by Carl Sargent
Shivering a little in the mild night air, the elf began to draw out the first glowing of power from the cauldron he carried.
* * *
The truck the orks had at their disposal pulled up at a discreet distance around the corner from the Metropolitan. Serrin went up to their suite, where it took him only a moment to pick up all the credsticks and cash they had left. He also made a transfer in the hotel lobby from his own account. Twenty thousand, he reckoned. We’re five thousand over budget and we need some extra for contingencies. Whatever those might turn out to be.
They left their possessions behind. Taking them would have been like saying goodbye to Michael, which none of them would do.
Then the group made their way out of the city with sixteen orks stuffed in the back of the truck. They hit the autobahn for Ingolstadt and watched the glowing sodium illuminate their passage through the night.
One of the samurai raised a half-bottle of bad vodka to his lips, but Mathilde knocked it away before he could take a swig.
“Later. We’re being paid more money than you’ve ever dreamed of and you keep sober, Grunnden.”
The ork didn’t so much as challenge her. He just watched the colorless liquid ebb away across the floor of the van, shrugged his shoulders, and turned to cleaning the Enfield shotgun with which he’d armed himself.
Though the autobahn surface was reasonably good, the truck swayed from side to side and frequently bumped them up and down during the ride. Serrin was beginning to tire, but he knew that, unlike the others, he couldn’t risk a stim patch for the battle to come. It was just too great a risk for a mage, the overstimulation possibly causing permanent deterioration of his skills.
“You want to play medic when we get there?” he asked Kristen. “We need someone to stay back and look after the medikit and stuff.” She nodded silently. She wasn’t comfortable crammed into this truck with this great army of males. Apart from Mathilde, the ork samurai had only one female among their number.
“We’re going to have a little trouble dividing up the gear,” Tom said thoughtfully. “Only got respirators for half of us. That’s not good.”
“Yeah. Better make sure it’s the machine gunners who get them. Michael bought enough ammo for them to blow away most of Schwandorf. We’ve got to make sure they get the chance to use it all.”
“We got lucky with the heavy stuff,” Tom said. “Gunther and one of the others have handled assault cannon; Gunther knows about missile launchers from his army days, I guess. Ain’t no one really trained with explosives, though. You want to play that one by ear?”
Serrin met the troll’s grin with a laconic smile. He’d realized too late that they didn’t have any physical details of Luther’s place. All they knew was that it was a monastery. If it had something as simple as electrical fencing around it, blasting in with explosives might be the only way to enter before setting off the dozen alarms that any other kind of forced entry would trigger. Two things they didn’t have much of were sublety and the ability to bypass surveillance. Sure, a high-explosive missile could do the job, but they only had two of them and couldn’t afford the waste. Only 2. Serrin stopped his train of thought. That was enough to blow up most of the damn building. Frag subtlety.
“We should arrive around three,” Mathilde told him. “Plenty of time to scout the place before we go in. I take it you just want everything and everyone blown to drek?”
“That’s the general idea,” Serrin confirmed. “But don’t we have to cross borders? I mean, isn’t where we’re going the, um, Marienbad Council? Aren’t they going to check us out?”
“You kidding? Their security is a joke. They’re a bunch of liberal-minded drekheads. If a tank convoy of armed terrorists turned up with nukes, they’d probably say it was an infringement of their civil liberties to refuse them entry. Just leave them to us.”
Serrin looked at the huge array of armaments in the truck and realized they didn’t even have a flask of coffee. He wondered whether they could risk stopping to pick some up. One of the orks cranked up a battered portable CD player and the dubious delights of lumpen ork rock filled the crowded interior. The samurai began to tap their feet, almost in unison.
Serrin had to work hard to keep from laughing. The gang of them looked like a cross between a ragged militia and a bunch of cheerleaders. But even a bunch of cheerleaders weren’t to be sneezed at, with the weaponry they were carrying.
Then it occurred to him that had Michael still been with them, he could surely have disabled the monastery’s security systems by decking into their control systems. That changed his mood. He no longer felt like laughing.
* * *
Martin sat back and waited for this last night to pass. Luther was wholly absorbed in his work now, the first batches being prepared, enough for the precious self-replicating samples to be flown out in the morning. Then he saw the elven figure outside the gates on the monitors.
He was about to activate the remote machine guns, then decided against it. That might solve a problem but attract the police, an irritation he could do without. He flicked on the audio monitor instead.
“Luther! Luther! They’re coming to stop you. To stop your work. Listen to me! It cannot happen! You must be ready for them,” the elf at the gate babbled. Martin let him ramble on for a moment, then gave security orders over the intercom. It worried him that the intruder was aware of their progress. Martin intended to empty his mind to Find out exactly what he knew.
* * *
The planes were halfway across the English Channel by the time the orks had left the van in a forest clearing outside Schwandorf, but they couldn’t know that. They got into ragged formation and waited for their shaman to finish her assensing.
When she was done, she turned to Serrin and Tom with a look like thunder. Serrin had already sensed the power of the place. One touch was enough. He wasn’t going to get close enough to get burned or to alert any magical defenses.
“The barrier is very, very strong,” she said. “But he cannot hide the badness of the place. Now I believe you.”
She turned to Gunther and began giving orders. The armor-jacketed samurai began a careful infiltration of the forest in small groups, each with a short-wave communicator.
“They’re going to see us coming,” Serrin fretted. “They must have IR and stuff. Not to mention watcher spirits.”
“They’re your job. I didn’t see anything that wasn’t obvious. You can deal with them, can’t you?” Tom replied.
“I can, with the ones I saw,” the mage replied. “What worries me is that there wasn’t anything stronger. It must be hidden. That damn barrier could be concealing almost anything. This guy’s a mage for sure, and if Julia’s scoop was right, he could be as hot as hell. Frag it, I could use a spell lock right now.”
“Couldn’t we all,” the troll said sarcastically.
“At least with the binox we’ll be able to see what they’ve got from a way away,” Serrin mused.
“Don’t let you see through trees,” Tom growled. “I think Gunther got it right. We don’t get any closer than absolutely necessary, and just blow out the fence. Or the sates. I want to see one of them high explosives do its stuff.”
“Should be fun,” Serrin agreed.
“You got any doubts? I mean, about just frying everything in sight?”
“No. Not now that I’ve been here. Not with everything we know, and Michael in intensive. Not after the zombies. Not after what Magellan said. That’s enough to make me want to destroy everything in sight.”
“Yeah, me too,” the troll said, though it was sad that he should feel such a thing. “What say we shake on it, chummer.”
They did, and Serrin regretted it. Tom was given to firm handshakes, which was fine if you were a troll. Otherwise, it felt like his hand was being squeezed by a metal clamp with infinite crushing potential. Then they shouldered their arms and headed into the darkness.
* * *
Niall was incredulous. Th
e barrier was impossible to break. Even using everything he had, he couldn’t invade Lutair’s space. Trying to enter the building in astral form left him so drained that he’d fled, panicking. Once outside again, he felt his own power return to him. He reentered his body and jerked into life, looking at the manifested spirit protecting his physical form.
“That isn’t possible,” he said. This was something he simply hadn’t even considered.
“It is,” the spirit replied. “If he knows your name. If he has something of you. If he has enchanted a barrier specifically against you. Then you cannot penetrate it.”
“How could he possibly . . .” His voice trailed off. “The Family. They have given him something. They must be working with him, actively. That must be it.”
He sat with his head in his hands, despairing. His masking was so powerful that Lutair could not have detected him, but he was utterly impotent.
“No spirit or elemental I raise can enter either,” he said desperately.
“Quite so,” Mathanas agreed.
“Then everything is lost. I can hardly walk up with a pistol in my hands and wave it at the gates.”
The spirit, distracted from its protective duty, looked around and smiled at him.
“Niall, perhaps someone else has exactly that idea in mind. Let us wait and see what happens.”
Luther was still unaware of anything around him, so totally absorbed was he in putting the finishing touches on his preparations, when the gates of the monastery simply evaporated into thin air. Incredulous, Martin sat and stared at the few monitor screens that were still giving him anything more than static. He tried to activate the gateguns and realized they were useless. The elf had lied. He must have been a spy, an infiltrator. He’d babbled about three of them, an elf mage and a troll and some girl or other. But there was a whole damn army out there somewhere.
He didn’t know what to do—whether to get the remaining pawns out into the open to deal with whoever was trying to storm the place or to keep them back for defense and attrition. He keyed in a message for relay to Luther’s trid screen and sealed off the laboratory complex.
* * *
Machine-gun fire poured from the turret atop the monastery’s east wing, lacing the forest with fire and a hail of metal. Not wasting time comparing the merits of various targets, Gunther had the launcher embedded in the moist soil of the forest floor and was sending the second missile on its way.
In a brilliant, deafening display of pyrotechnics, the entire front of the east wing was demolished. Glass and stone screamed into the air and rained down around the building. The samurai heading for the gates, or where the gates had once been, narrowly managed to avoid being crushed by what was left of the walls.
Tom was already heading in after them, assault cannon leveled at the main doors to the building. He raced past the remains of the gate guards, almost tripping in a slippery smear that turned out to be what was left of a guard dog. The combination of barking and gunshots from his left told him that any remaining canines were rapidly becoming extinct. Peeling off to the right, he took aim. Gunther, abandoning the launcher, had had the same idea on the other flank. The two shots hit the doors simultaneously, the wood and metal disappearing in a firestorm. It was impossible, in the mayhem, to see whether anyone was inside. The ork squad heading for the doors paused and lobbed in a couple of concussion grenades just in case, then quickly ducked down and covered their heads.
Continuous machine-gun fire from the HKs was streaming into the smoke-filled hall when the ground itself seemed to tremble. As Serrin watched, the second ork squad raced away from the west side of the building, but they didn’t quite make it to complete safety before the out-building collapsed in on itself.
Frag me, he thought. Those guys may not have had any experience with explosives, but that went off pretty well. He continued to survey the scene, looking for enemies the raging orks wouldn’t see, anything emerging from the shadows. He hadn’t cast a single spell in anger, knowing he had to hold on to every ounce of power he had.
Far below them, Luther saw Martin’s message. He reacted slowly, drawing himself up out of his focusing, and then he saw the images Martin was relaying to him, the destruction of the buildings above him, orks storming the hall, in through the doors now. Two of them were mown down by the remotes covering the hall, but when the screens went blank, he realized they must be using explosives or grenades to blast their way through now. The fury and destruction of it snapped him into a cold, controlled rage.
Luther began his spellcasting. He’d been ready for something like this for a long time. The relay focuses were in place. It wouldn’t ruin the barrier; no other mage could cast even the most trivial spell inside it.
* * *
Tom felt a chill of intuition flicker through his body. He screamed to Serrin to get inside the building, his voice slightly distorted through the respirator he’d donned. The elf hesitated, unsure; the orks who had gone in were lying riddled with lead from the automatic guns inside. Tom grabbed the elf and forcibly dragged him inside as the corpses erupted from out of the ground.
When one of the orks blasted the ragged, rotting figures lurching toward him with his shotgun, the thing exploded in a brilliant ball of fire, drenching the screaming ork in fire and acid. His fellow, ten yards behind, gawked in disbelief—until he discovered that these things didn’t have to be shot up. They exploded of their own accord. He went down as a charred, blistered, reeking corpse. And then he rose up again, still on fire.
About a half dozen of the raiders were inside the monastery. They knew anyone outside was dead or as good as dead, and the things now trapping them in here would surely come in after them. There wasn’t going to be any escape.
Tom emptied a clip from his Panther assault cannon down the hallway. “Frag everything and ask questions afterward!” he screamed. Serrin saw blood on the troll’s broad shoulders. He prayed it was only a superficial wound, or better yet, not even the troll’s blood at all.
“Where the frag are we going?” Serrin shouted above the cacophony. With everyone wearing respirators, it would have been hard enough to communicate even without the hellish din.
“Frag knows. Just blow everything away.” Tom wasn’t really listening. He was berserking, Serrin realized.
Gunther was muttering something about a flamethrower being really useful as his clip emptied into an amorphous body of men ahead of them. Tom still had rounds in the Panther, and he used one. The shock wave nearly blew them backward, but whatever had been on the business end of the shot certainly wasn’t like the corpses outside. The figures lay in a broken, shattered heap after the hit.
“Behind us,” Kristen yelled as the first of the things from outside lumbered in after them.
“Don’t shoot!” Serrin screamed to her, having seen what had happened when the outside orks had tried it. "Just keep moving!”
Tom switched to his H&K, hefting the machine gun and ripping an arc of bullets into the distance as they ran forward. From behind them came an appalling scream. Serrin turned in time to see one of the few remaining ork samurai staggering backward, his throat a brilliant red scar from ear to ear. The grinning dead thing with the garrote around his neck pulled harder and harder. Serrin hadn’t the time to take in the concealed doorway the thing had appeared from before he drilled it through the forehead with a precision shot. Sometimes you just get lucky, he thought.
The zombie went right on grinning and yanked the ork’s head clean off its body. Then the creature sank down on top of the headless corpse, twitching and gibbering, splashing itself in the fountains of blood pouring from the neck.
Serrin forced vomit back down his throat. Half-blindly, only needing to know that Kristen was still there, he raced after Tom and Gunther. Mathilde looked back at him and urged him on with a desperate gesture. The elf had to grit his teeth against the scream of pain in his leg.
They rounded the corner and ran straight into the path of Martin crouched behin
d his control rig. His shotgun disposed of Gunther with a blast that exploded the samurai’s chest into a mass of bloody, ragged flesh and protruding shattered bone. But Tom had already leveled his H&K and blown Martin against the far wall. A limp rag doll with a shattered torso, the body slid down the wall, smearing it with a huge streak of brilliant blood. It then lay slumped and broken on the floor, the head lolling almost comically to one side as a trickle of blood dripped from red-purple lips.
I can’t risk assensing but I’ve got to find him, Serrin thought desperately. Where the frag is Luther?
Tom was hammering at the far wall, ramming his fingers into the elevator buttons. The elevator didn’t respond.
“Stand back,” the troll yelled.
“No! No! We’ll never get down there if you blow the thing to helll” the elf shouted at him. Mercifully, the troll hesitated. He seemed at last to be calming down a little. That made Serrin a lot happier. Sharing an elevator with a berserking troll wasn’t the most inviting prospect in the world.
“Must be isolated,” Serrin mumbled, trying to figure out the bank of displays where Martin had been working. “Where are the fragging controls?”
He looked over the console in dismay. There were thirty screens, mostly blank now, and enough Keypads to keep him busy pressing them for hours. “Oh drek.”
As the elevator doors hissed open, Tom was inside before Serrin had time to realize they were being operated from below. Worse still, everyone was inside before they realized it, thinking that Serrin must have something brought off a fluke at the controls.
Gas filled the elevator as it sped downward. Serrin desperately cast a barrier for them; if gunfire came streaming into the cramped elevator when the doors opened below, they’d be rats caught in a trap. Their respirators bought them safety until the doors opened. Then they poured out of the elevator and paused for half a second, trying to take in where they were. Serrin sensed Mathilde strengthening herself, magically boosting her reflexes, he guessed. He would have followed her example if he’d gotten the chance.
