by S. A. Lusher
Still tired, still hungry, still hurting.
But better, at least.
Greg hunted through the repair bay, moving along the derelict vehicles. It felt like moving through a graveyard for giant metal bugs. Distantly, he thought he could hear more rumbling, tremors rippling through the rock, but it might have been his imagination. The giant spider had scared him on a deep level.
A terminal waited for him against a far wall amidst a sea of tools, crates, and tables. He booted it up and was happy to discover this one had above emergency power and could give him a more detailed map of the area. He saw that he was in another mining chamber beneath the makeshift headquarters on the surface.
He mapped out the route he needed to take. There were a few tunnels connecting between larger bays and caverns. Beyond the repair bay was a storage bay and if he took the most direct route, it would bring him up to a 'command center', as it was labeled on the map, which he should theoretically be able to get up and out of here.
Greg took one more look around the repair bay, hunting for signs of life, but he saw nothing, except for the shadows, which seemed to move when he wasn't looking at them. He kept his pistol out, made sure again that the safety was off and headed for the main tunnel that would take him directly up to the command center.
Moving at a brisk pace, Greg traversed the tunnel. He found himself thinking of what might happen if he survived this mess. The galaxy was a brand new place to him. He remembered and knew nothing about it. How many amazing planets were there out there? How many cities and stations and Cyr ruins?
Even if he made it out of this nightmare alive...Dark Ops would still be on his ass. Lynch's plan of getting the dirt of the shady government agency sounded nice on the surface, and he still had his and Thompson's copies of the data in his pocket, (they and the suit were remarkably resilient), but would the dirt be enough?
Dark Ops was powerful. Very obviously so. How far was their reach? They seemed like the kind of people who could make you disappear, utterly and without question. And how could you possibly be protected from a government agency, all-powerful, all-seeing, all-knowing? Who would protect you? Threatening to go to the media and the general populace was a temporary tactic at best. In the end, Dark Ops would get them.
But actually going through with it was just as bad, if not worse, because then Dark Ops would sure as hell come for them.
So, what to do?
Greg wasn't sure. He didn't want to live life on the run, but what choice did he have? He supposed it didn't really matter right now, since he wouldn't be doing any living if he didn't somehow make it out of this system.
The tunnel's end came into sight. Relief flooded through Greg. He was close, so very close to escape. There was an elevator in the command center. It would bring him up to the tunnels that ran just beneath the surface. Hopefully, it was in working order, because if it wasn't, he wasn't sure how the hell he was going to get out of here.
Greg came to the end of the tunnel. He looked around what the computer referred to as the command center. It didn't seem like much of one, although it was the most furnished area so far. There was an actual floor, mostly consisting of plate metal, and rooms had been built along the left and right hand sides of the area.
His attention focused on the lift. It was located at the far wall, built inside a shaft that was cut directly into the rock. As he headed for it, Greg heard a sharp skittering sound. He spun to his left and spied a trio of spiders scurrying towards him. He let out a small cry of surprise and fear, dropped to one knee, brought up the pistol and took aim. He managed to drop the first one with a single shot through the face.
As they drew closer, he punched a trio of holes through the second one. It collapsed. The third was quicker, more dexterous. It leaped through the air at him. Greg dropped, watching it sail over him. He scrambled to his feet, wheeled on the blackened thing, preparing for another go.
He put four shots into it and released the breath he'd been holding. Looking around, Greg saw that he was alone again. Good. He set off towards the lift. His footsteps echoed ominously across the cavern, loud and lonely.
The first thing that tipped him off to the notion that something was wrong was the fact that the terminal next to the elevator was dark and dead. Picking up the pace, Greg was crestfallen as he came to stand before the lift, finding it lifeless and inert. The lift was in its nest at the bottom of the shaft, it just wasn't going anywhere.
“Fuck!” Greg shrieked.
As the echoes of that single word faded away, Greg was shocked by the sudden outburst. He didn't feel all that angry, that stressed out. He'd nearly lost his shit for a second there, realizing that he was that close to emptying his pistol into the console. His hands shook. Greg let out an uneasy, shuddering laugh and tried to relax.
Maybe he was more stressed out than he realized. Calming himself, Greg studied the lift, the terminal, the area around it. Finally, his eyes caught on something: a thick, black power cable, running from the terminal to a narrow rock tunnel nearby. Okay, okay...he'd done this before, he could do it again.
Greg began following the cable, peering long into the tunnel, which had no light of its own. He sighed and licked his lips nervously. Once more into the dark, it seemed. This time, however, he at least had a flashlight. He flicked on the muzzle-mounted light and pointed the pale beam into the tunnel. It didn't look much more inviting.
At least there was nothing moving. He set off down the tunnel, moving at a slow, easy pace, studying the cable. After a moment, he felt extremely grateful for that, otherwise he wouldn't have noticed the gash in the cable. Greg stopped and studied it. After a moment, he decided he would have to find a way to fix this.
He kept going, following the cable to its end, finding a few other gashes. Finally, he found another generator room. The generator itself had power, it just wasn't going anywhere. After a few moments, he managed to find a repair kit. He was nearly out of the room when he remembered he should probably kill the power, or it might kill him. Returning to the room, he shut down the generator, once more plunged into darkness.
Moving swiftly, he returned to the first of three gashes he had seen and cracked open the repair kit. Powell had done this enough times in front of him that Greg felt he at least had some semblance of an idea of what to do. The procedure was simple. He pulled out a thick patch meant for such a job, pulled the front half off so that the adhesive side was exposed and slapped it over the gash. Then he smoothed it out.
It looked good, he decided after inspecting it in the pale flashlight beam for a moment. Not a long-term solution, but it would hold for now. He hurried down the tunnel and repeated the procedure twice. After snapping close the kit, Greg returned to the generator room and fired it up. This time, light filled the tunnel.
He let out a sigh of relief and made his way back to the central chamber. The coast was still clear and, better yet, the terminal was lit up. Greg hurried over to the lift. He was almost home free. Slipping in, he stared happily at the lit control panel and pressed the up button. With a grinding noise and a jolt, the lift sprang to life.
Greg laughed as the tension flowed out of him. He was out of here. He could get back up to the surface and back to business.
A tremor tore through the area.
Raw terror seized Greg.
More tremors came, powerful and awful, knocking over huge pieces of machinery and causing large chunks of rock to collapse from the ceiling.
“No...” Greg moaned.
From the largest tunnel came the titanic, Augmented spider, squeezing itself into the main chamber. It spied Greg with its cluster of neon-lit eyes and let out a horrible shriek of triumph. Then it started across the chamber.
Greg stabbed at the up button in vain, willing the lift to go faster. It remained on course at a steady, intolerable pace.
The spider reached the wall and climbed up with absurd ease. Greg looked down at the pistol in his hand, he looked at the spider coming for him
. A plan flashed through his mind. He hastily reloaded, he'd want a full magazine for this. The spider was nearly upon him. Greg prepared himself for death, but hoped for life.
The spider's main body came into view. It had oriented itself so that its legs were on either side of the lift and its head and body were directly in front of him. The thing bore down on him with all the reality of a demon let loose from Hell. Neon eyes glared at him. Greg raised the pistol, took aim. He held his breath.
He emptied the magazine.
There was a spray of black-and-red gore, as well as sparks, and the spider lost its grip on the wall. The lift continued, unabated. The thing was in the air for a heart-pounding second, and then it crashed to the ground, smashing entire earth-movers beneath its bulk. A long, lonely howl of pain echoed throughout the cavern.
Greg watched thing thrash about, legs twitching like mad, as he ascended. The lift reached the top and stopped. He gave the grotesque monster one more glance, then turned and sprinted down the narrow tunnel at the top.
It was still alive, but he'd dealt with it for now.
He prayed he'd never have to see that thing again.
Chapter 12
–Into the Maw–
Above.
Greg never thought he'd be so glad to see a bleak, rocky mining tunnel. He'd been headed towards the surface for what seemed like forever, but couldn't have been that long. The spider was left behind, and he hadn't heard or felt any tremors. Whatever it was, it seemed to be trapped in the lower mining section.
At least he prayed it was.
There was light at the end of the tunnel, a good, strong, steady, white light that came from several powerful work-lights no doubt. Greg crested the final portion of the tunnel and stepped out. He looked left, then right, seeing the familiar main tunnel that ran just beneath the surface of the airless moon.
Overhead, a sign pointed him towards the hangars, and safety. He set off in that direction, pistol still clutched firmly in hand. It wasn't safe down here, and he wasn't quite out of the fire yet. Greg glanced over his shoulder. It got darker after several dozen meters, he saw. There could be anything in that darkness.
He picked up the pace.
He wondered how far away he had emerged from Burne and his men. He couldn't see anyone in the tunnel, but, then again, they may have very well retreated into the generator and oxygen rooms themselves.
Or they could all be dead.
Greg felt a chill ripple through him as he considered this fact. What if the Augmented or the Undead or Dark Ops or some ridiculous combination of the three had finally overrun the miner's headquarters?
What if he was truly alone down here?
Greg shook off the notion. He broke into a light jog, tired but still pumped with residual adrenaline from his harrowing experiences thus far. Finally, he came to a familiar storage room. Greg slipped in, finding it empty. He holstered the pistol and began the long climb up the ladder.
The hatch at the top opened and he climbed through. The coast was still clear. He listened as he climbed up and out and sealed the hatch behind him. His fear of finding nothing but blood and death refused to abate as he moved over to the door, opened it and peered out. The corridor beyond was large, lonely and empty.
He wished in vain for a radio. Moving out into the corridor, Greg listened intently for signs of life. Immense relief swelled through him as he heard distant voices that weren't screaming or shouting orders. As he began to hurry along the passageway, fear began to well up once more. What if it was Dark Ops?
He kept the pistol out.
Finally, as he drew closer to the voices, Greg rounded another corner and came to one of the entrances to the hangar headquarters. A pair of security personnel stood guard, sharing a cigarette.
One of them raised his weapon, a rifle, as he spied Greg.
“Who goes there?”
“Wait, that's one of the survivors from the fleet overhead...holy shit, we thought you were dead,” the second one said, putting a restrictive hand on the first's gun.
“So did I,” Greg replied. “Can I go in?”
They stepped aside. “Yes, do. They're planning a major mission.”
Greg’s heart sank as he moved between them. What now? What godforsaken thing was he going to have to do now?
As usual, the headquarters was abuzz with all manner of activity. Techs, security officers, miners, everyone who was still alive, numbering in the low dozens now, were scurrying about with infopads, crates, weapons, wounded, and more. Greg hunted, desperate for Kyra or Campbell or even Powell, familiar faces in a sea of the unknown. He spied them a moment later, clustered around Powell's work station, as per usual.
“Hey!” he called as he made his way over.
They all glanced over, some of them more startled than others. Several eyes widened in surprise, and Kyra suddenly dashed forward. As soon as she crossed the distance, she wrapped him in a hug and kissed him hard on the mouth.
“Thought you were worried about infection,” Greg said.
“Oh, whatever. I doubt you've got any in you anyway,” Kyra replied, a little breathlessly. “Where the fuck have you been?”.
Greg led her over to the others, where he gave them a quick version of the events that had befallen him, with particular emphasis on the giant, Augmented-enhanced spider. None of them seemed too thrilled about that.
“This is fucking wonderful,” Lynch muttered miserably. “Now, let me get you up to speed on what's been happening while you took a vacation down in the mines. We've managed to get the area secured, for now. I think the other three armies are keeping each other busy for the moment. However, I'm beginning to suspect we've got some kind of traitor in our midst.”
“The thought had occurred to me,” Greg replied.
He thought about the strange way the trio of Berserker cages had opened, and all the other 'unlucky' things that had been happening.
“Any suspects?” Lynch asked.
Greg shook his head. “No. I don't suspect anyone in my group. We all know the stakes and I can't imagine anything that would tempt them or myself.”
“Unless it was Dark Ops doing the tempting,” Mike said.
“Yeah, but most of the 'problems' have coincided with Augmented or Undead attacks. Either it's coincidence...or someone is playing a very subtle game of subterfuge. Either way, what can we do about it?” Greg asked.
“Nothing, for now. We need to go ahead with the plan. And I'm afraid it's a really nasty plan. You're going to hate it,” Lynch replied.
Greg scanned the faces of those around him. They all looked grim and bleak, having gotten over the initial burst of joy at seeing him alive again.
“What is it?” he asked.
“We're down to two missing components, one for the bomb, one for the ship. The part for the bomb is over at what is now Dark Ops HQ...and the one for the ship is, quite unfortunately, not anywhere on this moon.”
“So...we're fucked?” Greg asked dismally.
“No, not exactly. There's a spare listed in inventory...on one of the former Dark Ops ships, currently floating above our heads,” Mike replied apologetically.
“I...but those are totally owned by Erebus and the Augmented!” Greg cried.
“I told you you were going to hate it,” Lynch replied.
Greg heaved a world-weary sigh. “Fine, I guess I'm volunteered for the job...who's going with me? Or do I have to go it alone?”
“No, Campbell has volunteered to go, and our head of security, Burne. It's just going to be the three of you. And I'm afraid you've got to leave right away. We can't afford to waste this lull in the battle,” Lynch replied.
Greg let out a long groan, and let his shoulders slump in defeat.
“Fine, I'll go get ready.”
He turned and made his way towards the makeshift armory. Kyra and Campbell joined him. Kyra slipped her hand in his, lacing their fingers. Her skin felt smooth, warm, and familiar. He squeezed and she squeezed back.
>
“I missed you,” he said.
“I bet you did,” she replied. “I'm honestly amazed you survived. I was reasonably sure you were still alive, but...”
“But the odds were against me.”
“Yeah...I...didn't know what I was going to do if you'd died.”
“We've always known it was a possibility.”
They came to the collection of tables and crates. Greg reached for a weapon, but Kyra stopped him. He glanced at her. He realized her eyes were filled with unshed tears. Campbell broke away from them, gathering his gear.
“I know you could, in a logical sense, in an academic sense. In the same way that I know that fire burns and a broken bone really fucking hurts. But knowing isn't the same as experiencing. I...just, God, I'm sorry. We've been through so much already and here I am about to break down. I guess, I'm just saying, it was really scary,” she said.
Greg nodded and realized he was quite close to crying as well.
“I understand. I keep thinking the same thing, trying to make myself understand that we could all die or even just you could, but I do shy away from the thought. I don't know how to handle it.” He laughed uneasily. “It's hard to believe we've gotten this far in just a handful of weeks. From strangers to this.”
“Yeah, I know...but they always say relationships form at a hyper-speed under extremely stressful situations. And we've been stressed for quite a long time now. I'm so afraid this is all going to end and we're going to be sick of each other,” Kyra replied.
“Well...how about we cross that bridge when we come to it, huh?”
“Seems we end up saying that a lot, don't we?”
They were both silent for a long moment. Greg suddenly felt the overwhelming urge to tell Kyra that he loved her, but it seemed like a bad idea. Was it even true? Was it just his stress or lust or chemicals speaking?
In the end, he kissed her once more and turned away from her.
They had salvaged some more of those heavy-duty mining suits and brought them to the armory, for which Greg was immensely grateful. He stripped of the battered one he'd been wearing and began pulling it on. He wondered where Burne was. Greg finished suiting up and filled his pockets with spare magazines and shotgun shells, then switched over the four infoclips to the new suit. He clipped a fresh medical kit to his belt and ran a quick diagnostic on the suit.
