Morgan backed up two steps and drove her elbow into the glass door of the shower, and then snatched up a deadly shard of glass that was nearly eight inches long. The glass sliced through her hand as she gripped it tight, and blood began to run down her arm to spot the floor as she stood defiantly before the three Izrid invaders.
"Listen up you alien piece of shit," she growled as she held up the makeshift blade and planted her feet in a combat stance, "We will never stop. We will never submit. Fuck us or fight us, there will always be someone ready to put their body on the block to make sure you bleed for every day you stay here."
At a gesture from Cava-Rek, no doubt another of the silent communications that passed between the Izrid magisters and their warriors, one of the warriors stepped forward to engage her. The warrior was covered in the Izrid battle armor of the elites, and though it did not draw forth its battle-axes the warrior was perfectly capable of breaking bones with its bare hands. Morgan managed to dodge the first swing of its armored fist and drove her blade under the warrior's chest plate, and the glass tip punctured its lung. The resistance fighter slid the blade out and attempted to move around the warrior to attack its back when one of its arms caught her with a powerful backhand. The blade was knocked from her grasp and before she could recover her balance the warrior lashed out with another fist and connected with the point where her jaw and neck met, instantly knocking her to the ground in a daze. She was only out long enough to fall to the ground, and as she came too she scrambled to get back to her feet even as she lunged for the fallen glass shard. The warrior swept its leg around and caught Morgan in the ribs, cracking at least two as the blow sent her across the floor to land at Cava-Rek's feet.
This warrior's multi-chambered heart was thundering in its chest as his simple mind reeled with the increasing complexity of the situation. His biological senses were far more advanced than the technological capabilities of the magister's device. This warrior could feel the micro-mutations in the physiology of the human female, too subtle for the measurement limitations of machines. This human female was pure human no longer, and part of her newly blossoming Izrid nature spoke to him, called out to him for help. This warrior did not understand why his companion warrior either could not sense the changes in her or was forcing himself to ignore them.
This warrior's biological programming waged war with itself, the struggle beginning inside his brain and spreading through his primitive consciousness even as it coursed through his body. Combat glands began to secrete chemicals that hardened his skin, sent additional blood to his muscles, and super-charged his nervous system for maximum reaction time and physical speed. This warrior was born as a near perfect killing machine, emerging from the hatchery as a young adult and reaching full maturity after only a few cycles, during which time he had undergone additional training to supplement his innate abilities. His sole duty in life was to protect the brood, and here it was lying in front of him, a tiny spark of hybrid life pulsing deep inside the human's body.
Neither the magister nor the other warrior seemed to notice the changes in this warrior, so focused were they on the abuse of the human female who looked so much like Tara. The human was not Tara, and this warrior knew that, and yet they looked so similar. So similar in fact that there had been moments during their earlier coupling that this warrior had forgotten that this woman was not Tara. Each human was their own person, so different from one another despite any superficial similarities, which was so unlike the Izrid race. This warrior, like all others, had been born with a gland that allowed the magister caste of his brood to influence his thoughts and actions. As such, this warrior had little in the way of personality, and what individual identity it possessed had been deemed unique by Cava-Rek, hence this warrior's attendance to the magister as bodyguard and occasional test subject. There was a trust between warriors and magisters, one borne of evolutionary genetics and of mutual survival. Yet here stood a magister who had assumed control of this warrior's brood when his original master was killed, and while the bond between this warrior and Magister Cava-Rek was strong, it was not bred into him the way it had been for Magister Honsa-Lek.
The armored warrior pulled the dazed Morgan up to a kneeling position, and with its multiple arms held her arms behind her back and pulled her hair to force her face upwards to meet the magister's gaze.
"It is likely that your assault may result in the deaths of many warriors. From the disarray present in the response by Warhive Kaldar and its warriors I must assume that Magister Tolin-Bek is dead. Which is an especially pressing difficulty, as that means there are other agents such as yourself within the ranks of the captive slaves," said Cava-Rek as he drew forth a wicked blade from his belt and held it up to Morgan's face, "There is nothing more precious to me than a worthy adversary Morgan, and your MacArthur is formidable indeed, as are you."
The magister moved suddenly, probing his fingers into Morgan's mouth as the armored warrior used on of his hands to brutally prevent her from biting down. Cava-Rek grasped her tongue and pulled it as far out of her mouth until he exposed the small bump where the transmitter was embedded.
"I will hang this from my neck as a trophy," the magister hissed as he drew the blade across Morgan's tongue, severing it just behind the transmitter, "To remind myself of the suicidal courage that your kind continues to display."
Morgan immediately began choking on her own blood as it spurted from the stump of her severed tongue, and as the armored warrior let her go she fell to the floor gasping and spitting up.
"As I've told you woman," Cava-Rek hissed as he stepped back from Morgan, haughtily looking down at her as she struggled not to drown in her own blood, "We Izrid are not without poetry."
Something snapped inside him as this warrior watched the magister wound his brood, and this warrior stepped forward and grasped Cava-Rek with all four of his mighty arms. Before Cava-Rek could utter a word this warrior wretched him off of his feet and twisted his own torso as he spun on his heels to hurl the magister across the living room. The magister's body slammed into the glass wall with such force that he passed through it and into empty air in a cloud of glittering shards. The armored warrior leapt to his feet as he reached for his battle-axes while this warrior charged him. This warrior drove his shoulder into the jaw of the armored warrior as the two mighty beings connected with bone shattering force. This warrior was unarmored, still wearing only the kilt that was uniform for warriors out of combat rotation, and knew he must end this quickly before the superior equipment of his brother took away his advantage. The warriors had landed back in the bedroom, and this warrior was able to roll out of the way of an on-coming axe as the stuffing of the mattress exploded outwards from the cleaving strike. This warrior sprung forward to wrestle with the armored warrior over the haft of the axe and wretched it from the warrior's grip before the other could stop him.
As the two Izrid fought with axes Morgan crawled into the living room, using every last ounce of her strength to carry herself onwards. From within the building she could hear the sounds of explosions and small arms fire continue even as the two warriors in the bedroom fought. Not only was she confused as to why the warrior had assaulted his master and now fought his brother, the way the warriors fought without any battle-cries or shouting was disturbing, as the only sounds from the bedroom were of battle, as if they were too focused on violence to vocalize anything. Morgan reached the food platter and managed to get her hand up to knock the platter down to the floor with her. She was losing so much blood, and knew that she only had moments before her manual dexterity would be gone and she would bleed out. The young fighter gripped the handle of the heat knife and thumbed the switch, which turned the polished chrome of the blade into a red-hot edge. Without pause Morgan pushed the blade into her mouth and winced in near blinding pain as the heated blade cauterized the stump of her tongue. She struggled not to pass out from the pain or to vomit from the stench of her own burning flesh, and after a few moments pulled the knife o
ut. She kept it in front of her and pushed her back against the wall, waiting for the victor to emerge from the bedroom.
This warrior grunted as the armored warrior stomp kicked him in the chest, sending his colossal form smashing through the bedroom doorframe in a shower of splinters and plaster. This warrior scrambled to rise into a kneeling defensive position and was able to get his axe up for a hasty block just as the armored warrior charged at him while leveling a mighty blow. This warrior managed to get the haft of his axe underneath the head of the oncoming axe and then he let go of his grip on the head of his own as he swept outwards with his handle. The armored warrior's axe was ripped from his hands as this warrior sprung up from his crouch and slammed two of his fists into the side of the armored warrior's helmeted head. The armor protected the warrior from any lasting effects though the force of the double blows knocked him back a step and put him off balance, which gave this warrior an opportunity to pound his axe into the armored warrior's chest.
The first strike horribly mangled the armor, which was already dented from several blows at the onset of their duel, and the second blow finally bit into the tightly chorded muscle of the warrior's chest. The wounded warrior lashed out with his second axe as he fell to his knees, only to have his wrist grabbed by this warrior, who then severed the hand at the wrist with a swift stroke of his axe. The bleeding warrior tried feebly to swing his armored fist at this warrior's knee, only to have his fist met with the edge of this warrior's axe and then a powerful kick to the chest. This warrior lost no time and pressed his advantage by slamming his axe into the armored warrior's face, burying the head of the axe so deep that it was pulled from his hand as the corpse fell to the floor.
This warrior stood and backed away from his kill, allowing himself a moment to tone down his combat responses so that he could re-purpose what little brainpower was available to him towards engaging the hybrid female. As he approached he could see that she had already performed an emergency procedure on her bleeding tongue stump, and currently held a heat knife in front of her in a feeble defensive posture. He held his hands out and palms up, as a sign of submission, his primitive mind assuming that all creatures understood such simple gestures. When he reached her he crouched down, unafraid of the heat knife that wavered directly in front of him, and after a moment she lowered it as they looked at each other. This warrior could see the hybrid female's gaze passing over his body, taking note of the fresh bruises and weeping cuts from his battle with his fellow warrior, and slowly it seemed that the began to realize he was an ally, not an enemy. She was clearly confused, and though the Izrid warrior had little in the understanding of human facial expressions, his animalistic senses could detect her cautious acceptance. Slowly this warrior reached out, careful to move in as non-threatening a way as he possibly could, placed one hand upon her abdomen.
Morgan's body seemed to ignite at the warrior's touch, and as her skin connected with his suddenly he seemed so much less repulsive than he had before. Something stirred deep within her as his hand rested on her abdomen, and she knew she was pregnant with this warrior's seed. Tears welled up in Morgan's eyes and she thought she was going to lose the last shred of what little sanity she had been able to maintain. For the briefest of moments she nearly raised the heat knife and attempted to cut the warrior's throat, and perhaps he sensed that, because before she could he swiftly reached a hand out to grasp her collar. With a strong tug and click he was able to unfasten the collar and remove it. The young fighter was furious at her predicament, and yet the alien's gentle familiarity, his seeming willingness to fight his own kind to protect her, was oddly moving. This must be the residuals of the arousal compounds, Morgan thought to herself as she marveled at how powerfully connected she felt to this alien creature. These aliens had been making scientific playthings out of the human captives, and even Cava-Rek himself admitted that the Izrid had no clue as to what the fallout might be of such profound manipulation of physiology and the mixing of human and Izrid body chemistry.
Morgan was ripped from her internal dialogue, as there was a shout from the doorway and the unmistakable racking of a gun slide to chamber a fresh round. The warrior moved to shield her body, but not before she could see Lysa and Cruz standing in the doorway, both holding weapons and pointing them at the warrior.
Morgan yelled and put herself between the warrior and the humans just before the two resistance fighters began firing, even as she placed a firm hand on the warrior's own rising fist. She sputtered as she tried to form words, and the eyes of the two resistance fighters widened as they saw what had been done to her tongue. Morgan stood resolute in front of the warrior, her palms turned outwards in an attempt to calm the situation.
"God Morgan, they found your transmitter didn't they?" whispered Lysa in shock as she lowered her weapon while Morgan nodded her head.
The two resistance fighters cautiously moved into the room as they swept it for additional threats. Lysa looked out the shattered window into the courtyard below, gazing down on the brutal firefight being waged between the assault team and the Izrid defenders. Cruz peeked into the bedroom and then kicked the still twitching leg of the slain warrior.
"I thought I'd seen everything these bastards had to throw at us," said Cruz as she cradled her MP5 in the crook of an arm and knelt down to look more closely at the axe buried in the warrior's face, "I never thought they'd want to fuck us."
Morgan walked slowly with the help of the warrior as Lysa turned to join them in the center of the room, and then gestured at the warrior, "So did this guy kill axe face and throw someone else out the window?"
Morgan nodded and put her hand reassuringly on the warrior's shoulder as she leaned more of her weight on him. She tried to ask what was happening outside, and still her speech came out garbled and caused her pain as the cauterized flesh cracked with the effort.
"MacArthur is finally attacking, and its about goddamn time, alot can happen to a girl in twenty four hours," said Cruz as she turned back to Morgan, "I was handcuffed to a bed getting, well, you know, and Lysa blasted the door open. She wasted the magister and his bodyguard, and then we found a few human weapons after joining up with some of the other prisoners. They're down in the lobby fortifying our position in case of a counter-attack, but the building is ours."
"Not many of us left, maybe a dozen, most were killed outright when the attack started. One of the warriors was on top of me, I guess its master told it to kill me before joining in the battle, it almost seemed like the warrior was having second thoughts," said Lysa as she revealed the alien firearm in her hands, "Then I reached for this gun without thinking and blew the thing's head off."
Morgan could see that the woman was holding an Izrid firearm, which looked bulky and unwieldy in her human arms, though it was the glowing activator that drew Morgan's attention. Lysa could see Morgan staring at it, and a grim smile spread across her face.
"Yeah, I know. These guns power down when an Izrid isn't holding them, and yeah I know that humans have tried and failed to find a way to turn them on. I have no fucking clue why I can turn it on and why Cruz can't," Lysa cursed as she hefted the intimidating weapon, "But as long as I can gun down a few more of these alien scum then I don't care about the why or the how."
"Hey Morgan, you sure you trust this guy?" said Cruz, casually pointing her MP5 at the Izrid warrior, who while holding Morgan steady in two hands still had an axe gripped in one, "It would be easier to drop him and forget about it. Humans can't even talk to these things."
Morgan gritted her teeth as the pain in her cracked ribs made her wince, and she shook her head. The young resistance fighter was afraid of how the other two fighters would react, but she decided to take a chance. Morgan put one hand on the chest of the warrior and another splayed out on her abdomen, then she ran her hand down the alien's chest to grab his free hand and lay it over the top of hers. At first neither of the other women reacted, then as if the lights had been switched on they both gasped as their eyes we
nt wide.
Cruz instinctively took a step back in shock while raising her gun even as Lysa stepped forward and lowered hers. Cruz backed off further as Lysa reached out a hand and touched the Izrid warrior on the arm, and her eyes fluttered for a moment as she sucked in her breath.
"Look I don't know how I know, not for sure, but yes, I get it. The magister who took me bragged about how they had been messing around with human and Izrid genomes, pumping god knows what into our systems through those damn collars," she said as she ran her hand down the warrior's muscled arm to join with their clasped hands over Morgan's abdomen, "The Izrid all used to look the same to me, but I can see the tiny differences between them now, the warriors I mean. They are individuals, even if they don't seem like it, maybe they don’t even realize it."
Lysa stepped back and hefted the gun into a ready position, then turned to start marching through the doorway as she said, "MacArthur will know what to do, let's just survive this."
"You saw what's going on out there. We'll be lucky to hold this place long enough for them to extract us, and you really think MacArthur is going to trust these two?" snorted Cruz as she stared down Lysa for a brief moment before seeming to think better of a stand off, and lowered her eyes to fall in line behind her, "Fuck it, above my pay-grade anyway. Let's just get on with it, I'm ready for some justice. They weren't gentlemen at all."
Alien Resistance: Omnibus Edition Page 8
