Hybrid Saga 01 - Hybrid

by S M Briscoe

  Reaching back, he took aim on the maddened being, and hurled his weapon like a spear. The blade sailed through the air to impale the Fyoran, pinning in to the stone barrier wall where it writhed and screamed before finally going limp.

  Jarred felt only a moment’s relief, replaced quickly by regret, as the hoard clawing at the base of the wall turned their combined attention to him, the looming bulk of the infected Exterminator most paramount among them. The ex-gladiator’s eyes burned red with a hungry rage that caused Jarred to take an involuntary step back. Another mistake, which he cursed himself for.

  The slight movement was all it took and, nearly as one, the hoard charged.

  RYZA

  The holding level’s control center was easy enough to find. Ethan had marked the location on his positioner after passing over it numerous times a few hours previous. Getting there had taken some time though, crawling back through the air ducts and ceiling crawlspaces, but they needed to go undetected for as long as possible. The mechanical security forces weren’t heavy, but they were still armed, and Ethan and the others weren’t. Running into even one could bring their escape to a screeching halt. The crawlspaces had brought them directly over the control center anyhow.

  It wasn’t a large room. It didn’t have to be. A single mech, which now lay in pieces on the floor, thanks to Tarik’s handiwork, had been all that was necessary to monitor the many stations on its own. Now they were at Ethan’s disposal.

  The interface was fairly simple and he was able to navigate the system with relative ease, finding the desired controls after a few short moments. “What are you looking for?” Elora asked, from over his shoulder.

  “Security controls,” Ethan answered, triumphantly, pointing to the monitor that was displaying a full grid layout of the entire level, including the real time locations of all prisoners and mechs. The monitor gave him control of everything from cell door locks and lift access, to restraint device controls. It also allowed him access to the facility’s security response measures.

  “Well, what are you doing?” she pressed, as his fingers danced across the controls.

  “Creating a diversion,” he replied, absently, focusing on his task.

  “What kind of diversion?” Mac asked.

  Ethan let out an aggravated sigh. “You too are worse than a couple of kids. I’m triggering a security alert to draw off the mechs.”

  “Where?” Elora queried, leaning in closer to see what he was doing.

  “In the detention area,” he answered, smirking. “Apparently, you’re attempting to escape your cell.” He watched as various red dots, signifying the security mechs on the monitor, moved towards the detention area. As they passed through the blast door that separated the area from the rest of the holding level, he readied his hand over the marker that represented the door itself. Once the last of the security mechs had entered the detention area, Ethan sealed it behind them with a touch of his finger, locking the blast proof door in place.

  After a moment of, what seemed to be, stunned silence, Mac finally spoke. “I can’t believe that actually worked.”

  Ethan had to admit he was also a bit surprised that his planned had gone over as well as it did. But it had and he wasn’t going to waste any time on wondering how or why. Instead, he moved forward with his plan, which he was actually developing as he went.

  Now that the security forces were at least temporarily dealt with, he could move on to the prisoners. A smile came to his face as his fingers danced over the control screen, deactivating, across the entire facility, the very wrist gauntlets that both he and Mac had been forced to wear and obey. He watched the monitors with satisfaction as the indicators that represented the facility’s cell doors and barrier fields changed from red to green, signifying their deactivation or unlocking. With the touch of a few buttons, the hundreds, if not thousands, of slaves that had been imprisoned in this place were free of it.

  Almost free of it.

  “Now what?” Mac asked, from over Ethan’s other shoulder. “You’ve opened all the doors. How do you plan on getting them out of here?”

  “The same way as us,” Ethan answered, still scanning the monitors.

  Mac snorted. “Right, kid. And just how big is this ship of yours?”

  “Not big enough,” Elora answered, putting a hand on Ethan’s shoulder. “Ethan,” she spoke to him, gently, the way she always did when trying to convince him that his head was in the clouds. “We can’t take all of these people with us. You know that. The ship would never fit them all . . .”

  “I know that,” Ethan returned, trying not to be offended. He supposed it did sound a bit crazy. “We need something a lot bigger.”

  “Did you have something in mind?” Mac asked.

  On cue, Ethan activated one of the few security cam feeds the facility did have. One that displayed a full view of the enclosed bay, which the freighter that had brought them all here was still docked in. “On that,” he answered.

  “Great,” Mac said, after a moment. “If we can get them all aboard, who’s going to pilot it out of here?”

  Ethan turned around to face the man. “You are.”

  “I am?” Mac asked, incredulously.

  “Yeah, you. You’re a pilot.”

  “Yes,” Mac admitted. “I am a pilot, but . . .”

  “But, what?”

  Mac raised his hands, defensively. “Hey, kid. I didn’t sign up for this.”

  “None of us signed up for any of this, Mac,” Ethan answered, turning back to face the control station. “But here we are. Don’t worry. I’ll be right there next to you. I can be your copilot.”

  “Why would I be worried?” Mac returned, not sounding very enthused. “It sounds like fun.”

  “Trust me, Mac,” Ethan began. “By the end of all of this, you’ll be thanking me.”

  “Oh, yeah?” Mac replied, sounding a little amused. “Thanking you for what?”

  Ethan smiled to himself. “This is going to make you the hero you never knew you always wanted to be.”

  Chapter 34

  RYDEL

  Like a mob of hungry, stampeding animals, the infected were coming at him, and now unarmed, Jarred found himself suddenly less optimistic about his chances for survival.

  Instead of kicking himself for making the mistake of throwing his weapon away on the lives of a bunch of hapless spectators who were cheering for his demise, he focused on how he might avoid becoming another meal for the diseased beings, or worse, one of them.

  Before a plan could formulate itself, his thoughts were disturbed by the amplified voice of the sporting commentator, the hoard actually halting their advance to look out towards the echoing sounds as well, as though trying to hone in on the new potential target in which to exact their infectious rage.

  “Our Exterminators have fought valiantly in the arena this day!” the voice spoke. “But just as in the time of the cleansing, when the sheer numbers of the diseased proved too much for our guardian warriors, another, more primal weapon was required! One more vicious than the infected themselves, capable of erasing their filth from the galaxy, when all other measures had failed! They cannot be tamed! They cannot be controlled! They can only be . . . unleashed! For your viewing entertainment, we give to you . . . the Cresche!”

  Jarred’s eyes moved towards an opening in the arena floor behind the approaching hoard, who’s attention had returned to him once the commentator’s booming voice had gone silent. The creatures that began to emerge were nothing less than terrifying. Their black serrated legs appeared first, reaching out of the opening like sets of giant, deadly blades, to grip the sand covered arena floor. The bodies that followed were armored with layers of dark, exoskeletal plating, which could withstand a high powered laser or plasma blast, Jarred knew, though he found himself more focused on the malevolent sets of sunken white eyes that stood out like glowing orbs against the pitch black surface of, what were, the arachnid’s nightmarish faces.

  The Cresch
e were, most simply put, natural killing machines. Apart from breeding, it was all they did, as far as anyone knew. They hunted, they killed and they ate, and with few other things to occupy their life spans, but for propagating their species, they had become extremely efficient at it. Every aspect of their physiology appeared to have evolved to serve that one single purpose. Few facets of their anatomy could not be used as a weapon. Apart from their obvious blunt uses, their claws and, what amounted to, their teeth, as well as the serrated edges of their legs and spinal ridges, all secreted a deadly neurotoxin. A mute point unless their prey somehow survived being impaled or cut open. All of those attributes, combined with their natural shielding, made the creatures a formidable adversary, and more than a challenge to kill.

  But everything had a weak spot.

  Slowly, Jarred knelt down, lowering himself to the ground until he was lying flat on the sand. He remained there, motionless, with his attention dead ahead, allowing the infected to move in on him once again, and as they began their ferocious charge, he waited. Waited for the right moment. His focus was not on the approaching hoard, but the two creatures that had crawled out fully from their underground holdings and were hungrily advancing on their prey.

  With the hoard of infected nearly upon him, Jarred continued to remain still in his prone position. He was completely vulnerable to the diseased beings that approached, but then, the tactic wasn’t meant for them. It was meant for the Cresche.

  The pair of arachnids were on top of the infected before the first of them, the former Exterminator, had made it to within striking distance of Jarred, and moving much faster than the crazed beings, they began to cut through them. Their long, serrated legs trampled, impaled and carved through everything they came in contact with, leaving a trail of mutilated remains behind them. The ex-gladiator stopped just short of reaching Jarred, turning to look back at his own attackers, his head flying free of his body before he had completed the motion. Jarred rolled away then, as the small stampede overtook him, moving himself clear of the frenzy, while continuing to remain low to the ground.

  The Cresche were agile and deadly quick, but their vision was primarily based on detecting the movement of their prey. As long as he remained still and didn’t draw attention to himself, they would be drawn to anything else that moved, that being the infected. He knew he wouldn’t be able to take both the crazed diseased and the, extremely difficult to kill, Cresche together, so he was hoping one would take the other out for him. It wouldn’t even the odds, but would at least shift them from the impossible to the improbable. He could work with that.

  He watched as the arachnids continued their rampage, one breaking off from the other to pursue the second group of infected, still being fended off by the remaining gladiators. Some of the diseased beings had already turned their attention towards the approaching Cresche and were charging at the large beast. The arachnid made quick, gory work of them, hardly slowing it’s pace as it continued forward for the larger group.

  Jarred slowly came to his feet, keeping both of the arachnids in his sight. He would need to make his own move soon, while the beasts were still occupied. But first he would need to arm himself. Glancing around, he spotted one of the fallen gladiator’s weapons and moved for it, still keeping the Cresche in front of him. Gripping of the handle of the large, axe-like weapon, he tore it free of the infected being it had last been driven into. In the same motion a flicker of movement, through the reflection of the blade, caught his attention and he glanced back over his shoulder. A number of sensations gripped him as he took in the additional two arachnids stalking towards him from a second opening in the arena floor. The first was surprise, manifesting itself in the sudden jolt of electric dread that shot up his spine. The next was scorn. For allowing himself to be caught off guard in such a way. He should have anticipated more than the one group of Cresche the moment he had spotted the first. Finally, he felt the rush of focusing adrenaline as it took hold, heightening his awareness and battle instincts, immediately washing the initial, unproductive feelings from his mind completely.

  Jarred sprang into action, turning and sprinting towards the infected hoard that was still surrounding the remaining gladiators, the arachnid that had been charging them just cutting into the first of the diseased. By the time he had closed the distance, three of the infected were already lying in pieces. Putting on a burst of speed he leapt into the air, coming down on the creature’s back, careful to avoid being impaled by any of its venomous spinal ridges. He then leapt again, this time out over the side of the beast to one side of it’s head, swinging back with his axe as he did, cutting deeply through the small gap between the plates of armor that protected the equivalent of its throat. He struck out with the weapon twice more, cutting down the same number of infected before his feet had reached the ground.

  And then the others were on him. Having landed in the midst of the hoard, he could do little to avoid them. Slashing and snarling, the ones that had torn their attention from the gladiators lunged in to attack, meeting quick but gruesome ends at the end of his axe. They had become the lesser of his concerns, the more primary quickly bearing down on them even as he continued to thin the infected’s numbers. The charging arachnids would aid him in that endeavor, though they would also be attempting to devour him as well. He had no delusions about the odds of survival for the diseased beings. As ferocious as they were, the Cresche would tear them and anything else in their paths apart. Jarred’s hope was that they would serve as a much needed distraction for the arachnids before being completely eradicated, and in doing so, buy Jarred the time he needed to do the same to the Cresche.

  He waited until the last possible moment before leaping clear of the fray, allowing the arachnids to tear past him and through a handful of infected in the process. One of the remaining gladiators managed to do the same, the second not being so lucky as he was cleaved in half by one of the creature’s razor sharp appendages.

  Charging up behind the Cresche, as they continued in their violent rampage, Jarred leapt again, coming down hard atop one of them and driving his axe into another small crevice in the arachnid’s armor. The strike didn’t sink deep enough to deal the beast any real damage, but it did allow for a secure grip as the axe’s curved blade hooked in firmly under the spinal plating. Is was a good thing, as the arachnid began to violently buck and thrash in an attempt to shake him loose.

  Before he could consider his next move, the last remaining gladiator charged in to finish his thought, slashing his own weapon across the creature’s exposed abdomen as it reared back on its hind set of legs. It let loose a piercing scream, it’s pitch the equivalent of razor blades slicing through Jarred’s brain, and he pulled his axe free, climbing higher up the arachnid’s back before bringing the weapon down again, hard into the flesh of it’s exposed face, effectively silencing it’s cry as it collapsed to the ground in a heap.

  Jarred gave the gladiator a partial nod as he stepped off the beast’s head, in recognition of their new found alliance, as short lived as it would be, the gesture not being returned before the cry of the second arachnid captured both their full attentions. Jarred took up a defensive posture, retreating a few paces as the Cresche approached, at not quite a charge, and appearing almost indecisive as it looked between it’s two targets. The decision was made for it as the gladiator inexplicably charged forward. It seemed their partnership would be even more short lived that he had at first thought.

  Letting out a curse, Jarred also began to move in on the arachnid, keeping himself on the creature’s flank, opposite his foolhardy counterpart. Acutely aware of the second Cresche that continued to ravage the last remains of the infected hoard on the other side of the arena, he kept his direct focus on the beast before him. He would need to dispatch this one quickly, as combating both creatures at once would prove to be . . . less than favorable. He looked between the arachnid’s legs to the gladiator readying himself for attack, and hoped that the same considerations were runnin
g through his head. He doubted it and guessed that it was more likely he would be a liability.

  That thought was confirmed as the gladiator raised his weapon, letting loose a ridiculous war cry; most likely well rehearsed; before lunging at the Cresche. The arachnid’s reflexes were lightning quick, and it raised and stabbed one of it’s legs down towards the gladiator like a spear. Surprisingly, the gladiator rolled beneath the strike, as it impaled the sandy floor behind him, causing Jarred to second guess his original judgement of the sportsman. He knew the change of heart had come too soon when, instead of continuing the roll to bring himself completely under the arachnid’s exposed underside, the gladiator swung his bladed weapon out towards the limb that had only just missed skewering him, in a brutish attempt to sever it.

  The Cresche exoskeleton was one of the most durable, naturally occurring, materials known to exist. It could withstand even the most extreme temperature variances and physical traumas, which was why the dangerous creatures could survive and thrive in the harshest environments this system had to offer. That fact seemed to have eluded the gladiator, as he stared, dumbfounded, at the remains of the weapon in his hands, the simple blade having shattered like glass on contact with the arachnid’s armored leg. His apparent confusion didn’t last long though, quickly being replaced by . . . whatever it was that followed death, as the creature’s quick follow up strike removed his head from his body.

  With the second Cresche approaching, Jarred didn’t have time to curse the stupidity of his circumstantial, and now deceased, counterpart, and instead dove under one of the nearest creature’s serrated legs as it turned it’s attention to him. Coming to his feet, and not looking back, he set off at a full sprint towards the arena wall, hoping he would make it there before being intercepted by one of his multi-legged pursuers.