Peshal placed her hands over her ears and closed her eyes.
Lamis smiled pleasantly. “Organised religion is what you get when egos masturbate in unison.”
She slammed the door.
Peshal opened one eye. “Is it over?”
Lamis smiled demurely at her, and Peshal uncovered her ears.
“Which one was it?”
“Masturbation.”
“Oh my worlds.” Peshal began to giggle. “You didn’t? Oh, love! We’ll be hearing more about this.”
Lamis looked across to Rendir. “And you, you little bugger. You didn’t hear a word of that, did you?”
“No Ma’am.”
“Good.”
Peshal was managing to get herself back under control. “Little Man, you need to stop watching those news feeds. The war is not for young eyes.”
“But mum…”
“No buts, child. What in the many worlds will happen next? What if your friend had fallen over the barrier?”
He looked at his shoes.
“He’d be dead, Little Man. Dead. Do you know what a fall of a kilometre and a half does? It’s not like in the holofilms, child. Even over water, you go splat.”
He looked up at her.
“SPLAT!”
Rendir jerked upright in his seat when she shouted, startled by the outburst.
“I think he gets it,” Lamis chuckled.
“I’ve got a meal to prepare,” said Peshal. “You want to finish the lecture?”
“You know me,” Lamis said. “Always up for delivering a good lecture.”
Rendir screwed his face up, and kicked the chair with his heels. When he opened his eyes fully, Lamis was watching him with an amused smile on her face.
“So go on then,” she said. “What’s the real story?”
Rendir told her everything. How they had been playing Frontline; how mean Josué had been to his younger, less intelligent brother; how Josué had threatened Hitami and tried to hit her; how Rendir had bent in the wind like Lamis’s reed, and in doing so had knocked Elías off-balance.
He finished, and waited for Lamis to tell him off for all the various mistakes he imagined must have been dotted throughout his afternoon.
“Why didn’t you punch that little bastard right in his spiteful face?”
He was stunned. Lamis had always been the more direct of his mothers, but he had never, ever heard her advocate violence, much less encourage it in him.
“What—?”
“If some jumped-up little snot was squaring up to Peshal, I’d send him home with a bloody nose.”
“But mum, Peshal says I should be like the reed—“
“I know what she says, Ren, but there’s a time and a place for holding hands and singing in harmony. When people are threatening you, or threatening your friends, you make them stop. Otherwise, they’ll keep right on doing it.”
He looked towards the kitchen door, then back again.
“Trust me, son. Your life will be a lot easier if people know not to mess with you.”
“But—“
“Don’t be the reed, Ren. The reed has no will. Be the damned wind.”
— 10 —
The High Ground
Caden felt his stomach flip the moment he caught sight of light glinting off the sharp, whirring edges of bladed rings. It was a problem too far, and a vicious one at that.
He saw Eilentes standing alone on the far side of the junction, directly in the path of the oncoming skulkers. The machines skittered and jostled, rolling towards her along the road, looking for all the worlds as if they each wanted to reach her first.
Suppressing fire came from the right. The Viskr behind the barricade of rubble knew there was still someone left behind at the intersection, and they clearly wanted to make life difficult, if not altogether impossible.
Norskine still lay on the ground, for all practical purposes in the centre of the open space, completely vulnerable. She had not yet moved a muscle.
Caden felt someone barge past from behind him. Throam stepped forward, reached over his own shoulder, and pulled his most beloved weapon from its mag-tag. He inserted his left fist through the rotor ring, clipped the shock mount to its gauntlet, and gripped the fire control bar.
“Caden, give me a hand.”
Caden moved in to help. “There,” he said. “You got it?”
Throam’s hand found the feed chute that Caden had pulled out for him, and he linked the ammo can on his back to the compact mini-gun.
“Better stand back.” He said it to nobody in particular. “This is going to get messy.”
Before Caden had time to say ‘I’ve got a better idea,’ Throam stepped partially out of cover and began to douse the Viskr position.
Spent casings sailed from the rotor ring. The Viskr cover started to crumble immediately, gouts of plaster and dust bursting from it along with pieces of stone and mortar. The ringing metal hail and the incessant hammering of the gun itself combined to a deafening level.
Caden bellowed at Eilentes through the link. “It’s now or never, Euryce!”
She was still looking back at the oncoming skulkers, Ambrast now mag-tagged to her back. Her stubbier assault rifle was raised, and shell casings bounced around her feet. The centre skulker looked as though it had snagged up inside, and came to a grating halt. The other two knocked it aside and continued to roll towards her.
“NOW, Euryce!”
Eilentes turned and ran for the intersection, slinging her rifle onto her back as she moved.
“Mines!” Caden reminded her.
She gave no reply still, but he could see from the way she was already moving to one side that she remembered to avoid the first hotspot.
Throam’s mini-gun roared as it sprayed the disintegrating enemy position with bullets. He roared along with it. Caden felt the anger there, and glee alongside it.
Eilentes dashed to one side, back again, reached Norskine.
“Get up, you lazy cow!” She grabbed Norskine’s arm and hauled her torso up. The soldier was limp, a dead weight, and Caden could see that Eilentes was struggling to lift her unaided.
Bruiser was already sprinting back towards them, weaving around the mines. Had he not seen it with his own eyes, Caden would never have guessed the Rodori could move so quickly, or with such agility.
Bruiser grabbed Norskine’s other arm and hauled her up, taking all of her weight with ease, and — still dodging hotspots — both he and Eilentes ran as hard as they could back towards Caden.
“The mines!” Caden shouted.
“I… KNOW!” Eilentes was panting the words into her helmet.
“No, look.”
Caden pointed past them, back to the skulkers. Eilentes looked over her shoulder as they reached cover, and saw what he meant.
The skulkers showed no signs at all that they were going to stop at the edge of the crossroads.
“Throam — time to go!” Caden yelled. “I think you got them all, big man.”
Throam’s mini-gun whirred and clanked to a halt, and he whirled around with a boyish grin on his face. The last standing corner of the barricade collapsed to the ground behind him.
“Three, four, five, six,” he said, finishing Eilentes’ body count.
“Run please.”
Daxon and Bro had already taken Norskine, and set off again up the road with her between them, following after Bruiser.
Caden pulled Eilentes’ arm firmly, and she immediately fell in beside him, running after the others. Caden did not need to look to know Throam was following. He could feel the heavy footsteps, and heard the chuckling that went with his counterpart’s appreciation of his own handiwork.
The first explosion came when they were halfway down the road. The others followed straight away, in a near-instantaneous chain of bangs.
Caden was pushed forwards when the shock-front hit them, and he felt Eilentes stumble too. He pulled her in to the building line, hunkering down next to the stone as
debris and dust plumed past them like a gritty fist. A split-second later he felt Throam land against his back, dropping to his knees and placing his whole body between them and the threat.
Pieces of sharp metal rained down on the street, clanging as they hit. A curved section fell through one of the slender trees, severing limbs as it went. Fat, waxy leaves and pieces of rubbery-looking wood came down with it.
“Fuck me,” Throam said. “They really aren’t smart at all, are they?”
“Guess not,” said Caden.
They stood up, dusted themselves off.
“Norskine,” Eilentes said. “I couldn’t tell if she was alive or not.”
“She’s breathing,” Daxon said through the link. “Round clipped her visor; broke it and knocked her clean out. But she’s alive.”
“Close call,” Eilentes breathed.
“Good job you had a bad-ass hero on hand to save you all,” said Throam.
Caden winced when he saw Eilentes’ expression. All the tension of the fight and the relief of hearing that Norskine was still alive seemed to evacuate from her face, heading for safety somewhere else. She put her hands on her hips and looked Throam right in the eye.
“You’re seriously going to play the hero card now?”
Throam hesitated before he replied. “Did just cover you all while you got the fuck out of that sticky mess, right?”
“Any of us could have done that, Tiny.” She stomped off after the others.
“Don’t call me Tiny.”
Caden smiled to himself. Throam had said it really, really quietly.
“You’re definitely in the dog-house.” He was careful to ensure he used his private channel to Throam.
“Don’t I know it,” said Throam. “Shit man, and they wonder why we don’t want to commit to anything.”
Caden laughed to himself. “Oh yeah; you’ve got it real bad. Rendir, if she wasn’t bothered about you she wouldn’t be angry. I’ll bet you anything she’s sleeping in your bunk when we get back to Disputer.”
“You’re on.”
“Are you two dicks coming?” Eilentes’ voice carried an unmistakable tone of annoyance across the group channel.
“Right behind you,” said Caden.
Throam turned to go after the others, and as he did so Caden grabbed his arm.
“Worlds… you came close there, mate.”
“What is it?”
“Piece of a skulker embedded in your back.”
“No way.”
“It’s right in the middle of your ammo can.”
“Good job I was using the old 10/W then, yeah? And you didn’t want me to bring it.”
“Whatever. Don’t try and make out like you can claim credit for that.”
Caden grabbed the non-lethal side of the metal fragment, and pulled. Even through his gloves he could feel it was still hot.
The piece of skulker came free with a metallic screech, and he dropped it to the ground. An ugly rent was left behind in the thin plasteel shell of the ammo can.
“Don’t know if that will have jammed the feed chute,” said Caden.
“Better fucking not have done; these things are hard to find. Lancillon Industries isn’t in business any more.”
“But you’re alive, that’s what matters.”
“Yeah, I guess.”
“Say it like you mean it,” Caden said.
“You know that thing would’ve gone right through you if I wasn’t there, yeah?”
“Good job there was a bad-ass hero on hand to save me, right?”
Throam just grinned.
They hurried over to the others. Bro was holding Norskine’s damaged helmet, while Daxon checked her eyes. The corporal held up one eyelid, then the other, shining a small light at the pupils. Bruiser sneaked the occasional look back from his position a few metres up ahead. Eilentes went to kneel down next to her friend.
“We can’t stay here long,” Caden said. “How is she?”
“Banged up a little,” said Daxon. “Just from the fall I think. Impact bowled her over, and probably knocked her out too.”
Caden paused for a moment while he considered the tactical implications. “Is she going to be combat-effective?”
“Don’t know yet. She might be concussed.”
“You asking ‘can she fight’, Caden? Is that really your priority?” Eilentes said. There was an edge to the question.
“I’m not indifferent to her injuries, Eilentes,” he said. “But whatever we do now, her condition is going to affect us all. We can’t leave her here. We can’t spare anyone to take her back. If we run into trouble, we’ll need to be sure she’s capable. If not, we’ll need to look out for her as well as ourselves.”
“You’re right, that doesn’t sound like indifference at all.”
For a moment, Caden let the comment wash over him. But something in her voice, the informality of her casual sarcasm, made him tense up. His skin prickled under her criticism, and he began to sense the first seething rise of anger.
“I know you’re pissed at Throam, but I won’t have you dumping that shit on me too. My priority is the mission.”
A silence fell across the group. After a moment, Eilentes stood up and walked away.
“Get your head back in the game,” said Caden.
“Give her a minute,” Throam said. “Trust me on that. Give yourself a minute, too.”
“Fine.” Caden forced himself to find his calm. “Daxon, we probably won’t have long before the Viskr swarm this position. Chances are those commandos called in for reinforcements before Throam took them apart.”
“Seems likely.”
“You’re the field medic here. So what’s the prognosis?”
“Can’t say for certain. She looks all right, sure. I’d like to see a scan of her skull, but obviously that ain’t happening.”
“So what do you suggest?”
“I can give her a couple of shots. Wake her up, kill any pain, give her some focus.”
“Going to have to be that, I think,” Caden said. “Doesn’t seem like we have many options.”
“Agreed.”
Daxon popped open one of the pouches on his armour, and pulled vials from within. He started loading a compression injector.
“Get her arm bared, would you Bro?”
Bro placed Norskine’s helmet on the ground reverently, as if it were a holy relic, and moved in to help. He released the outer armour from her forearm, unsealed the join between her glove and her sleeve, and tugged the material back up to her elbow.
“Knew I’d get your clothes off eventually,” he joked.
“Okay,” Daxon said. “That wasn’t creepy at all.”
Daxon found the vein with expert speed, swabbed Norskine’s arm with a sterilising pad, and pushed the nozzle of the injector against the skin. One press of the trigger, and he was rolling her sleeve back down again.
Norskine’s eyes fluttered open straight away.
“Welcome back, sleepy. You okay?”
“I feel like shit,” she said.
“Where does it hurt?” Daxon asked.
“Fucking everywhere.”
“Where does it hurt most?”
“I just told you. Everywhere.”
“So nowhere in particular; excellent.”
Norskine put out her arms as if to steady herself, and tried to rise. Bro helped her to her feet, and she began to look herself over.
“I can’t find my tail,” she said. “Guys, where’s my tail?”
Caden watched, bemused, as Bro appeared to actually help her look for it. “Daxon, what exactly did you give her just then?”
“Just a quick shot of pain meds and, er, a sort of amphetamine.”
“Amphetamine?”
“It is part of the med-kit.”
“Well… she’s up and about. I guess that’s something.”
“I think I can hear colours,” said Norskine.
• • •
Eilentes was still fuming
, but she was not sure exactly why.
The team had moved on, making good time through the empty streets and not running into any further trouble. Once or twice they had all ducked close to the building line while aircraft thundered overhead, and they had once been forced to take cover while a group of the Viskr equivalent of polybots loped across a junction up ahead of them, but they had seen no more ground troops and — thankfully — no more skulkers.
Even to Eilentes’ untrained ear, the echoing sounds of the ongoing battle had changed. The thumping of anti-aircraft turrets had been virtually continuous when they had first arrived, while the landers were still coming down through the atmosphere. Now, they sounded only occasionally. Whatever the MAGA troops were doing on the ground, it sounded as though they had either won back the city’s air defences, or destroyed them.
Frequently now she heard a heavy clanking, followed invariably by a resonant thud and the sharp, staccato rattling of large-calibre chain guns. She recognised the sound from one of the simulated scenarios she had been subjected to in basic training; it was the sound of Gorilla ground superiority platforms, planting their fists like anchors and hammering the enemy with a barrage of firepower.
All of these sounds of battle surrounded her, and yet she could not shake off the feeling of being annoyed. She chided herself mentally for stewing over the half-arguments she had had, unwilling to admit to herself that she was subconsciously keeping her attention off the fighting and the prospect of a sudden and violent death.
A Viskr tactical fighter collided heavily with the top edge of a building almost directly overhead, and flipped engines over cockpit. It sailed across the street, black smoke pouring from the engine housings, and embedded itself in the building opposite. Falling stone and glass smashed on the pavement below, and pieces of burning material dripped and crawled down the wall. The wreck creaked and shifted, then settled in place.
“Shit,” Daxon said. “That was a bit too close.”
“No time to stop and stare,” said Caden. “We need to keep moving. We’re almost right on top of it.”
Eilentes could see that Norskine was beginning to recover — both from her fall, and from the medication Daxon had dosed her with. The round that had knocked her off her feet had left a groove in the otherwise smooth surface of her visor, and the surrounding material had turned a crackly, opaque white. With the visor down over her face she would not be able to see a thing, and the internal data overlay was broken anyway. With the visor flipped up, however, Eilentes could see Norskine’s face, framed by the front opening of her helmet. She looked nauseated, as if she might hurl at any moment, but at no point did she let it hold her back. The private kept steadfastly on, her jaw set with grim determination.
Books One to Three Omnibus (Armada Wars) Page 41
