Nes took a siopane shockwave marble out of a pocket of his combat belt. A single activation button was flush against the marble’s polished chrome surface, and he pressed down on it until he heard a teeny click. He took a deep breath, and threw the petite sphere overhead, aiming for his enemies’ general proximity. The bassy, powerful, distinctive cha-whump of the grenade’s detonation drowned out every other sound in the relatively quiet balcony for a split second. The noise was quickly followed by the just-as-distinctive sound of human bodies being thrown to the ground. Nes hauled ass.
He bounded up the last handful of steps on the escalator. On the second level now, he purposely ran within view of the ambushers, sprinting fast enough to light the muscles in his thighs and calves on fire. The siopane-fueled marble, meant to be a non-lethal crowd-control solution, had enough force to toss the five enemies to the ground, but they were already poising their weapons to fire upon seeing him, even while on their backs. Faster than he ever dreamed, Nes took in the rest of his surroundings and formulated a plan. He might have even seen a glow on the more reflective objects, like a dream, but that was probably from a combination of exertion and his worsening migraine.
He saw the clothing of his enemies, again similar to Trenna’s rags when they found her, noticed that two of them were women, figured out their age range as between late twenties and late thirties, and then forced himself to stop examining. Focus! Nes screamed at himself as he felt his mind losing itself in the data being absorbed. He wasn’t good enough to soak up the level of information a Saint would and still take action, so he needed to drill down into what was important.
Straight ahead of him were tables and chairs for the restaurants on this side of the second tier. The two construction lights on this side were halfway between him and the closest seating area, a few meters to his left. Nes knew that those last couple of bits of information were important, but couldn’t put it all together.
Focus, goddamnit!
The enemies that he needed to dispose of were actually behind those spotlights.
The tiled, dusty floor could be exploited.
There, done. That’s all he needed.
A square, sturdy-looking table was close enough to be useful, though it’s thick, centered single leg was bolted down. He winced in the back of his mind and kept running, having barely gone a handful of meters while plotting a scenario in his head, the world seeming to slow as a personal favor.
Nes fired on the move, using longer than usual bursts and keeping the gun close to his body for control. Just three very loud rat-a-tat torrents of bullets were all he could muster. Even at the speed he was running he saw that one of the women and one of the men on the ground would not be getting back up. Two of the remaining three retaliated as Nes’ position was blocked by the construction light. Because they were still on the ground, the angle of their fire was pretty much useless for combat, and all they hit with their old-looking assault rifles was the spotlight or the wall far beyond it. Pings and pongs signifying ricochets filled the air. The projectiles’ bouncing kept the strangers from pulling their triggers again, if only for an instant.
At a full sprint, Nes flung himself down and slid on the tile. It took only a couple seconds of skimming his ass on the floor to reach the table he mentally highlighted a moment before. In an impressive display that he regretted no one saw, the short slide ended with the corporal shifting to his knees as his momentum slowed. He dropped his gun on the ground and, with as much force as he could muster, lifted himself up so that his left shoulder slammed into the table, jarring it from where it was bolted down. Unfortunately it only partially worked, the thin flat base of the leg still half-bolted into the floor, the rest only bent out of place. Nes grunted as he grabbed the edge of the table, pushing up with all the power he could force into his legs, arms, and shoulders. The table top finally tilted and came down, landing on one side of its square surface accompanied by a booming noise and cracked tile.
The table-based makeshift cover worked, and when a few shots hit the hardened wood only one went all the way through. It hit Nes’s filament-armor-lined uniform shirt just below his heart as splinters almost got in his eyes. The armor would do its job against the projectile, so he ignored the eruption of pain in his chest.
The corporal picked up his gun again, peeked over the tabletop, and fired twice into the chest of a woman that looked like she was getting ready to reload. Nes went back down into cover, sure that she’d be no more trouble, and put his back against the table. He took his second siopane shockwave marble from the same small pocket as the first, pressing the activation button as soon as it was in his palm.
A barrage of fire hit the table, a handful of bullets going through and slamming Nes in his back. He felt like he was struck with a bunch of sudden, full-speed strikes from small hammers. The surprising pain overrode the oh-so-important need to hold the marble properly, and it slipped out of his hand. The little sphere fell to the floor at Nes’ feet, and the activated grenade’s little green status light blinked happily at him, signaling that it was ready to do its job.
“Shit,” Nes said before jumping away from the table.
Cha-whump.
The shockwave hit Nes as he jumped, spinning him in a half-circle parallel to the ground. Every piece of furniture was thrown away from the center of the blast, creating an empty space where his cover once was. The table he toppled was hit the hardest thanks to its position and spread out surface area, and it hurtled towards the remaining two attackers at high velocity. The table flipped in the air as it flew, like a coin thrown laterally, speeding past the closest construction light while the corporal was mid-flight.
Nes struck the ground with the small of his back, and saw in his peripheral vision that the flying furniture hit one of the enemies in the gut, a thunderous-sounding impact. The table and gut-checked dead man flew together towards the balcony’s retaining wall, and then both got flipped over the handrail and onto the track gap below. The landing a moment later had a crunch that was a combination of broken bones and splintering wood, almost made worse by the fact that it couldn’t be seen. Nes’ mind connected the dots manually, figuring trajectories and velocities, the possible number of broken bones, damage to internal organs. He nearly vomited again, this time at the horrifying accuracy of the damage tally being rung up by his pumped-up brain functions.
The corporal stood up faster than he should have – this wasn’t the time yet to register his own damage, not with someone left that could get to Trenna – and started looking around for the final ambusher. The aforementioned enemy found him first, tackling him out of nowhere. Nes took the hit hard, landing on his side in the empty space made by the last shockwave, and the ambusher didn’t even try to catch a breath before he started swinging fists. This last member of the ambush group had no gun, probably losing his rifle when hit by the jolt from the recently dropped marble. Normally being struck by two of the specialty grenade’s kinetic blasts was enough to knock pretty much anyone unconscious, but a lot of the direct force was absorbed by surrounding furniture, so if this guy was in the perfect spot, he’d only be slightly stunned, his life saved by pure chance. Good for him. So, awake, hurt, and with no proper weapon, this guy opted to pound the DSF agent to death bare-handed.
Nes couldn’t see his own gun, having also lost it thanks to the marble. His head was a little fuzzy from the headache that was throbbing at his temples, so he was moving sluggishly to block punches, and not blocking them completely. The ambusher’s face was a twisted combination of rage and pain, but his swings were weak compared to a drill instructor. Honestly, Saan-Hu hit him harder when he forgot her birthday last year. The corporal figured he only had to block the hits long enough to find an opening to grapple, but then the enemy saw something nearby that was worth halting his anger-laced barrage for, and lunged for it. Nes just barely saw what the guy went for: his standard issue bullpup rifle.
Every one of the quick calculations running through Nes’ head
ended with him not being fast enough to stop the rifle from being used against him. Trenna Geil, though, was not a part of any of those equations, and neither was her running from the escalator and picking up one of the enemy assault rifles, which is exactly what happened.
She discharged the weapon as a cry of shock escaped her, the recoil being too hard for her to handle. She had aimed at the pissed off assailant and fired right as he was leaping off Nes to get the loose DSF gun. Four shots hit the final ambusher, another six going wild, hitting or ricocheting against furniture, walls, or glass. The body of the raggedly-clothed enemy fell limp, half on top of Nes.
Chapter 6
When Nes recognized that none of the stray shots had coincidentally hit him in his unarmed head, he felt incredibly lucky. Then he checked his below-the-belt section, didn’t see any bullet holes, and damn near wanted to go gambling with his newfound good fortune. He’d have to take Trenna along, obviously.
The blood dripping from the four holes in the dead enemy on top of him stained his clothing for the first time. Nes pushed the corpse off with a sickened grunt. The black of his combat gear looked fine, the red lining just a little darker where blood stained it. Thank the void that Dastou’s choice of attire color for his agents wasn’t something white.
Nes sat up with some effort and looked over at Trenna, who was lowering herself down to sit on the floor. She carefully put the weapon she just used on the floor and pushed it away with a shaking hand, as if it was made of something slimy and disgusting. She busied herself for a few seconds by cleaning her glasses with the inside hem of her t-shirt. Nes was resting on his rear, taking slow, deep breaths, trying to calm his nerves. Every inhalation hurt, but at least he could breathe. He felt like his soul was missing a few bits and pieces despite him having done nothing beyond defend himself and Trenna.
The corporal got to his feet, grabbed his gun from the floor, and found a still-standing table nearby. He tossed the rifle haphazardly on the tabletop, plastic and metal rattling as it landed, then took a chair off the floor to sit in. Nes plopped down heavily, thankful that he was done for now.
Almost everything hurt. His legs were okay after the insane sprint, but that was thanks to conditioning, which didn’t do a thing for his bashed up, aching shoulder or the numerous sore spots on his upper body. Nes continued his slow, almost meditative breathing, interspersed with the occasional pained grunt, for another minute before deciding to break the silence.
“Thanks,” said Nes. “You saved my ass.”
“I guess...” Trenna cut herself off, doing her best to compose the words before trying to talk again. “I guess we’re even. They tried...” She stopped again, but this time didn’t keep going for a couple seconds.
“To kill you along with me and Dastou, yeah,” he finished for her.
A look on her face of instant dread was followed by her head and eyes darting all around, trying to find something.
“Don’t worry about any others,” he said while making a placating hand motion. “Dastou would have... taken care of them.”
“By himself? With no weapons?”
“Hey, you’re the one who worships him, shouldn’t you be the one with unfailing faith?”
“Um, I guess,” Trenna concedes.
“Don’t worry, he’s fine.” Nes smiled at her previous response. Even with so little contact, she may have started seeing Dastou as more of a person than a god.
Trenna was close to the waist-high wall near the bridge walkway, and decided to get to it on hands and knee, moving slowly. She sat with her back against the wall, facing Nes’ general direction. When she adjusted her position ever so slightly for comfort, she winced, sucked air through her teeth, and slowed her movements. Several bodies were a few meters to her left, and she avoided looking at them.
“Trenna,” said Nes, “what did they mean by ‘acolyte bitch?’”
“Oh. I think it’s because I still made efforts of worship towards the Sainthood.”
“So others you live… lived with, didn’t?”
“No, not at all,” she corrected, a note of disappointment in her voice. “Because we were ignored by the system, and the Saints control that, everyone else just began to hate their kind.”
Nes already knew that a reason for the worship of Saints is because some believe that they are in charge of the mass-hypnotism system, a common rumor and has been for centuries. The girl looked at Nes again. “They got rid of you because they figured you’d be the one to speak up against the attack, or even walk out on them and find a way to warn the DSF.”
“That’s what I think, too. If I knew about this, I’d have left and told someone, like at the embassy or something. All those people who died on the street, just to attack Mr. Dastou,” she lamented, honestly baffled.
A slightly more detailed scenario ran through Nes’ mind when she talked, one in which Trenna was not necessarily left for dead, and instead used as bait. Living or not, her body would have been ignored by the Social Cypher, causing interest that would lead to investigation. It would have gotten at least Dastou to this hub and the ambush no matter what. That would mean the siopane explosion and ensuing chaos was the planned result of some scheme to kill the Saint. It was difficult to grasp what was scarier: that someone went through so much planning to end the life of the last Saint, or that it had almost succeeded.
“If they hated Saints because of the Cypher, they picked the wrong target,” revealed Nes, not willing to share his newfound theory just yet. “We have absolutely no idea what it really is or how it works.”
Trenna looked at the floor, nonplussed by that remark – it seemed to be a day of that reaction from her – eyes revealing that she was trying to fit pieces together.
“So, Mr. Dastou, or the Prior Fifteen, never had anything to do with it?”
Prior Fifteen? That must refer to the previous fifteen generations of Saints, Dastou being last remaining of the sixteenth. Religious terminology was never a subject Nes cared about enough to know anything more than very common phrases.
“Not at all,” answered Nes while stretching his back. “We, as in the entourage and Dastou, are as confused about that stuff as anyone. That’s why we track it, study it, keep records of it. It’s a lot to take in, I know. I remember being really freaked out by all that, too. When we get back we’ll explain it better, okay?”
“Yes. I’d like that very much,” said Trenna with a smile.
When, the girl slowly adjusted her posture again with an associated wince, Nes remembered his supplies and dug into the extra pocket strapped on his left upper arm, trying not to move the shoulder too much. He removed a tiny plastic container containing two vacuum-sealed pills. He flipped a tab to open package, and put a pill in his mouth before tossing the half empty tray to Trenna; it landed at her feet.
“Take it, its medicine,” Nes said, chewing the pill, knowing that he was making a sickened facial expression and not really caring. The girl picked up the tray, removed the second pill, and looked coldly at it.
“Chew it, though,” Nes added. “It’ll taste worse than anything you’ve ever eaten, but when it’s out of the seal it spreads through your blood faster. Those painkillers they had you take at the Medical Plaza were mild, so you’ll need the extra kick these offer.”
He already felt his headache being reduced in thumping power, but that may have been due to an expectation of relief to come. Thank the blackness he was feeling more composed as the pain went away, though, as the smell of blood on his uniform from the assailant Trenna shot was forcing him to hold back tearing his gear off and burning it here and now. He’d seen this amount of blood before today during medical courses or training injuries, sure, yet for some reason when it was violently spilled with intent to kill it grossed him out completely.
“Weren’t you shot?” asked Trenna. “I can see the hole in your shirt. Will half of this medicine be enough for you?”
“Actually, I took a few in the back, too. I have armor on, b
ut it’s thin and inside the shirt under my jacket so you can’t see it. That’s kind of the point, really. No bullet is going to get through DSF armor unless it strikes in the exact spot a previous hit landed.” The last few words sounded like he was reciting, and he sort of was.
“So you’re okay?” she asked again.
“Sure, I’m alright. Just incredibly worn out.”
That was an outright lie. He’d never felt worse in his life, but Trenna needed to be assured of her safety and his ability to provide it, even if the fighting seemed to be over.
“Does the DSF always have this kind of stuff?” she said about the pill while putting it in her mouth. When she bit down, she got nauseated look on her face and a grossed out cry escaped her. Nes laughed aloud.
“We’ve got lots of strange tools at our disposal,” Nes said, stopping his chuckles. “The Saints invented all kinds of things for themselves and the world to use. Since it’s just Dastou now, he makes it for us, teaches us how to use it all.” He tapped his badge on the first use of the word “us.”
Nes sat up straighter, feeling markedly better.
“He’s strange isn’t he? I always figured the Saints were like holy creations, so far removed from regular people that we’d never understand them.”
“Hah!” replied Nes before realizing that her statement wouldn’t be funny to anyone outside the entourage. “No, they’re pretty normal, just sort of... insanely smart, I guess? Quirky, too. Ah dunno. I’ve considered him a friend for a while now, so he’s just him to me. More Cosamian Dastou than Saint.”
“I see…” said Trenna, who became very quiet.
She was understandably thrown off by everything happening today already, and having the person she worships all of a sudden brought down a peg maybe wasn’t the best thing for her.
Saints of the Void: Atypical Page 7
