“No,” said Nate. “Best case, it’s seven. I got the one running away out here.”
“Still. Beats your two.”
“It does,” agreed Nate. “What happened in there?”
“Fuckers were trying to strap me to a chair,” said Kohl. “Maybe they wanted to get larvae into me again. I really hate these guys.”
“Let’s get on,” said Nate. “I’ve got a feeling we’ll meet whoever’s behind this.”
• • •
Down in the belly of the facility, the lights were out. Of course the lights were out. No way the pleasing white interior could continue all the way into the seventh circle of hell. Nate’s suit lamps shone against ceramicrete, pipework lining the corridor. The corridor stretched ahead of them into the gloom, not even the reflected glint of alien eyes in the dark. There were a few doorways off the corridor, and at regular two-hundred-meter intervals, blast doors. The corridor itself was a good twenty meters wide, designed for loaders. A sign suspended above the corridor promised REACTOR CORE. You could always count on Engineers to label stuff.
“This is kinda nice,” said Kohl.
“How you figure?” said Nate.
“Last time I went into an Ezeroc nest, it was underwater,” said Kohl. “This is just dark.”
“Monsters hide in the dark,” said Nate.
“It’s what I’m hoping for,” said Kohl, hefting his plasma cannon.
“I reckon we’ll find the person in charge down here,” said Nate. “Most likely, on the way out. It’s the kind of creepy and mysterious thing an evil person would do.”
“Cut off our exit?”
“Yep,” said Nate. “While they gloat.”
“Not even a token resistance on the way in?” Kohl wore a disappointed look behind his visor. “Seems foolish.”
At that, a hiss came from the darkness ahead. “You might get lucky yet,” said Nate. “Only, try not to shoot anything that looks like a reactor.”
“I look like an idiot?” said Kohl.
Nate paused, then decided an honest answer was a path to madness, so he set off. His own sidearm was held ready, sword in his other hand. Ahead, the hissing turned into a chittering, then went quiet. Nate and Kohl continued down the corridor, Nate’s boots making little noise, Kohl’s armor whine-clanking with every step. Nate glimpsed a form scuttling across the corridor and let off a shot from his blaster. The blue-white bolt hit nothing but wall, but in the brief actinic glare he saw about a hundred Ezeroc massed down the end of the corridor.
“I think we’ve found them,” he said. “October? I know what you’re thinking. You’re thinking, ‘Hell, I’ll just fire me a rocket down there,’ and that would be a good idea under usual circumstances.”
“What stops this being a usual circumstance?” said Kohl, eyes narrowed.
“At the end of this corridor is a reactor,” said Nate. “I don’t much fancy you breaching containment while we’re here. Whole place is likely to go up in a great ball of fire.”
“You worry too much,” said Kohl, swinging his cannon to bear. The launcher whined into place, and he fired a rocket into the blackness. A bright orange-white contrail lit its path, ending in a massive ball of fire as it impacted the Ezeroc swarm waiting for them. The back pressure of the explosion lifted Nate clear off his feet, and as he flew backward, he thought: And that’s why you don’t let off explosives in a sealed container. His helmet clanged against the floor of the corridor. Get up, Chevell. Job’s not done yet. Nate hauled himself upright, taking in the flames from the burning Ezeroc corpses. The crazy, flickering light cast the rest of the horde into stark relief as the insects rushed them.
Kohl switched his cannon to plasma fire, unleashing blue-white hell on the approaching insects. Nate dusted himself off, pointed his sidearm, and joined in. Plasma roared down the corridor, Ezeroc exploding into burning fragments. Kohl yelled, “RELOADING!” His weapon spat the glowing coal of its battery to the floor. Nate covered him with his sidearm, the tip of the weapon white with heat. As Nate’s sidearm ran dry, Kohl’s was ready, roaring at the approaching insects. Nate dropped his own cartridge to the floor, slipping a new one in, feeling the heat of the weapon through his glove. The weapon chimed, ready to rock, and Nate pointed it at the insects.
They were a tide, a rolling ocean of chitin and claws, hungry for the Empire. They will not have the Empire. Not while I draw breath. Nate kept firing, and the Ezeroc got closer still. But their ranks were thinning. Nate’s weapon ran dry once more, but the roaches were too close to reload. He dropped the weapon, swinging his sword, ducking under the swipe of a claw. He stood with Kohl, the big man’s cannon firing, Nate’s black blade biting, until it was done.
Nate panted. His sword was covered in gore, and he flicked it to the side to clear the worst of the mess away. He picked up his blaster, reloading it. The weapon chimed, ready. “Kohl.”
“That was a close one,” said Kohl. “I was almost worried.”
“You should be,” said Nate. “Not good logic, attacking us here. Make better sense to attack us on the way out. Trap us, cork in a bottle, that kind of thing.”
“Is it a trap or a bottle?”
“It’s a multi-purpose analogy,” said Nate, with a sigh.
“You figure there’s more roaches on the way out?”
“Or worse,” said Nate. “I think it’ll be much worse.”
“Guess we’ll see,” said Kohl, rumbling forward, Ezeroc chitin smoking and crunching under his armored feet. Nate checked around. Nothing here. No panels in the ceiling, ready to fall in, dropping a million locusts on them. No trapdoors in the floor. Just a big ceramicrete corridor, heading toward a reactor.
Guess we’ll see indeed.
• • •
The engineering bay was big, the size of a destroyer’s. A bank of reactors was evenly spaced along the room, comforting green showing on all the readouts. At least no one was letting maintenance fall behind, hey? The room itself was well-lit, a comforting change from the dark of the corridor. The room also held a single man, wearing an Engineer’s rig, helmet on. The man faced away from the door where Nate and Kohl stood, a massive vaulted airlock designed to keep not just air but radiation at bay.
“Hey,” said Nate.
The man turned, his rig’s arms clacking about. His face looked normal enough, so long as you didn’t look too closely at the Ezeroc chitin mottling the side of his face. One of his eyes was missing, an Ezeroc’s lens set into his skull instead. “Emperor?”
“That’s me,” said Nate. “I’m guessing you’re,” he gestured to the side of his head, “connected to the Ezeroc hive mind. Wired for sound, yeah?”
“Emperor,” agreed the Engineer. He started toward them.
Nate raised his blaster. “Hey now. Let’s not get too excited.”
“Freedom through death,” said the Engineer, breaking into a run.
“You got it, buddy,” said Kohl, and shot the man in the chest. The plasma bolt spun the Engineer back through the bay to clatter against the wall. He stared at Nate. “What?”
“Nothing,” said Nate.
“You want to say something, say it,” said Kohl.
“It’s just, you know,” said Nate.
“He was a roach,” said Kohl. “Like that motherfucker on Station Echo Nine you told me about.”
“That guy was a real asshole,” said Nate. “This one? Didn’t look too attached to his higher cognitive functions.”
“His what?”
“He seemed about as smart as a border collie,” said Nate. He holstered his blaster. “Let’s set the charges. Re-enforcements will be on their way.” He tossed two of the explosives to Kohl, who clanked across the bay, setting one against the side of a reactor. It clunked into place.
Nate did the same with the other two. The reactors were big, the size of a small shuttle each. You couldn’t tell the furnace of nuclear fire burned within, the exteriors cool to the touch. The Guild built to last, and reactors were
easy tech compared to most things they manufactured. Nate just hoped they weren’t too good, otherwise these charges would go off and then … nothing.
As Nate affixed his second and final explosive to a reactor, he turned, coming face to face with the not-as-dead-as-expected Engineer. The man had a hole in his torso you could put both arms through, charring around the edges. Nate had a curious set of thoughts as the Engineer hit his helmet with a piece of pipe, knocking him to the floor. The first was, most people without spines can’t walk, which was chased out of his mind by, most people without lungs can’t breathe, and on the heels of that arrived, I wonder if a headshot will work?
Nate hit the floor in a clatter, landing on his back, his sword underneath him. He drew his blaster just in time for the weapon to be knocked away by the Engineer. The blaster broke apart as it was hit, a discharge of energy arcing to ground against a metal table. The blow was strong enough to break every one of Nate’s fingers, except he’d drawn with his augmented hand. Which was a curious turn of luck, if you figured on having such a thing while lying on your back as a dead man beat on you with a pipe.
The Engineer swung again, but Nate caught the pipe with his augmented hand. Metal clanged on metal, and the Engineer fell forward, their helmets clacking together. The Engineer pulled back his other arm to wail on Nate, but then his weight was pulled off Nate as Kohl hauled the not-dead man up. Kohl’s armor whined as he tossed the Engineer across the bay.
Nate got up, lifting his sword. “Seems sprightly for a dead man.”
“I don’t think he’s dead, Cap.”
The Engineer got up, then clambered up the walls, using piping and conduit for handholds. Kohl raised his cannon, firing, but the Engineer was fast. He scrambled across the ceiling, his rig’s arms helping with the motion, to drop atop Nate again.
Nate stepped—
Not there. He will land too close and starve your swing of power.
—sideways, the black blade swinging in an arc, cutting through the neck seals of the Engineer’s rig. The Engineer’s head bounced free, a gout of blood too black to be human fountaining up. His rig’s arms clacked at the air, looking for something to grab. Kohl shot the body, sending pieces of burning ruin across the bay.
Nate looked at his sword, then the remains of the body. “I wish you hadn’t done that.”
“You what now?” said Kohl.
“I wanted to test a theory,” said Nate. “The one El fought on Earth was strong and fast too, right?”
“Back up,” said Kohl. “You’re saying you wish I hadn’t killed the unkillable monster?”
“It sounds weird when you say it out loud, but yeah,” said Nate. “I wanted to see if a headshot would do the trick. I think the Ezeroc are getting better, if that’s the right word, at subverting humans. Making our bodies into puppets.”
“Headshots,” said Kohl. “I can work with that.”
“You’re not concerned about them getting better?” said Nate.
“I’m pleased they’re not using blasters,” said Kohl.
Nate parsed that through his mind a few times. “Is there a story behind that comment?”
“No.”
“Sure?”
“Sure.”
“Okay,” said Nate. He went to check the explosives, and sure enough, the Engineer had monkeyed with one. Nate reset it, all four now good to go. “Kohl? I’ll put these on a timer.”
“Remote detonator feels safer.”
“A remote detonator uses radio, which is being jammed by the base,” said Nate.
Kohl gave a long, loud sigh over the comm. “You been talking with Kimberly?”
“Who the hell is Kimberly?” said Nate.
“My personal trainer,” said Kohl. “She keeps telling me to do more cardio.” The big man sauntered to the exit, looked out, then checked his weapon. “There’s a guy outside.”
“I’ve never met Kimberly, but it seems like I should,” said Nate. “What kind of guy?”
“Asshole,” said Kohl.
“How you figure?”
“He’s got his arms crossed, looked like he didn’t have a care in the world.”
“I know the type,” agreed Nate. “Best we go see what he’s got to say.” Nate set the charges, giving them a generous half hour to get out. No need to tax Kohl’s cardio, and if his hunch was right, after they dealt with the asshole outside, there’d be no real time pressure. He practiced his swagger all the way to the door, where — sure enough — an asshole waited about twenty meters back. “You got a spare sidearm?” Kohl handed him a small blaster without a word. Nate slid it into his holster.
The asshole was wearing an older-style black-and-white ship suit. He had white hair, clearly visible through his visor. Twin swords hung from his belt, and if Nate was a gambling man — which he was — there’d be a sidearm holstered at the base of the asshole’s spine. His face was regular, ordinary, except for his expression. The guy managed to look down his nose at Nate, even while wearing a helmet. Kohl was right. This guy looks used to giving orders. “Nathan Chevell,” he said.
“Let’s not,” said Nate.
“You … what?”
“You’re about to say we’re prisoners, or you’ll kill us, or to tell you where the rest of our group are, or some such nonsense,” said Nate. He stepped through the doorway, Kohl lumbering behind him. “I’ve watched holos before. I know what all the evil overlords do. It’s all blasters and excitement, right until the end, and then there’s a speech, and you gloat.”
“I … what?” said the asshole, again.
“Come on then,” said Nate. He unlimbered his sword, swinging it a couple times, reminding himself of the heft of the weapon. “Give us your best gloat.”
“I’m not here to gloat,” said the asshole, but not without a couple moments’ thought. “I came to tell you we control everything. Resistance is useless! I will bring you before the First in chains.”
Nate glanced at Kohl. “That sound like gloating?”
“Sure did, Cap.” Kohl shook his head. “Not very good gloating, though. The evil boss on The Hulls of Angels did a better job. More effort in it, I guess you’d say. Like he believed.”
“I believe!” said the asshole.
“Sure you do,” said Nate. He unsealed his helmet, dropping it to the floor, then took a deep breath of the facility’s air. Smelt fine, as long as you didn’t mind the odor of burnt Ezeroc, the tunnel still heavy with smoke. He tucked his sword under an arm, tugging off his ship suit’s gloves.
“What are you doing?” said the asshole.
“What?” said Nate. He looked at his gloves. “Oh. This. Right. What happens on a regular basis after the gloating is some kind of fight. I hate sword work while I’m wearing a helmet. Breath gets raspy in my ears, you know?” He looked at Kohl. “You find that too?”
“All the time,” said Kohl. He raised his weapon. “You want me to solve this problem for you?”
“I got it,” said Nate.
“You’re both imbeciles!” said the asshole. “How did you become the head of the Empire?”
“Timing,” said Nate. “A lot of luck, too. Also, I look good in black, and since that’s the de facto dress standard for emperors, I fit right in.” He raised his sword in his flesh and blood hand. “We going to do this or what?”
“I don’t want to kill you,” said the asshole.
“Shame,” said Nate. “I sure want to kill you. You’ve murdered a whole bunch of folks here trying to do good things for everyone. Sailed in on wings of fury, demons at your side. Kicked our asses, and I don’t mind admitting it. But here we are, you and me, and precious little between us ‘cept air, and little to stop us from murder aside from our morals.” He grinned. “Pirates aren’t big on morals.” He cast Kohl a glance. “Remember what we talked about.”
“I remember,” said Kohl. He leaned against the wall. “You want to test a theory.” He stood his cannon next to him, then held his hand out toward the asshole. �
�Be my guest.”
“Theory?” said the asshole. But he drew the expected blaster from behind him.
Nate’s augmented hand gripped his own borrowed blaster with golden fingers, drew, and fired. The aim was true — not bad for a hip shot — blowing the asshole’s weapon to pieces. The man screamed, holding burnt fingers. Nate holstered his own blaster. “Fair’s fair,” he said. “Rules on the door say steel only.”
“Rules?” said the asshole. “Are you insane?”
“I don’t think so,” said Nate.
“Then bend to my will!” screamed the asshole, eyes wide and murderous. Nate waited, his own eyes widening some as the air around his black blade danced and weaved as heat shimmered off the metal. After a few moments, the asshole looked at Nate’s sword. “That’s an interesting weapon.”
“It is,” said Nate. “Only a few folks about who can produce the raw wattage you’ve got there.”
“Better than you,” said the asshole.
“By a long shot,” agreed Nate. He walked toward his opponent, sword held ready.
The asshole drew one of his own blades, wary. They circled each other. “You can’t win.”
Nate shrugged, then struck, his blade cutting nothing but air as the asshole danced back. A return thrust came, but—
It is aimed at your heart. Step forward, to the right.
—Nate sidestepped, running his opponent through, ship suit parting like cotton candy beneath the edge of the black blade. The man screamed, a short, choking noise, blood gushing from his lips. Nate stepped around that too, dragging his blade free and walking back a couple paces.
The guy was still upright, but surprised, as if the day was full of unpleasant news. Nate looked past him to Kohl. “See?”
“I get it, Cap. Headshots.”
The asshole looked to Kohl, then back at Nate. “They’ve given me speed. Power. You … can’t dodge.”
“Didn’t dodge,” said Nate. “Not in the traditional sense.”
“Then what? How?”
“Well, see now,” said Nate. He darted in, batted his opponent’s sword aside, then swung his black blade through the middle of the asshole’s head. Steel parted flesh, the man going down like a bad joke. Nate looked at the twitching body. “I’m no villain, and I don’t gloat.”
Tyche's Ghosts: A Space Opera Military Science Fiction Epic (Ezeroc Wars Book 5) Page 4
