Emperor-for-Life: DeadShop Redux (Unreal Universe Book 6)

by Lee Bond

  Bob jerked his chin at the rescued salvage down in the center of Bay 7. "Never seen that kinda damage before. What're we looking at?"

  Sebel shrugged, going over the first strains of deeper info culled from the armor plating of the escape pod; Supergreen's AI mind was only a six and probably functionally retarded as far as such things went, but they were getting a little more data than the rescue ship's onboard computers had been able to generate. "Mmmm. Well, we got what appears to be heavy gravity damage, the kind you see when a ship's black hole engines start misfiring, and there's these..."

  Sebel bounced the data from his handheld onto the smallish screen off to one side of Bob's right arm. When the Captain turned his attention to the data, the second-in-command resumed. "It looks like energy scoring, right, only it's way too uniform. Looks more like splash damage, and I can't think of any weapon in use like that. You?"

  Bob shook his head. "No. Any weapon belching out the projected power'd just go right through the goddamn ship, not turn the armor plates all ... wobbly like that."

  Sebel pointed down to the bay and the ship; servicemen directly 'employed' by Commander Innit -men and women assigned to the proper running of Tarterus as opposed to standard military duty- were hustling into the area, toting heavy cutters and lifters. "You know, if they can cut through the hull properly, I'd like to get a chunk of that for my bunk. Looks ... artistic."

  "Sebel." Bob turned to his second-in-command, resisting the urge to smack the goof on the back of the head so hard his eyes rattled around in his skull like kid's candy. "Were you always this weird, or has this deployment finally started fuckin’ with your head?"

  Sebel took a moment to think about the Captain's question. "You know, not all that sure. Still would like to get hold of some of that hull plating all the same."

  "Tell you what, Sebel," Bob flicked through more of the data being pulled by their semi-retarded 6, "if there isn't a fucking Goddie in there like Kaptan Innit believes..."

  Sebel snorted. "God soldier. What a fucking moniker. They can't be all that bad, can they?"

  "Don't matter one way or the other, Sebby." Bob squinted against the brilliant blue arc of light that burst from the first of the heavy cutters being powered up. "If there's one of them Latelian super-soldiers down there and he goes apeshit, we're looking at some serious damage before our Heavies deal with it."

  "Good grief." Sebel pointed at the Heavies lining up around the sides of the bay. "Cronkite? Evershot? Bulldog Barnes? What does Innit think's in there?"

  Bob pursed his lips, but didn't answer his second; in addition to Cronkite and friends, Moorehouse, Sliverslick and Black Angus were entering Bay 7. Once Sebby tallied up the overall power milling around down there, his low whistle was all the answer either of them needed.

  Did Kaptan Innit know something they didn't, or was their over-reactionary Commander engaging in his usual shtick?

  The last of the heavy cutters flared to life. Bulldog Barnes yipped once, did a standing flip and bared her teeth.

  The servicemen applied their powerful plasma cutters to the skin of the escape pod, filling the air with the smell of burning metal and bright red sparks.

  "Looks like we're gonna find out really fucking quickly." Bob discreetly toggled Supergreen's internal defenses and tied them into the battle comm-channels employed by the Heavies. If there was a Goddie in there, the moment he or she or whatever sex it was was tagged as an enemy by the team, heavy Gauss Cannons would fire whenever there was room to spare.

  Sebby took a deep breath and leaned forward; the first of the cutters looked like it was about to pierce the armor...

  ***

  The interior of the escape pod was growing uncomfortably warm. At first, Tomas thought it was nothing more than the kind of warmth that came from being surrounded by several tons of whiffy giant, but after a few seconds of shifting this way and that to get more comfortable, the elderly EuroJapanese hacker's eyes caught sight of cherry red lines burning through the hull.

  Very quickly after that, sprays of bright red and orange sparks began filling the cabin.

  Tomas tapped Ute on the nose. "Wake up."

  Nothing happened. Because of course not; Tomas had had serious doubts about something so simple as a touch and a few words being able to pull a God soldier out of whatever kind of coma they could drop into, Ute's confidence notwithstanding.

  "One more try." Tomas whispered nervously to himself, unable to take his eyes off the plumes of sparks filling the cabin. He reached out...

  Ute let loose with a pleasant yawn and eyeballed Tomas' tiny finger as it hovered near his nose. "If you're going to try and convince me you've got my nose, you're going to have to work really hard at it, old friend."

  Tomas snatched his hand away. "What have you Goddies become?"

  Ute took in the cutter marks, the sound of sparks hitting the walls, the smell of smoke and smiled whimsically. "That's something I've been trying to figure out for some time now, Tomas."

  "And?" A bright seam of light spilled through the first of the deep cuts.

  "Still no clue. Bonus points, though, because I figured out how to keep from smelling like a diseased shubin after a week without showering."

  "Well, thank goodness for small miracles." Tomas pointed at the external light flooding their pod. "What now?"

  "Harmonic scanning detects a minimum of six so-called Specter Heavy Elites, which is ... disconcerting but not overwhelming. Beyond that, cybernetic assessment has identified a dozen Trinity-style ceiling-mounted Gauss Cannons, most likely with a terminal range that falls less than one inch short of the walls and ceilings."

  "They aren't going to like you very much." Tomas warned.

  "Roger that." Ute nodded once, firmly. "At the same time, though, they probably won’t devote too many more resources to bring me down. Six Heavies is a lot, and once we all get to it, this ship or bay or whatever we're in will most likely be pulled apart. After that, it should be simple enough to escape."

  "'Simple enough'." Tomas shook his head bitterly. "God soldiers and their passion for understatement. If I didn't…"

  A terrible-sounding shriek split the air, driving Tomas to slap wrinkled hands over shocked ears. Meanwhile, Ute smiled and nodded.

  "Life sign detectors. Hang loose, old man, I'll be back in a minute."

  ***

  Garent played the unbelievably hot plasma arc back and forth across the thicker than average skin of the escape pod precisely as he'd been trained, working hard to make certain that he spent the appropriate amount of time on each section; you had to, especially when it came to escape pods because the bastards were designed to keep occupants safe -even if it was only marginally so- and alive long enough to be properly rescued. The other guys were doing the same, but they weren't doing it properly. Garent considered mentioning to them that there was a procedure for everything, and that if they continued not doing it right, his efforts were going to be in vain.

  Dammit. He was going to say something. He was. He didn't like his time being wasted...

  An absolutely shrill scream split Bay 7 wide, shocking everyone in earshot in battle readiness at the blink of an eye; more specifically, to a one, the Heavies looked like they were going to tear into the ship with their bare teeth.

  "What's that noise?" Garent had to holler to be heard above the clamor.

  Cronkite, the appointed leader of the Heavy Crew, shouted. "Lifesigns. Doesn't mean anything. Could be a false positive. We'll hold on for a sec..."

  Something very large and moving very fast -almost too fast for those Heavies outfitted with the proper gear to see- grabbed hold of either side of the incision made by Garent's expert use of the heavy plasma cutter and ripped the whole thing wide.

  Then the occupant was among them.

  The ceiling-mounted Gauss cannons started peppering the entire area with shot, inadvertently slamming into -and transforming them into goopy mist and broken bits of bone- two of the four plasma wielders. Ga
rent shrieked like a little girl, dropped his plasma torch right where he stood and ran for the nearest door, hands over his head, still screaming. The other remaining regular Army did the same, surrendering their plasma torches to fate.

  Evershot opened his mouth and started shouting. "Goddie on deck! Goddie on deck! Arms! Arms!"

  And that was when all hell broke loose.

  ***

  Ute took the presence of the Heavies in stride. Of course a representative group of the most powerful Specters would be present for when the pod was opened up; the Goddie would've been sorely disappointed in the folks running the show this side if there'd been anything less than the contingent in front of him.

  Gauss Cannonshot continued peppering the area, more than a few of the slugs hitting his incredibly resilient flesh and dropping to the floor, energy spent, rounds flattened into discs.

  "This can go one of two ways." Ute said slowly, gauging the likely response from the Heavies. It wasn't good. He was the enemy, and not only that, if he were asked to speculate on the nature of the implants and augments these Heavies were sporting, he'd assume more than one of the barely-human looking soldiers were pretty capable of determining his threat level. "You can let me go and we can all go do other stuff or ..."

  A tiny little thing -well, tiny to him, so about five feet tall- and looking vaguely like a dog launched itself at him, sharpened teeth burning with a weird, opalescent light.

  "Ahhh, crap." Ute reached around behind his back and pulled the hammer loose. A smooth flex of the wrist and the shaft grew to full length, so that by the time the dog-like Heavy was in range, all he needed to do was swing it.

  Bulldog Barnes felt the vicious hammerhead slam into her, right in the midriff, felt important things break and shift. An unwanted yelp -full of fear and pain- ripped out of her and the next thing she knew, she was slamming into the far wall hard enough to buckle it inwards. The diminutive Heavy dropped to the ground, a mass of broken bones and pulverized innards.

  “Down but not out.” Barnes whispered into her lapel mic, before drifting off into a regenerative haze, disgruntled that the fight was going to rage on without her. Damn, she thought before total consciousness left her, that God soldier moves like shadows.

  And then she was gone.

  ***

  Bulldog Barnes’ voice flitted in and out of Cronkite’s ears even as he angrily directed the ‘Bay 7’ AI to ceasefire with the goddamn Gauss Cannons; it appeared that they were all more or less immune to the heavy fire –which was an uncomfortable thing to admit, even in light of the flattened, silvery discs littering the ground where the Goddie stood- making it more than a little nonsensical for the bloody things to keep firing.

  Eyeing the massive hammer carefully, Cronkite and the remaining Heavies moved in for the kill the moment the Cannonshot ceased; all told, between Barnes’ communication and Cronkite’s order, perhaps three seconds had passed.

  Long enough for all the combatants in the small arena to ready themselves properly. Unlimbering the two Vasari shortblades –cruel-looking glass swords with hooked tips and housing red lightning that flickered and spat weird shadows everywhere- the leader of the Heavies surged forward, intending to gut the Goddie where he stood.

  Evershot danced backwards, tugging on the simple cloth tie that held his Wicker Sniper in place. Keen to find a spot where he could shoot from without getting too close to the God soldier, who was eyeing them far too thoughtfully for his liking, Evershot was eventually forced to settle with ‘somewhere not in direct line of sight’ of the other Heavies, feeling all sorts of put out by the encounter; based on how quickly the invader had already proved himself capable of moving, it was entirely likely he wouldn’t get off a single shot.

  Moorehouse and Slickerslick shifted their feet and picked angles of attack that’d bring them on to either side of where Evershot intended on being, each of them drawing their own melee weapons; prior to properly deploying themselves inside Bay 7, they’d all spared a few seconds to contemplate the environment of their combat, rather reluctantly agreeing that unless they wanted to spend the rest of the afternoon floating around the somewhat chilly vacuum of space, they were going to have to leave their shooty weapons holstered.

  Well, all save Evershot, who could do magic with a gun and a bullet, but that was beside the point.

  Last but not least, Black Angus stood right where he was, though … at the same time, he was not where he was; invoking the dreaded aspect he’d picked up in the Shifting Sands of Saternal-9, he drifted inwards into himself, spilling shadows outwards from his feet and outstretched hands until there was nothing left but a faint, hazy outline.

  The walls, though, oh the walls of Bay 7, they grew darker, more ominous, hinting at danger within the inky depths…

  ***

  Ute had never really seen a Heavy before today. He’d heard the usual gossip and rumors floating through the Latelian underground, usually while handing out food to some of the older, more heavily addicted Goddies, and while those rumors and gossip had always had the tint of exaggeration from desperately lonely soldiers, the most ancient of them all had made certain to keep an open mind.

  After all, he was nearly five thousand years old and capable of things that beggared the imagination. He’d been across The Cordon on more than one occasion and had seen some shit that was right out there. All of the old ones had. Their systems had remained unsullied though, the strange and dangerous technologies and viruses and everything else unable to grab hold of their powerful duronium implants, but regular people?

  It was a miracle they retained sanity.

  Humming a half-remembered song overheard from Garth while he fought, Ute set to it.

  First on the list was the obvious leader, the one with the deadly glass swords; the Goddie didn’t particularly care for the way the lightning inside each of the blades spat dread light, and wasn’t all that interested in discovering what it’d do to his skin, so the moment the burly Heavy –with long white hair tied behind his head with a stretch of leather, hooded eyes that gleamed soft cherry, and with a face full of scars that hid anything remotely resembling features, the Specter was daunting as hell … to an ordinary person- crossed the threshold, Ute was already there, hammer-shaft shrinking in size until the weapon itself was little more than a specialized weight for his hand.

  Cronkite struck first, glittering red glass swords sweeping in from either side of the Goddie’s unprotected sides, a vicious snarl on his lips. He was moving so fast the world around him was nothing more than a slow moving blur, the very air turning languidly, like invisible smoke. The Goddie himself moved a little quicker, but barely.

  This was going to be …

  One frame, the Goddie was moving too slowly to defend anything.

  The next … was a different story altogether; hammerhead slammed into his right wrist, sending shocks of pain that threatened to turn his grip into nothing but a numb memory while … Cronkite’s eyes opened wide in shock as the Goddie’s wrist computer suddenly sprouted a circular metal shield, against which his second blade skittered away uselessly, angry red sparks bouncing off the protective screen and up his own goddamn arm!

  Then, naturally, a booted foot the size of a small continent slammed into his gut hard enough to knock all the wind from his lungs to send him staggering backwards towards Evershot, who cursed angrily and skipped to the right, Wicker Sniper getting tangled in his legs as he did so. Both men went down.

  Moorehouse and Sliverslick wasted no time sparing concern for Cronkite. They’d seen the sudden and very unexpected … winding up … of reaction times, had seen the God soldier suddenly click into frame, each man silently and unanimously agreeing that they’d need to do better, willingly pushing their own enhanced cybernetic systems to the redline.

  They became blurs. They rushed the Goddie just as his foot was coming back down.

  Moorehouse got in close, sliding underneath the strange metal shield on armor-plated knees, driving his wi
cked hook-dagger upwards with a hand on the pommel, intending to slide the viciously sharp blade into an unprotected armpit or possibly the femoral. Whichever came first.

  Sliverslick, moving faster than Moorehouse by a fairly good margin, decided for a more practical and less showy route for his blade; while his cohort was down on the ground, he was going to slide around the back of the lumbering Goddie to engage in a little slice-and-dice of the neck.

  Black Angus flitted to and fro across the Bay walls, scrupulously paying attention to everything, waiting for his moment to strike. Cronkite booted Evershot in the posterior, sending the Heavy gunner spiraling away towards one of the furthest control panels, then picked himself up just in time to barely witness what came next.

  ***

  Still humming –though a little quicker now that he was exerting himself- Ute went with a simple solution for the idiot down by his feet; rather than try to move out of the way, which would send him directly into the line of fire of the surprisingly swift second Heavy, Ute brought his shield-arm down in a viciously ferocious swoop. He felt rather than saw the razor sharp duronium edge bite into the unnamed assailant’s wrist about midway up the forearm, heard a scream of anguish and tasted blood in the air.

  Before the shield was finished moving through the forearm of the man on the ground, Ute spun in place, relying on his powerful cybernetically-enhanced spinal column and armored guts to handle the pressure placed on his insides and muscles; the very quickly moving second assailant opened his mouth to shout some kind of denial or other as he was suddenly face-to-face with the God soldier, but it was too late.

  Hammer impacted with Sliverslick’s stomach. Again, Ute felt rather than saw –a feeling corroborated by overall Harmony, which flooded the whole of Bay 7- internal organs rupture. Twitching his wrist once more, Ute’s deadly hammer shaft exploded with furious power, launching the Heavy –who was comically folded around the head- upwards towards the ceiling of the Bay. At his feet, the now handless Heavy was surreptitiously picking his lost limb up and scrabbling backwards towards the relative sanctity of the far wall, leaving behind in his wake a thick trail of slightly orange blood.