by G J Ogden
“Crap, have they seen us?” said Hallam, frantically looking for a place where he could hide the ATV that was safe from the scrutiny of the penetrating beam of light.
“Don’t panic; they might just think we’re one of those swamp monster things,” said Dakota, somehow managing to maintain her optimism and her cool. “Over there, pull us into that deeper gully,” she added, almost stabbing her finger through the windshield. “They won’t be able to see us there. Then, with any luck, they’ll just call off their search as a false alarm.”
The searchlight began to scan back and forth across the landscape, sweeping in a narrow arc that was moving ever closer toward their location. Hallam pressed the accelerator, and the ATV bumped and buffeted over the uneven ground before surging into the gully that Dakota had indicated. Hallam engaged the parking brake and switched off the motor, but the ATV continued to slide into the gully, until it finally came to rest in a small lake of disgusting water at the base. Dakota then pulled on the pack containing the cutting gear and leapt out of the ATV and onto the muddy bank, drawing her sidearm as she did so.
“We’re blind down here, so let’s get a better view,” said Dakota, starting to climb up the sides of the gully.
Hallam’s boots hit the mud a few seconds later, and he followed Dakota, weapon in hand. The searchlight washed directly over their location, and Hallam ducked instinctively, despite still being hidden from its beam. The light then continued to sweep from side-to-side, until it stopped and seemed to concentrate on an area thirty meters from where they’d ditched.
“See, they must have seen something else,” said Dakota, leopard-crawling to Hallam’s side and lying next to him in the mud.
“That’s hardly a good thing, Dak,” replied Hallam, shaking his head at her. “If it’s not us, then I dread to think what else it might be.”
Both of them watched the complex for any more signs of activity. Then a rectangular strip of light shone out of the gloom as an external shutter rolled up on one of the outpost blocks. The shutter thudded to a stop, and a ramp whirred out, sliding deep into the mud. A few seconds later, three figures appeared, silhouetted by the intense artificial light behind them.
“Well, that answers the question about this place being abandoned or not,” said Dakota as the three figures started to head down the ramp. The shutter whirred shut behind them but didn’t close fully, leaving a thin strip of light bleeding out into the darkness.
“Nice of them to leave the door open for us,” said Dakota.
Hallam nodded. “If we can, we should try to sneak around those enforcers and squeeze in under the shutter,” said Hallam. “It would save us having to break in, which might end up triggering an alarm.”
“Good idea, but what if that patrol stumbles on the ATV?” Dakota replied. “If they spot it, then we’re royally screwed.”
“We could just make growling noises and try to scare them off,” quipped Hallam, though he was only half-joking.
The searchlight swung a few degrees further away from their location, and the three figures adjusted course to follow it. Away from the bright light of the complex, Hallam could now see them more clearly. All three were wearing the familiar combat armor common to CSF Enforcers – Doyle’s private army that were more commonly referred to as his “heavies.” However, each of the three enforcers appeared to have white shoulder pauldrons, which was something Hallam hadn’t seen before.
“These guys must be a unique branch of the enforcer division,” said Hallam. “Given the importance of this complex, it would be reasonable to assume they’re a rung above the average enforcer.”
Dakota peeked out and scowled at the three heavies, then ducked down again. “I’ve heard of an advanced squad called Crimson Lynx, though these guys are new to me. But you’re right, we should be prepared for them to be tougher to take down.”
The crackle of the enforcers’ radio system was now just about audible over the driving rain and rumbles of thunder. “Fan out; we could be dealing with two or three of those things,” a gruff male voice barked out to the others as the three heavies marched out into the darkness, rifles raised.
“I think that’s our cue to stop lying around in the mud, waiting to be eaten,” said Hallam, watching the heavies head deeper into the terrain. He tapped Dakota on the shoulder and pointed to another gully system, cutting through the no-man’s land toward the complex. “I think we can use that gully to reach the open door, while those grunts are out here searching for monsters.”
“Or flesh-eating spiders…” added Dakota with a grin.
“Did I ever tell you how hilariously funny you are, Dak?” said Hallam, laying the sarcasm on thickly. “Come on, I’ve had more than enough of this nightmare world already.”
Hallam took the lead, running through the water-soaked trench while regularly sneaking a look toward the three CSF heavies. The sudden crack of rifle fire caused them both to stop and press their bodies into the muddy bank. Hallam clawed himself to the summit and looked out as another ripple of gunfire reached them, barely audible over the hammering rain.
“Whatever they’re shooting at, at least it’s not us,” said Hallam, sliding back down the bank. “With any luck, those creatures will take one or two of them down. Either way, we need to hurry.”
Hallam and Dakota raced to the end of the long gulley, boots and every other part of their bodies now sodden from the rain. Gunfire continued to merge with the rumbling thunder and the barked orders from the gruff lead enforcer. Hallam darted out of the gulley and behind a cluster of razer-sharp rocks, then peered through the partially open shutter. He couldn’t see anyone inside, though the light was so intense, it was blinding compared to the gloom outside.
“Rhys, do you see them yet?” said a voice from beyond the shutter. Hallam’s eyes were adjusting, and he could make out one man inside, talking into a communicator.
“Negative. Ramon was just shooting at shadows again,” a gruff voice replied, sounding crackly and weak through the speaker. “I thought we moved these cannons so that the damn creatures couldn’t hide from them,” the heavy who’d been addressed as Rhys continued to grumble over the comm channel. “I’m sick of trudging out here in the mud and cold to kill these things.”
“Stop whining, will ya?” said the enforcer inside the outpost block. “I’d rather be here than polishing my boots and parading around as part of Doyle’s personal guard.” The heavy’s comment seemed to have resonated with his squad mates, as there was a ripple of laugher over the speaker. “Just find those creatures and kill them so you can get back,” the enforcer inside the outpost block went on. “The last thing we need is another one breaking into the store block and stealing our food. We don’t get resupplied for another month.”
Hallam turned back to Dakota and whispered, “There’s only one enforcer inside. I’m going to sneak under and take him down.”
“Can you even fit under there?” said Dakota doubtfully. “Maybe I should do it.”
Hallam scowled back at her. “I can fit,” he replied, taking the comment personally. “Just be ready to back me up.” Dakota raised an eyebrow but didn’t argue. “Okay, I’m going on three,” said Hallam, counting down in his head. He then moved out and crept up the ramp before pressing himself underneath the partially open shutter. About halfway through, his jacket snagged on the metal, and he was unable to move.
“There’s gotta be an easier way than this to stop these things from ripping into the food store,” the CSF enforcer inside grumbled, still unaware of Hallam flapping around like a fish on land.
“Dak, I’m stuck…” Hallam called back in a hushed voice, but there was no answer. And with his eyes adjusted to the light inside the complex, all he could see through the opening was a jet-black nothing.
“Who the hell are you?” the enforcer yelled.
Hallam peered up to see the barrel of a pistol pointing at his head. He froze, but then turned away, trying to shield his face. Remembering the name of
the patrol heavies outside, he had a brainwave. “It’s me, Rhys!” barked Hallam, making his voice sound as gruff as possible. “Pull me out, I’m stuck!”
Out of the corner of his eye, Hallam saw the CSF enforcer frown, but then the man holstered his pistol and reached down, grabbing Hallam’s arm.
“Why the hell didn’t you radio for me to open the shutter, you moron,” the heavy said, struggling to gain purchase on Hallam’s wet and muddy clothes before finally managing to lug him inside. Hallam rolled out onto the floor, caked in mud and soaked through. Suddenly, the enforcer’s face fell as the heavy realized he’d been tricked.
“You’re not Rhys!” he snapped, drawing his weapon again and aiming it at Hallam’s chest. “You’re not even part of the CSF! What the hell?”
Hallam’s eyes flicked beyond the enforcer, spotting Dakota behind him. Evidently, she’d had no trouble slipping underneath the shutter. “No, and neither is she…” said Hallam, pointing behind the shocked enforcer.
The man turned and was immediately met with Dakota’s flying fist as she soared through the air and hammered the enforcer on the nose with a superman punch. The heavy fell like a wet plank and was knocked out cold.
Hallam pushed himself up and slapped off some of the mud that had congealed to his renegade armor. Then he noticed Dakota’s raised eyebrow and smart-ass expression.
“I told you so…” said Dakota, cracking a smile.
“Touché…” said Hallam, feeling more than a little stupid.
Dakota then dropped to her knee and began rifling through the pockets of the knocked-out CSF enforcer.
“Check on the others outside,” said Dakota as she stripped a keyfob from the man, along with his sidearm.
Hallam looked underneath the crack in the shutter door and peered out toward where the searchlight continued to shine into the darkness. The crack of rifle fire was still audible in the distance, but then his heart leapt as a rain-soaked heavy in full armor trudged into view.
“Hey! Who the hell are you!” yelled the enforcer, raising his rifle and aiming it through the crack in the shutter door.
7
Hallam threw himself away from the shutter door as the CSF heavy opened fire. Bullets thudded into the metal shutter and flew through the narrow opening, peppering the wall just above his head.
“We’re blown; we have to move out!” Hallam called over to Dakota. He then drew his pistol and fired back at the enforcer, driving the man into cover behind a cluster of rocks.
Dakota rushed to the door as another volley of rifle fire from the enforcer skipped off the deck. She slammed her palm against the door mechanism. The shutter rolled down and thudded into the deck.
“Dak, what are you doing? We have to get out, not trap ourselves in here!” cried Hallam, climbing to his feet. The wall behind him was pockmarked with bullet holes and he felt a cold shiver rush through him, realizing how close he’d come to being shot.
“We’re going to have to fight our way out, Hal,” said Dakota, inserting keycard after keycard into the lock mechanism until one finally worked, turning the door panel red. “Dr. Rand said there should only be a skeleton crew in this complex. With three enforcers already outside, and one out cold on the deck in here, we’ve got more chance of surviving inside the complex than we do out in the swamp.”
“Who the hell shut the door?”
Hallam spun around to see a CSF enforcer in standard working dress standing in the door that led into the rest of the complex. His wide eyes saw the drenched figures of Hallam and Dakota, followed by the enforcer on the deck, then he turned and ran.
“Crap!” said Hallam, setting off in pursuit, but the man was already at the far end of the corridor before he was even halfway along it. Hallam saw the man slap a panel on the wall, then swing a left into what Hallam believed was the command center, assuming the map Dr. Rand had given them was accurate. Alarms sounded inside the complex, droning in time with rows of flashing red lights that lined the corridor walls.
“What we need is in Sector A3, straight up from here,” cried Dakota, running up behind him. She and Hallam moved out of the corridor and into Sector D, which looked to be a storage area. It was stacked high with crates, most of which had the words “Bridge World 13: Top Secret” stamped on the side, along with a complex string of characters and letters. Gunfire snapped Hallam’s attention back to the adjoining corridors, and he and Dakota returned fire as two uniformed CSF enforcers advanced toward them.
“Hold them off while I try to find this alien component,” said Hallam, running in the direction of what he hoped was Sector A3.
Dakota dodged out of the line of fire and peered back into Hallam’s frantic eyes. “Wait, you’ll need me in there to protect you while you get the component,” said Dakota, flinching as bullets thudded into the metal crates inches from her head.
“You can’t; the radiation will kill you,” Hallam hit back, recollecting what Dr. Rand had told them about the hazardous nature of the artefact. “I’m radioresistant, remember? Only I can go in there.”
Dakota cursed and fired two blind shots along the corridor, then quickly reloaded. “Fine, but call me as soon as you have it secured in the shielded case. I don’t want you in there any longer than necessary.”
“I’ll be fine,” said Hallam, though in truth, he was less than convinced by Dr. Rand’s assertion he was protected from the effects of Randenite radiation. Then he had an idea. “Give me the cutting gear,” he said to Dakota. “I can use it to create an escape route while I’m searching for the probe component.”
Dakota nodded and removed her backpack, sliding it along the deck toward Hallam. More bullets thudded into crates behind Dakota, followed by urgent shouts and barked orders.
“Help me move one of these larger boxes up by the entrance to the corridor,” Dakota cried, getting behind one of the metal crates.
Hallam ran to help, and together they managed to heave the heavy container into a position where Dakota could use it for cover. The lid of the crate popped off as they gave it a final shove, and Hallam peered inside, curiosity getting the better of him. He then let out a long, low whistle, causing Dakota to take a break from shooting down the corridor to look inside too. The crate was filled with what looked like a dismantled warbot. However, the metal it was constructed from and the fluidity of the shapes used in the overall design didn’t correspond to anything Hallam had seen before. The craftsmanship was far superior to the cruder, clunkier warbots he’d seen, and the sheen of the armor was unlike any earthy metal. He’d only seen something remotely similar to it once before, in the armor worn by Cad Rikkard’s Blackfire Squadron. More gunfire thudded into the box, forcing them both to duck down into cover.
“You should hurry…” said Dakota as Hallam rolled out from behind the crate.
“Thanks, Captain Obvious,” Hallam called back, grabbing the bag of cutting gear and running for the door to Sector A3. “Just be ready to run like hell when I give you the signal,” he shouted back.
Hallam punched the door release button and raced into the corridor, but was immediately confronted with a CSF enforcer charging in the opposite direction. They both skidded to a stop and froze, eyes locked on to one another. Then the enforcer raised his weapon. Hallam reacted on pure instinct, aiming and firing in the blink of an eye. Two cracks rang out in the corridor, the noise painfully loud in the close confines the narrow space. Hallam flinched and pressed a hand to his chest, expecting to be hit, but when he looked down, there was no blood. The enforcer fell backward, slamming into the deck with a resounding thud. Hallam moved closer, covering the enforcer with his pistol and saw blood oozing from a wound to his chest. He looked into the man’s eyes, which stared back at him, glassy and still. Hallam sucked in a deep breath. If Bob the bear had been nearby, he would have probably kissed the lucky mascot’s woolen head. Instead, he knelt down beside the enforcer and pressed the man’s eyelids shut, then continued on to the far end of the corridor.
&nb
sp; The door had been left open by the CSF enforcer he’d just killed, and Hallam quickly checked inside, finding that the coast was clear. Spotting the casket that Commander Castell had shown them all during the briefing, Hallam ran to it and dropped both backpacks onto the deck. Opening the cutting pack first, he removed the tool, clamped it to the deck a couple of meters to his side, and activated the machine. The cutting tool burst into life, spreading two laser-tipped metal arms out from its center. The arms began to spin, forming a meter-wide circle, while the powerful laser beams melted through the metal.
Tearing open the second backpack, Hallam removed the shielded storage box, placed it on the deck, and opened it. Shouts and rifle fire echoed along the corridor from where Dakota was holding off the remaining CSF heavies, each crack filling Hallam with dread. Dakota was a good shot, and she was far cooler-headed than Hallam was in these tense situations, but he knew she wouldn’t be able to hold them off for long.
Lifting the lid on the casket, Hallam was temporarily blinded as powerful strip lights switched on inside it. The probe was neatly nestled in the center, pressed into a foam surround and appearing exactly as Dr. Rand had shown in her briefing. The alien device was almost squid-like in appearance, and it gave off the same unearthly sheen as the dismantled alien warbot. Hallam tapped his fingers on the side of the container, racking his brains to remember where the component Dr. Rand needed was. All the while, he was conscious of the genius scientist’s ten-second rule. Any longer than this amount of time, and even Hallam risked a more dangerous level of Randenite radiation exposure. He fumbled around on the surface of the probe, hoping something would jog his memory, and finally found the compartment he was looking for, more by accident than design. Ripping the panel open, Hallam saw the battery-like component Dr. Rand needed and wrapped his fingers around it, but the device wouldn’t budge.
