Survival Aptitude Test: Rise (The Extinction Odyssey Book 3)

by Mike Sheriff

  Heqet’s face bore a sallow sheen despite the exertion. Her Jireni guard spoke first. “We just received a report from a Jireni squad in Nansilafu Cheng. They’ve . . .” She paused to catch her breath. “They’ve been . . .”

  “Out with it!” Hyro said.

  “They’ve been attacked by Asianoids.”

  “What?”

  “The rearguard has been attacked by Asianoids,” the Slavv repeated. “At least a thousand of them!”

  “Where are they now?” Daoren asked.

  Heqet clutched his lapel and found her voice. “They’re streaming across the cull zone!”

  11

  The Tide Turns

  DISEMBODIED HANDS TUGGED Cang’s bianfu, pinching the skin along both sides of her torso. She tried to brush away the offending appendages, but couldn’t get her arms to move. An alien weight squeezed her chest, making breathing painful and speech impossible.

  “Hold on, commander! We’ve got you!”

  She recognized Jiren Yongrui’s voice. He sounded close, yet distant. Loud, yet muffled—as if he was underwater. The aural anomaly vexed her—why would he be underwater? Had they ventured out over water? Were they adrift in the Sea of Storms?

  “Lift and pull!”

  Cang tried to focus her thoughts. Who was he talking to . . . and why were they pulling on her? Had she fallen asleep on the bridge? It wouldn’t be the first time.

  During her first reconnaissance mission north of the border, she’d spent half her time on watch and half her time studying for her vocational exams. One night, after ninety-six sleepless hours, she’d drawn the wretched middle watch. Not long after stepping onto the bridge, the commander’s chair had started whispering her name. Junior Jireni were forbidden to approach the chair, let alone sit in it, but after twenty minutes she’d surrendered to its siren song. Within five seconds of sitting, she’d nodded off. Pyros had found her, snoring away, an hour later.

  Thank Sha it was him. If a more senior Jiren had made the discovery, she would have been thrown off the aeroshrike without question. Her ascent through the Jireni ranks would have been over before—

  “That’s it! Pull!”

  The weight on her chest eased following Yongrui’s latest shout. She sensed her body sliding across an uneven, unyielding surface. Sharp edges snagged her bianfu and stabbed her shoulder blades, eliciting a wince, then the underlying texture changed. A finely grained substance abraded her elbows and forearms. Radiant heat warmed her back. Ten seconds later, the movement ceased.

  Cang waited for it to resume, impatience turning to puzzlement, puzzlement turning to questions. Why was she lying on her back? Why did the ground feel so uncomfortably warm? And why was it so dark? The answer to the final question dawned on her—her eyes had been closed the entire time. She opened them.

  A brilliant blue canopy loomed high overhead. The swollen sun shone below the midpoint between zenith and horizon.

  She absorbed the image and assessed the time of day. Early morning? Late afternoon? Impossible to say without knowing her orientation. She raised her head.

  The aeroshrike’s bridge gondola lay twenty feet away. Its twisted bulkheads and smashed windows spoke of violence . . . but the nature of the violence escaped her. The intervening patch of sunbaked sand bore two sets of footprints. They straddled a narrow drag mark leading from the gondola.

  She cast her gaze left and right.

  Jiren Yongrui and Jiren Bhavya kneeled beside her. Bhavya’s cheek bore an ugly gash below her right eye—several of her implants had been ripped loose. Bloody rivulets tracked over her jawline.

  “You’d best get that wound seen to.”

  Bhavya smirked. “I will, sireen.”

  Cang tried to sit up. Yongrui held her down. “Slowly, commander. Slowly now.”

  “You’re not my mother,” she said, brushing his hands aside. “Stop treating me like I’m your child.”

  He chucklebucked. “Good to know you’re all right. I was beginning to worry the impact may have blunted your tongue.”

  She blinked—his words made no sense. “Impact?”

  “Yes, sireen,” Bhavya said. “We crashed.”

  A random neural network reconnected with the force of a sparring staff, jostling loose a cascade of memories. The mongrel fleet. Commander Eshan’s fiery plunge toward the desert. The dazzling weapon that had knocked her aeroshrike out the sky.

  She bolted upright and scrambled to her feet.

  “Easy, sireen!”

  She ignored Yongrui’s warning and surveyed the immediate area.

  One hundred feet beyond the gondola, the remains of the aeroshrike’s gas envelope smoldered. Radiant heat had reduced its armor cladding to a bubbling, ruddy ooze. Sagging crystalline spines jutted from the sand like a desiccated ribcage—the scorched remains of its structural framework.

  She whirled, scanning for the rest of her crew.

  Twenty feet to the rear, six Jireni huddled in the shadow of a heaping dune. Two lay prone on the sand, yowling in pain.

  Cang rattled her head—how had she not heard their cries? She grasped Yongrui’s lapel. “Where are the others?”

  “I’m afraid we’re the only survivors.”

  “We tried to get inside the gas envelope to look for more.” Bhavya averted her gaze and grimaced. “The fire was too intense.”

  Cang processed the revelation. Out of her crew of one hundred-thirty Jireni, eight were still alive.

  “We were lucky,” Yongrui said. “The impact tore the gondola from the gas envelope. From what I can tell, the envelope’s impetus carried it clear before the fire spread.” He glanced at the smoking wreckage and shuddered. “If it had landed on top of us, we’d be in the Great After now.”

  She struggled to contain her shock. The mongrels had brought down two aeroshrikes within as many minutes—a first in Daqin Guojin’s long history of conflict with the colonies. She loathed setting that kind of precedent. “Any sign of Commander Eshan’s aeroshrike?”

  Bhavya pointed north.

  Three miles away, a roiling column of smoke rose from the desert. Its uppermost reaches flattened and streamed southeast, driven by the prevailing wind. Judging by the smoke’s height and blackness, a significant fire was still burning.

  “They dropped more than two thousand feet,” Yongrui said. “No one could have survived.”

  Cang heart sank. As painful as it was to accept, Eshan and his crew were dead.

  Two muffled thumps ebbed across the dunes.

  “More explosions from Commander Eshan’s aeroshrike,” Bhavya said. “We’ve been hearing them for a few minutes now.”

  “I’d wager it’s the hydrogen cells cooking off,” Yongrui said.

  Another thump chased the first two. Cang cocked her head.

  The explosions seemed to be emanating from the south, not the north. Yet another thump ebbed through the air, followed by three more in rapid succession. It confirmed her suspicion.

  “Those aren’t hydrogen cells,” she said. “They’re barometric rounds.”

  Yongrui and Bhavya gasped in unison. “The incursion is under way,” Bhavya said.

  Cang turned and strode toward the wrecked bridge gondola.

  “Where are you going, sireen?”

  She ignored the question and stepped through a shattered bulkhead. She picked her way along the gondola’s twisted deck plating, skirting upended consoles and scanning for landmarks to guide her aft.

  Several bodies lay among the wreckage, their bianfu made blacker by dried bloodstains. All were face-down. A small mercy. The sight torqued her heart, but didn’t sway her from her path. She reached the aft bulkhead.

  Its damage was less severe—a hopeful sign. Judging by the jumbled piles of equipment, the gondola must have struck nose-first and then rolled end-over-end several times. She shifted sections of the mangled helm console aside, freeing access to the hatch. She tugged its door open and stepped over the cracked coaming.

  Besides the
waste chamber, the aft compartment contained four storechambers earmarked for ready-use material. One of them housed equipment needed for short-notice excursions.

  Equipment like armored levidecks.

  The clatter of shifting objects announced Yongrui and Bhavya’s arrival in the gondola. They joined her in the aft compartment. Cang tugged on the storechamber’s hatch. It wouldn’t budge. Longitudinal warping had distorted its frame. She turned to Bhavya. “Find me a pry rod.”

  Bhavya crossed the compartment to the damage-control station mounted on the starboard bulkhead. After a quick search, she returned with a three-foot crystalline rod.

  Cang jammed the pry rod’s hooked end into the frame’s seam and levered it upward. Bhavya and Yongrui tugged the hatch’s handle—it popped open with a shrill crack. Cang tossed the pry bar aside and led them inside.

  Five levidecks gleamed along the length of the port bulkhead, secured by thick burrglass restraining straps. Two had suffered blunt-force damage to their airpacks and forward shields, but the rest appeared serviceable.

  “Go fetch every able-bodied Jireni,” Cang said. “I want these levidecks offloaded within five minutes.”

  “To what end?” Yongrui asked.

  “I’ll tell you once they’re outside.”

  It took six minutes to offload the three levidecks. Yongrui, Bhavya, and the other ambulatory survivors gathered around them, performing systems checks. The distant crump of barometric rounds continued to beat an ominous rhythm while they worked.

  Cang leveraged the din to focus their attention. “Can you hear that?” she asked, pointing south. “Our beloved city-state is under siege. We owe it to our people to join the fight.”

  A Slavvic Jiren motioned to the two crew members lying in the dune’s shadow. One was missing her right leg below the knee; the other both his arms. Tourniquets had been applied to stem the bleeding, but neither Jiren would survive the day without immediate medical attention. “They can’t be moved,” the Slavv said. “If we leave them here, they’ll die.”

  She grasped his shoulder. “If we stay here with them until they pass, millions more could die.”

  The other Jireni grunted, signaling their reluctant agreement. Her words conveyed a bitter truth, but a truth nonetheless.

  The Slavv’s eyes glistened. “That’s a callous calculation . . . sireen.”

  She sensed something more than loyalty to the wounded crew members in his eyes. It dawned on her. She motioned to the Jiren with the missing leg. “Is she family?”

  “My cousin.”

  “You have my deepest sorrow, Jiren,” Cang said. “But staying here to attend her passing won’t serve your other family members. We have to think of the greater good.” She straightened her back and hardened her tone. “But there’s one thing you could do to ease her suffering.”

  A tear tracked down the Slavv’s cheek. His pitiful gaze alighted on his cousin. He huffed a solitary sob, then drew a crystal dagger from his belt sheath.

  Cang left the Slavv to perform his act of mercy and focused on the other Jireni. “Collect whatever food and water you can find. We’ll advance toward the sound of guns in five minutes.”

  SONIC ROUNDS SMACKED the wall’s southern parapet. Jagged chunks of crystalline sprayed from the impact points. Daoren crouched before Heqet, shielding her from the debris. Six Jireni guards kneeled in a semi-circle to their rear. They offered an additional layer of protection, one that was sorely needed.

  Three hundred feet below, the Asianoid horde had advanced halfway across the cull zone—close enough to lay down effective suppressing fire from their personal arms. The battlement had become a lethal environment, the threats now emanating from two directions.

  Daoren turned his head and scanned the walkway.

  Half the crew-served weapons had been redeployed to engage the southern threat. The automated-weapon systems perched atop their nullglass pedestals, paralyzed and useless. They’d depleted their munition reserves minutes earlier.

  One hundred feet to the west, Commander Slabidan huddled inside the watchtower’s base along with the other members of the hastily assembled command post. Commander Hyro remained at the northern parapet, coordinating the ever-thinning defenses arrayed against the mongrel attack. Her voice had grown more and more strident over the last few minutes.

  A single aeroshrike remained airborne north of the wall. If it fell to the cullcraft’s devastating weapon, the attack’s momentum would surely swing in favor of the mongrels. That wouldn’t mean the battle was over, however. If the Jireni atop the wall could turn back the Asianoid advance, the city-state might still survive the day.

  “Keep pouring it on them!” he shouted at the nearest gun crews. “Make them pay for every inch of ground!” He rose and strode the southern parapet, passing behind a line of chain guns. The crews had depressed each barrel at a forty-five-degree angle to reach the targets below. The opaque muzzles flash, emitting a relentless chatter. “Check your rate and mark your targets!” he said. “One sonic round—one cull! One glass dart—one cull!”

  Two Jireni paused and bowed, acknowledging the command. Daoren stabbed his finger toward the parapet. “Don’t stop to salute me! Keep fi—”

  Twin thunderclaps assaulted the air, rattling the parapet. Daren whirled around.

  Half-a-mile north, roiling flames engulfed the tail section of the last remaining aeroshrike. Its six airscrews unleashed an anguished howl as its nose swung south—the commander must have ordered full power to evade the advancing cullcraft. The vessel wallowed from side to side, shedding speed and altitude as it closed the wall.

  Daoren’s heart skipped a beat—the wounded aeroshrike was heading straight for the watchtower. If it lost any more altitude, it would—

  A brilliant disk of flame punched through the aeroshrike’s skin, propelling armor panels through the air at near-supersonic speeds. Another hydrogen cell ruptured seconds later. The vessel’s sink-rate doubled.

  Daoren sprinted toward Heqet, pointing up at the airborne inferno. He cupped his mouth with his other hand. “Clear the watchtower! Clear the watchtower!”

  HAI CRADLED HIS sonic rifle and gritted his teeth as he threaded a gauntlet of fire. The cull zone’s glass tiles fractured under the onslaught of sonic and kinetic rounds. Lethal shrapnel hissed through the air, emanating from all points of the compass.

  To the left and right, hundreds of Asianoids kept pace with him. Their billowing shenyi bore mottled sweat stains, their flushed brows knots of intense focus. They’d passed the halfway mark.

  Fifty feet ahead, an extended line of fifty Asianoids kneeled. They trained their weapons upon the upper battlement, issuing an unbroken stream of suppressing fire. So far, the tactic was working—the opposing fire from the wall’s Jireni defenders was daunting, but not nearly as severe as he’d expected.

  In the worst-case planning scenario, he’d anticipated losing fifty percent of his force whilst crossing the cull zone. Reality was proving much kinder. So far, he’d only seen a few dozen fall during the transit. The heavier and far deadlier automated-weapon systems atop the wall had either been destroyed during the mongrel attacks or had run out of munitions. Whatever the reason, he found himself in the company of nearly one thousand Asianoids and within two hundred feet of reaching their objective.

  Hai sprinted past his kneeling comrades. The closest archway lay directly ahead. Beyond it, dismounted mongrel shocktroops had reached the same distance from the wall’s northern face. They, too, threaded a gauntlet of fire, sand geysering at their feet. Scores of dead and wounded fell, but in a matter of seconds the two forces would be linked. In a matter of seconds, the battle for the northern border would be won.

  “Keep pushing forward!” he shouted at his men. “We’ll be beneath the wall in—”

  An immense black-and-orange apparition snared his focus. His stunned gaze scaled the wall.

  A crippled aeroshrike tracked toward the watchtower, three hundred feet west of his posi
tion. Flames engulfed the rear-half of its gas envelope. The vessel was losing height—and rapidly—but its barometric cannons appeared undamaged. A single barrage from its most powerful weapon could render the cull zone a graveyard.

  The chilling thought gave him no pause. A barometric round was only one of a hundred things that could end his life before he reached the archway. Whether he was destined to taste victory was beyond his control; his fate was in hands of Sha, the Sapient, Heuristic, and Adaptive. He leaned into his strides, muscles aching, lungs searing.

  A prolonged volley of glass darts hammered the cull zone’s tiles, ten feet to his left. A chorus of agonized cries arose from his comrades, but he maintained his focus on the archway. A single thought consumed his mind, impelling him forward.

  Sha favors the bold.

  DAOREN REACHED HEQET seconds before the aeroshrike struck the watchtower.

  The vessel made no apparent attempt to avoid the obstruction. It collided nose-first, midway up the three-hundred-foot spire. The manned observation pod teetered past the point of no return, its mass and momentum inducing a moment-arm that exceeded the torque for which watchtower’s base was designed. The nullglass structure parted with an ear-splitting crack, twenty feet above the walkway.

  Daoren gaped in stunned silence as the bulk of the watchtower toppled, crushing a wide swath of the southern parapet before tumbling onto the cull zone. A bone-jarring crash announced its impact.

  He ached to glance over the parapet and inspect the collapse’s effect on the Asianoid advance, but a loftier danger riveted his attention.

  Robbed of its forward momentum, the flaming aeroshrike plummeted like a crystalline brick toward the battlement. Nearby Jireni abandoned their weapons and sprinted for their lives.

  Heqet’s eyes bulbed. “Merciful Sha!”

  He hauled her down onto the walkway and shielded her with his body. The surrounding Jireni guards shouted warnings and threw themselves flat.

  Seconds later, a horrendous explosion blotted out every other sound. A swirling, slag-hot gust surged up the walkway. It buffeted Daoren’s shenyi and singed his exposed skin. He rolled off Heqet the second it had passed and scanned her body for injuries. “Are you all right?”