Survival Aptitude Test: Fury (The Extinction Odyssey Book 2)

by Mike Sheriff

  The Unum glanced down.

  Blood coated his arms and hands. Thick chunks of glass jutted from the gleamglass fabric covering his right thigh.

  “Where’s Narses?” the Jiren asked, scanning the chamber.

  “He’s gone.”

  The Jiren spun to the other guards. “We must get him out of here!”

  “How many men do you have?”

  “Two hundred.” He gripped the Unum’s arm, lending support. “We have a score of armored levicarts outside. We’ll get you to a safe location.”

  “What’s your name, Jiren?”

  “Gaius al Levidian.”

  “You’re now my Primae Jiren, Gaius. I charge you with bringing Daoren al Lucien, Heqet alum Fengsei, Cordelia alum Dominus, the traitors Pyros and Cang, and all those who support them to justice.”

  Gaius bowed his head. “You honor me, Unum.”

  “Do this and I’ll do more than honor you. I’ll reward you and your men beyond your wildest dreams.”

  Gaius and the other guards led him toward the outer chamber. The crunch of broken glass accompanied their retreat.

  18

  Convergence

  DAOREN STOWED HIS dart gun on the floor of the forward passenger seat. He powered the seat back from the dash a few more inches, compensating for the bulk of the conformal air-pack.

  Beside him, Commander Cang rammed the throttle-control forward and maneuvered the levicart up a northbound ramp. Pyros straddled the jump seat between them, sitting ten inches aft and six inches higher. His right foot tapped the floorboard without interruption—probably an unconscious reflex brought on by anxiety, similar to Mako’s hand clenching. Daoren didn’t begrudge him the habit; the man had good reason to be anxious.

  Daoren twisted in his seat and focused aft.

  Forty inward-facing seats lined the austere troop compartment, twenty per side. Cordelia and Heqet shared the space with a mix of armed denizens and Jireni. His mother and Commander Hyro looked to be in the midst of an intense conversation near the rear hatch, words lost to the whining varinozzles. Mid-cabin, a sonic rifle rested on Heqet’s lap. Opposite her, an Asianoid denizen in a brown shenyi craned forward in his seat, pointing at the weapon, likely briefing her on its operation. Su al Xing was one of Zhongguo Cheng’s most infamous dissenters; he likely knew more about the weapon’s function than most Jireni. Heqet glanced at Daoren and gave him a resolute nod.

  Daoren returned it, mindful to project an aura of quiet confidence. Inwardly, he hoped she wouldn’t have to use the rifle. With a little luck, the screw mines on the aerostat had achieved the plan’s most important objective. With a little more luck, they’d be able to consolidate power without further bloodshed. He twisted back to the windshield.

  Outside, the columned façades of mauve administrative structures flashed past. They’d entered Zhongguo Cheng. At this speed, they’d reach the Center in less than ten minutes and the Assembly ten minutes after that—assuming no obstacles delayed them.

  In the corner of his eye, he noticed Cang glancing over again; the fifth time she’d done so since leaving the arms depot in Yindu Cheng. She’d yet to voice the question on her mind. Evidently, she needed a prompt. “What weighs you, commander?”

  “Forgive my curiosity,” Cang said, “but you wrote a perfect S.A.T.?”

  “Yes.”

  “Knowing the whole time you were destined to fail?”

  “Yes.”

  “Knowing the whole time you’d be facing the grooll mill?”

  “Yes, commander.”

  “Sapient Sha,” she said. “It’s an honor to serve the true Unum Potentate.”

  A dash-mounted comms tile whistled. A crackling voice followed. “Commander Cang, are you there?”

  “My aide,” Cang said to Daoren. “He’s at the Assembly.” She toggled a switch on the control yoke. “Go ahead, Radan.”

  “The Unum’s alive!”

  Daoren cursed the ill news. He’d been too cautious with the screw mines’ blast settings. “And Narses?”

  “What of Narses?” Cang asked.

  “He’s dead. The personal guard is escorting the Unum out of the Assembly as we speak. They have a dozen levicarts ready to move him.”

  “How many in the guard?” Cang asked.

  “More than I can count, sireen.”

  “How many?”

  “Two hundred? Two hundred-fifty perhaps?”

  Cang released a resigned sigh.

  “How many do we have in our main assault force?” Daoren asked.

  “One hundred twenty,” Pyros said. “The rest are tasked with establishing security checkpoints on the transways leading into the Assembly.”

  “They won’t be needed if the Unum is mobile.”

  Cang flicked a switch on the dash. It activated a moving-map display.

  A plasmonic projection of Zhongguo Cheng illuminated before the windshield. Blue icons represented their Hexalite fleet, ten vehicles in all. Four icons tracked the main assault force, heading north in close formation. Six more icons converged on distant checkpoints surrounding the Assembly. None were in a good position to intercept the Unum’s fleet.

  Daoren leaned forward, studying the display.

  Fifteen miles to the north, eight transways fanned out from the Center, aligned with the cardinal and inter-cardinal points of the compass. Fifteen miles east of the Center, transways from the Assembly ran west and south.

  Daoren analyzed the tactical picture, trying to place himself inside the Unum’s head—as uncomfortable a fit as it might be. He’d want to strike back for the death of his son, but he’d need time to assess his next move, to determine who he could trust. Where would he want to go while he made those calculations?

  Pyros hunched forward in the jump seat, pointing at the projection. “The southern aerodrome is less than thirty minutes from the Assembly. If he makes it to an aeroshrike, we might lose him.”

  “That would take him into the heart of the uprising, wouldn’t it?” Daoren asked.

  “Yes,” Cang said.

  “Then he won’t go south,” Daoren said. “Can you decrease the scale, commander?”

  Cang adjusted a dash-mounted dial.

  The projection zoomed in on the Center and its eight transways. Each was accessible by another transway that encircled the Center at the base of its eight terraced stairways.

  “He’ll want to come west to the Center.” Daoren traced a finger along the east-west transway linking the Assembly to the Center. “It gives him access to the most routes out of Zhongguo Cheng, including those leading to the Slavvic districts in the north. If we can get there first, we’ll cut off his options for escape.”

  “If he wants to escape,” Pyros said. “The death of his son may compel him to stand and fight.”

  “If he wants to stand and fight, then we’ll meet him.” Daoren glanced at Cang. “And we’ll see if you still feel as honored to serve me by the end of the day.”

  Cang offered him a hint of a smile. “We’ll see.”

  A SHARP TURN drove the Unum’s head backward. His skull smacked into a hard-point on the bulkhead, earning a guttural curse.

  He rode in the levicart’s troop compartment, wedged into a seat designed for utility, not comfort. The airless space reeked of sweat; the brackish, putrid sweat produced by fear.

  The Unum shuddered. It was an ignoble way to travel, but it placed twenty guards around him. Another one hundred-eighty guards followed in their wake, divided among eleven more levicarts. He wished they had twice the number.

  The guard in the adjacent seat plucked shards of glass from the Unum’s thigh. Several were buried in muscle and refused to budge.

  He bristled and swatted the woman’s hands away. “Leave them be!”

  “Some are deep,” she said. “They may have hit an artery.”

  “Do you have a coagulant to control the bleeding?”

  “No, Unum.”

  “Then leave them!”

  “
We’ll have you at the southern aerodrome in thirty minutes,” Gaius said from the facing seat. “The medical facility there will have—”

  “I’m not going into the heart of the insurrection! Take me north!”

  “With respect, I think you’d be safer in the air.”

  “I’ll be safer in a Slavvic district, among my own kind!”

  “Unum, please. I beg you to—”

  “Take me north!”

  Gaius sighed. “As you command.” He cupped his hands around his mouth and called forward. “Driver! Head for the Center and take the northern transway once we get there!”

  TEN MINUTES LATER, Daoren examined the plasmonic map while Cang guided the levicart around the Center’s circular transway.

  The projection displayed seven blue icons between the northern and western stairways, traveling in a clockwise direction. Three more icons tracked westward from Assembly, racing to rejoin the force.

  Cang throttled back, slowing the levicart fleet below sixty miles an hour to patrol the circuit. They passed by the northern stairway.

  Daoren glanced up eight deserted flights at its darkened archway.

  A morbid pall pressed around him—it was the same stairway he’d occupied with his family on the day of the January S.A.T. Mako had shoved him on the second flight minutes before the test. Laoshi had stood steeped in remorse in the archway’s shadow shortly after its conclusion. Lucien had wept on the steps of the uppermost flight after encountering his worst fear. Now all three of them were gone.

  “Keep your eyes open for his regal fleet,” Pyros said, craning forward in the jump seat.

  Daoren pushed the melancholy aside and focused on the curving transway.

  Five hundred feet ahead, sunlight sparkled on angled glass. The blocky hullform of a Hexalite levicart broached the curve, heading in their direction. Another levicart appeared behind it . . . and another. Red-and-gold Imperial Regalia etched their gloss-black doors.

  “There it is!” Daoren said.

  Cang slammed the throttle-control forward. The abrasive hiss of compressed air resonated. The levicart accelerated. “All positions brace for impact!” she shouted.

  Daoren cinched his shock belt as tight as it would go. He folded his arms across his chest.

  The leading levicart in the Unum’s fleet grew larger in the windshield, approaching on a steady bearing. It had accelerated as well.

  Daoren sucked short, shallow breaths. He willed the oncoming vehicle to turn.

  It didn’t deviate from its path. They closed the distance in seconds. The opposing levicart veered left at the last possible instant, exposing its starboard flank. Gloss-black armor cladding filled the windshield.

  Cang reefed the control yoke to the right. “Brace! Brace! Brace!”

  Daoren closed his eyes and gritted his teeth.

  A horrendous crunch signaled the impact. More grinding crashes resounded in rapid succession as the other levicarts met the regal fleet head-on.

  Daoren pitched forward against the shock belt. The deceleration forced his eyes open.

  The windshield cracked and split apart. Beyond it, the horizon tilted and rolled.

  He thumped into the jump seat’s reinforced frame, then rebounded into the passenger door. His body slammed from side to side, straining against the shock belt, again and again.

  The rolling motion ceased. Blood rushed into his head, muffling the moans from the troop compartment. The shock belt dug into his shoulders.

  The levicart was upside-down.

  Daoren braced a hand against the roof and twisted the belt’s release. He thudded onto his back and rolled onto his knees.

  In the troop compartment, denizens and Jireni hung suspended in their seats, dazed but uninjured. Heqet and Cordelia wriggled, struggling to release their belts.

  Pyros and Cang freed themselves and headed aft to help the others.

  Daoren groped for his dart gun. He found it, jammed behind the dash. He checked its flex-hose for crimps. “Quickly! Out of the vehicle before they have time to recover!”

  They exited through the rear hatch. A scene of carnage greeted them.

  Wrecked levicarts littered the base of the Center’s northeastern stairway. Several had split apart, spilling their occupants onto the transway. Denizens and Jireni lay in crumpled piles, unmoving. Some crawled, dragging torn limbs. Others staggered, staunching gushing wounds with their hands.

  One gloss-black levicart lay on its side on the stairway’s first flight, a swath of demolished steps charting its path. Jireni poured from its rear hatch, chest plates emblazoned with Imperial Regalia—the Unum’s personal guards. A bloated figure in a regal mianfu stumbled out of the levicart.

  Daoren raised his dart gun. “The Unum!”

  He squeezed the trigger. Four recoils thumped his shoulder.

  His four darts tracked wide, striking the steps to the right of the Unum.

  Daoren cursed. The collision had knocked the dart gun’s twin sights out of alignment. He readjusted them.

  More guards streamed out of the other levicarts and formed a skirmish line on the stairs. They used the tipped vehicle for concealment, opening fire with dart guns and sonic rifles.

  Projectiles stitched the transway next to Daoren, gouging rows of craters. A hand tugged the back of his tunic.

  “Daoren, get back!” Heqet said.

  Daoren backed up behind the upended levicart. It would have to serve as the rally point for the assault. “To me!” he shouted. “To me!”

  Denizens and Jireni dashed hunchbacked to his position. Su al Xing stepped out into the open and hoisted his sonic rifle. He laid down suppressing fire until the men and women found cover behind the levicart. Daoren peered around the end of the vehicle.

  The skirmish line of guards laid down an effective base of fire. Projectiles streaked through the air, seeking targets among the heap of vehicles. A hundred more denizens and Jireni returned sporadic fire from shielded positions, pinned down.

  On the stairway, ten guards broke cover and climbed the first flight. The Unum climbed among them.

  Daoren grimaced. If the Unum entered the Center, he could access its other archways and slip away. They couldn’t afford to tarry any longer for the rest of the force.

  He cupped Heqet’s cheek. “No matter what happens, you and my mother stay here.”

  “I want to come with you!”

  “Stay here!”

  He waved a Jiren closer. The burly Slavv gripped a tubular sound cannon as though it weighed no more than a quantum tile. The man bunched his shoulders, flinching at every nearby dart impact.

  Daoren pointed at the tipped levicart on the stairway. “Can you put a round into that vehicle?”

  “I . . . I can try,” the Jiren said.

  “You’ll have to do better than try,” Su said. He snatched the sound cannon from the Jiren. “I’ll do it.”

  Daoren addressed Pyros, Cang, and the three dozen fighters who’d made it to the rally point. “We’ll neutralize the skirmish line, then take the rest of the guards before they can escape with the Unum.”

  “And where would you like me?” Hyro asked.

  “Here with Heqet and my mother,” Daoren said. “Don’t let anything happen to them.” He turned back to the others. “Ready?”

  “We’re ready,” Pyros said. The others nodded, their somber faces hardening.

  Daoren thumped Su’s back. “Do it!”

  Su broke cover and dropped to a knee. He set the sound cannon on his shoulder and lined up its sights. The cannon recoiled with an awesome whoosh.

  Its supersonic round arced across the transway, trailing a toroidal column of vapor.

  Two sound pulses struck Su before he could stand, spinning him. The sound cannon clattered to the ground beside his severed arm.

  The supersonic round struck the stairway below the levicart. Its impulse-blast obliterated the steps, channeling a gaping crater.

  Glass shrapnel spat from the impact point. I
t sliced through the levicart and strafed the line of guards. Half staggered and fell, howling in agony.

  Daoren dashed into the open. “Follow me!”

  He charged toward the stairway. Pyros and Cang raced by his side.

  HEQET LEFT CORDELIA and Commander Hyro to tend to Su’s wound. Cordelia had used a sash from her shenyi as a tourniquet, wrapping it around his shredded stump and cinching it tight with Hyro’s crystal dagger. Her quick thinking had probably saved him from bleeding to death.

  Heqet rested the sonic rifle’s barrel on the rear hatch’s handle and glanced around the back of the levicart.

  The air buzzed with glimmering, lethal objects. Daoren and Pyros charged up the stairway toward the surviving guards.

  She watched them ascend with a mix of admiration and terror. Mid-way up the stairway, half the guards protecting the Unum wheeled to face the charge.

  Heqet held her breath, every nerve in her body a sliver of glass, as Daoren halted and raised his dart gun. Its percussive reports rang out. Five guards fell to the stairs. Daoren and Pyros bolted past them, closing in on the Unum.

  On the first flight, the other denizens and Jireni mopped up the guards near the riddled regal levicart. Cang’s curt orders cut through the clamor.

  “What can you see?” Hyro asked.

  “Daoren and Pyros are nearly upon the Unum!” Heqet said. “This may be over in—”

  Mid-way up the stairway, one of the guards Daoren had felled lifted his head. He sat up, still clutching his dart gun, and glanced up the stairs.

  Heqet’s heart stopped. The guard was two flights below Daoren . . . and Daoren’s back was to him. “Daoren!” she shouted. “Behind you!”

  Daoren pressed onward, the warning lost to the din of battle. Heqet lunged into the open and aimed the sonic rifle at the wounded guard. Her finger tightened on the trigger.

  The rifle didn’t fire.

  “Heqet!” Cordelia said. “Get back!”

  She squeezed the trigger again.

  Nothing.

  She tossed the rifle aside and sprinted toward the stairway.

  “Heqet! Stay here!”

  DAOREN FIRED AT the cluster of guards one flight above.