heard a saw spin up behind him. He closed his eyes, thought a command, and his synaptic hardware put him to sleep.
When Daniel next opened his eyes, the view through the window was a colorless sky. Snow-capped trees came into view as the Orca helicopter descended and finally set down with a metallic groan.
Daniel was groggy. "How long was I out?"
"Five hours," the doctor said. "Welcome back to Cheyenne Mountain."
Daniel ran a quick diagnostic and found himself in working order, minus the left arm and a large portion of the shoulder. It left him feeling awkward and off balance, but he'd narrowly avoided a shell through the heart, so he considered the arm a small price. Besides, it'd be back soon enough.
Daniel placed his remaining hand on the table, wheeled around and hopped to his feet while the helicopter's wide ramp lowered and touched the ground. He removed the dozen small adhesive monitors with a flick and proc
eeded out into the flat and deadening daylight.
The camp at Cheyenne Mountain had grown in the past few months while Daniel was stationed at Crater Lake. Temporary structures had sprouted up everywhere, cobbled together from old Carbon Corp units designed for a battlefield that hadn't existed on Earth for decades. The cry of Blade Aerospace's Valkyries and the buzz of their Locusts filled the air, while foothills for klicks around rumbled with the sound of heavy armor. Their landfleet consisted mainly of antique battletanks and mobile artillery, refurbished and pushed back in the field. No warranty coverage, of course.
There were rumors of experimental craft, too; tech that the two great military industrial behemoths had been developing in secret before the Fall, in violation of numerous long standing treaties.
Daniel was the result of just such an outlaw project, and without it, he'd still be paralyzed and legless in a hospital bed, watching the paint peal and sucking dinner through a tube. Instead, he was a living rumor in a world so shell-shocked that no one batted an eye when he walked past them missing an arm.
As his boots touched gravel, his commanding officer approached with a ruggedized tablet tucked under her arm. Daniel stood at attention and snapped a crisp salute, which Colonel Krajicek returned.
Daniel said, "Reporting as ordered, sir."
"Most of you," Krajicek said with a grimace. "If my inventory record is correct, you were sent into the field with a standard compliment of two arms, Grey. Are my records in error?"
"No, sir."
She nodded grimly. "In the future, you will return with all of your equipment intact. Otherwise, I might just start to think your brain is the least valuable part of this project. Do I make myself clear, soldier?"
"Yes, sir."
She eyed his wound with hard eyes, raised her tablet and made a note. "Alright, meat. Report to the bunker for debriefing."
That exchange ended much more quickly, and less painfully, than Daniel had anticipated.
He turned and started marching. A short road awaited him, and at the end was a tunnel sticking out from the mountain like a giant drain pipe.
Long Fall Page 4
