Gears of War: Jacinto's Remnant

by Karen Traviss; David Colacci

  Dom was so close that when he raised his Lancer, the muzzle smacked into the thing’s chest. It was too close even to level its own rifle. His reflex burst of fire knocked it backward, spraying blood on the shelves and tiles. He ran past, surprised at the amount of blood and bone debris underfoot, and skidded in a pool of what he thought was blood. It wasn’t. He could smell it now—some kind of sauce, rich and savory, with fragments of shattered glass studded through it, hard as bone under his boots. When he scrambled to his feet, the staccato bursts of fire stopped. He took a guess at where the grubs were from the sounds.

  “Marcus!” That was Tai. “Down there!”

  The sound of running made him swing around. With the lights shattered, the far end of the store was in semidarkness. Okay, Tai’s to my left now. Dom started to form a mental map of positions, listening carefully to the thud of boots. Grubs didn’t run like Gears—he was sure he could tell the difference—and he heard another set of boots moving very slowly to his right. Marcus was stalking something.

  How many grubs left?

  Where the hell are they?

  Dom had almost forgotten about the civilians. Padrick should have moved them out by now. When he looked back down the riverbed of debris between the shelves, he caught a glimpse of Pad silhouetted against the light, hauling a woman along the floor by her coat.

  Hammering Lancer fire started up again, then stopped abruptly. “Stoppage!” Marcus yelled. “Shit—”

  Dom rounded the corner of the aisle to see Marcus standing his ground with a dead Lancer as a grub cannoned into him. All Marcus had now was his bayonet. He stabbed two, three, four times; Dom thought he’d managed to get the blade through the thing’s hide, but on the next thrust the bayonet snapped and the metal tip went flying. The grub grabbed Marcus one-handed by the collar, too close for Dom or Tai to open fire, and for a second Dom saw Marcus’s eyes fixed wide as he went for his knife, as if he knew this was it, the moment he’d finally run out of luck. Dom moved in to take a crack at the grub with his knife. Maybe he could get an eye, an ear, something vulnerable to distract it and move in for a clear shot, and then—

  Bzzzzzzzzzzzzz.

  The instant whine of a power-saw almost deafened him. Tai appeared behind the grub and there was a terrible smell, a scream, and a spatter of wet mist that Dom felt on his face like a sudden squall. It wasn’t until the grub arched its back like a bow and fell to its knees in a spreading pool of blood that he saw Tai with a vibrating saw in his hands and a beatific smile on his face.

  He’d carved a slice out of the Locust from ass to waist. Only Tai could smile and do that.

  “Shit,” Marcus said, staring. “Nice work.”

  “We must improvise.” Tai brandished his saw. “The world is full of weapons waiting to be used.”

  Marcus aimed the Lancer at the far wall as if nothing had happened, and waited for a few moments before recocking it manually and firing a test shot.

  “Some shit I need to ream out.” He wiped the bayonet clean on the nearest grub, pretty relaxed considering that his weapon had flaked out on him and its bayonet had let him down too. “These blades are fucking useless. We need something that actually cuts these assholes, not just pisses them off. When I see Dad, I’m going to ask him to come up with something that works.”

  Dom started checking down each aisle. “Yeah, everyone tells Procurement the bayonets are crap. They keep promising something better.”

  “Well, we can’t wait for them to pull their fingers out.” Padrick must have kicked something, because there was a dull, wet thud. It was probably a grub. “Maybe we can bolt Tai’s home improvement kit onto a Lancer. Worked bloody well, I reckon. Anyway, all clear down here. Anything your end?”

  The supermarket was now quiet except for the sound of a man crying for help in the empty vegetable section. Dom and Tai carried him out. At the front of the store, there were seven injured civvies lying on the paving.

  “Where’s the others?”

  “They ran for it. Walking wounded. Not much I could do.”

  “Okay, we get these folks some medical assistance.” One of the men looked like he wouldn’t be needing any if they hung around much longer. “How many still alive?”

  Marcus studied his Lancer as if working something out. “Seven.”

  “Okay, there’s got to be a hospital or something. Let’s move it. Pad, call in our position, will you?”

  The time it took them to load the injured into the ’Dill and search the city for a first-aid station meant they’d definitely missed the convoy window by hours. The place was wrecked, burning buildings and bodies everywhere. Dom watched the procession of terrified people heading east out of town with suitcases and couldn’t manage to feel sorry for himself. Where were they going? Did they think it’d be any safer than here? The grubs had ripped through Jannermont and gone. They might never come back.

  Nobody knew where to run. Nowhere was safe, except the cities built on granite, and even then the grubs might attack via the surface instead of tunneling their way in.

  “Okay, Baz, find us a clear route to Ephyra.” Padrick steered the ’Dill over a carpet of rubble and back onto the highway north, which was now pretty quiet. Everyone was heading south and east again. “Lead on.”

  Dom cradled his Lancer more tightly as the dusk fell. They bounced across rutted fields in the darkness, back onto paved roads, and through woods. Tai dozed in the seat behind, and Marcus took top cover, head out of the hatch. It was usually a sign that he was chewing something over and didn’t want to be interrupted.

  “We’ve got to start looking after these crates better.” Padrick distracted Dom for a moment, tapping the readouts on the dash. “Can’t keep thrashing them like this and trusting longer maintenance intervals. Look.”

  The engine temperature was climbing; Dom noted the red line edging closer to the STOP mark. Everyone drove ’Dills to the limit, and Pad would know when to pull over and let it cool down for a while. That was something you didn’t do if you didn’t absolutely have to. He kept looking at his watch.

  “APC Two-Eighty to Control.” The ’Dill was back on the highway now. In some ways that was safer—you could be located easily—but it was also exposed. “Note our location, please. Minor mechanical trouble brewing.”

  “Control to Two-Eighty, roger that.”

  Marcus dropped down into the cabin again and shut the hatch.

  “Can’t think of anything,” he said.

  “What?” Dom was used to having to fill in the gaps with him. Carlos always claimed that it was what Marcus didn’t say that usually mattered most.

  At least you didn’t live to see all this shit, Carlos. End of the damn world.

  There were a lot of agonies that Carlos had been spared by dying in the last war. He’d been a devoted uncle. But it would have been nice if he’d known Sylvia, however briefly.

  “Can’t think of a reason to recall us to base now,” Marcus said, frowning. “That’s all.”

  The ’Dill lasted another thirty minutes before it started making unhealthy noises and Pad had to pull over before something seized. They waited in the dark, suddenly aware of how few lights they could see in the distance, let alone any on the road, and noted every rustle and click they couldn’t identify. Charging a line of grubs was one thing, but sitting helpless in the dark was another.

  “Okay,” Padrick said. “Let’s try again.”

  He started the engine, but it died on him. After a few more attempts, he opened the engine compartment, but four diagnoses and a lot of tinkering didn’t solve anything. Padrick admitted defeat and called in.

  “Two-Eighty to Control, our ’Dill’s fucked.”

  “Okay, Two-Eighty, we’re out of engineer units at the moment. Could be ten hours. Are you okay to hold your position?”

  Padrick looked at Marcus.

  “Start walking,” Marcus said. “Any convoys within ten klicks?”

  “Stick on the main highway,” Control said
. “We’ll get someone to you as soon as we can.”

  Dom checked his compass and did a few calculations. “If they don’t, we’ll be walking for the best part of twenty hours.”

  It was going to be a heavy slog home, with everything they could strip out of the ’Dill and carry. The Locust took every scrap of COG technology they could find. They reused it and even incorporated it into their own equipment. They got more savvy every day.

  “They can keep the engine,” Tai said. “It will teach them the value of strength from adversity.”

  “You’re fucking nuts,” Pad muttered.

  Dom estimated the pack he was now tottering under weighed more than fifty-five kilos. The four of them set off up the side of the highway, moving in the relative cover of hedges, while Baz the bot skimmed in front of them at head height. Its blue power indicators gave Dom some reassurance.

  Baz, at least, knew where it was going, and wasn’t afraid of the real monsters that lurked in the dark.

  CABINET MEETING ROOM, HOUSE OF THE SOVEREIGNS, JACINTO, 2300 HOURS.

  “Jillian, you don’t have to wait. Why don’t you go home?”

  “It’s all right, sir.” She smiled at Prescott, radiating belief and loyalty. “My sister’s moved in, and I could do with the peace and quiet, to be honest.”

  “Ah, the one from Tollen.” Prescott felt a single grain of burden lift from his conscience. “I know it’s tough having family around, but it’s for the best. She’s far safer here.”

  And when she finds out why … at least one person won’t loathe me.

  He stood in front of the full-length mirror, debating whether to wear a business jacket or the full military tunic. Did it matter? He didn’t have to carry any argument, create the right impression, or win minds in this meeting.

  He had absolute power over the Hammer of Dawn.

  And absolute responsibility, whatever Salaman and Hoffman think. They do so want to shoulder the burden too.

  The tunic, definitely. Civilian rule and democracy has to be seen to be suspended. We can’t start arguing the toss about this. We don’t have the luxury of time.

  “Very well, Jillian,” he said. “Show them in. And I’d like you to sit in on the meeting. It’ll be brief.”

  Prescott wondered if he should have left his ministers to find out about the Hammer at the same time as the rest of the world. But how much harm could it do the night before? They didn’t want an unmanaged panic any more than he did. And they wouldn’t want to compromise Ephyra. Their own lives depended on it, if nothing else.

  “And Professor Fenix, sir?”

  “Yes.”

  It was a small cabinet now, just five members: Justice and Security, Health and Welfare, Infrastructure, Industry, and Resources. Elections had been suspended shortly after E-Day. Prescott was fascinated by how few people seemed to crave power since the Locust attacked, but this wasn’t the Pendulum Wars. There was no subconscious belief that life would eventually get back to normal and advantages accrued in the war years could be enjoyed.

  “Ladies, gentlemen, thank you for attending such a late meeting,” he said, gesturing to the chairs around the marquetry table. Whatever happened, he needed some cooperation from them in the days to come, and it was easier to impose some degree of collusion on them now than find new ministers afterward. “You’ll realize that this relates to the gravest emergency, and as such, everything that’s said in this room is strictly classified.”

  Yes, they’d worked that out. Their faces said so. Fenix sat down next to the Justice Secretary, Janeen Mauris, looking … ashamed.

  But you’ll probably save humankind, Adam. You were a soldier. How did you ever cope?

  “No General Salaman?” asked Mauris.

  “As Chief of Staff, I’ll speak on defense matters.”

  Prescott sat down and caught Jillian’s eye. She sat with her notebook open, waiting; poor woman, she thought she was taking notes. He simply wanted her to hear it firsthand, because—

  He wasn’t sure, but he knew that he’d need to keep a reliable secretary more than ever now, and taking her into his highest degree of confidence would ensure that.

  Damn, he was sure this would have made his throat tighten, his stomach churn, something. But he seemed to have rehearsed all his anxiety into submission.

  No going back now.

  Prescott took a slow, discreet breath.

  “This isn’t a discussion or a vote,” he said. “It’s going to be very brief, but you should hear it now rather than at ten hundred hours tomorrow, which is when I’ll announce it worldwide. Sera has two months at most before the Locust destroy us completely. I’ve sought more coordinated efforts from other COG states, but I’ve failed, and they appear to have given up hope. So I’ve taken a unilateral decision, which is within my powers, to reinstate the Fortification Act and ask all citizens to relocate to Ephyra within three days. This is the only place on Sera that we can defend and have any hope of preserving human life, so the Hammer of Dawn will be deployed—to destroy everything where there is Locust infestation, to deny assets to the enemy.”

  The silence was what he expected; he didn’t know how long it was going to last. But it went on longer than he anticipated, and he started counting. The maroon lacquered doors behind Fenix’s head suddenly seemed much more vivid for concentrating on them.

  “Jerome?” he said.

  “We can’t accommodate the entire Seran population in Ephyra,” the Infrastructure Minister said at last. “And there’s no way that they could reach us in three days anyway, with the current state of transport.”

  Prescott nodded. Thank you, Jerome. Let’s lance the boil. “But if we had room, then we’d still have no time.” Nobody seemed troubled by the Fortification Act—not immediately, anyway. It was academic in a war like this. “To say I don’t take this decision lightly is an understatement. And I’ve taken it alone, because it has to be done, and I don’t think it’s… right to ask you to vote on it. If I’m called to account later, then it will be my decision to justify, not yours.”

  Good grief. I actually meant that.

  And then the arguments started, all at once, a hubbub of voices, shaking, angry, disbelieving—terrified.

  “Three days isn’t enough to prepare for any refugee influx on that scale—”

  “I won’t be complicit in the—”

  “What if it doesn’t work, Richard? What if it doesn’t work?”

  “Now we know why you recalled the army.”

  “We’re not just killing other COG citizens, we’ll almost certainly be killing our own countrymen, too.”

  Prescott let them argue. He was in no hurry now, and it made no difference to the outcome; he was fairly sure that even after a war that had lasted generations, nobody in this room had any way of grasping what was at stake in this one. It was only when Adam Fenix spoke that they seemed to settle, and grasp the full and necessary horror.

  “This is our last resort,” he said. “The absolute last hope we have.”

  “It’s easy for you.” Mauris looked close to tears. “I have family in Ostri.”

  “My only son’s a Gear,” Fenix said. “And he should have been back at base by now. He isn’t. I know what’s easy and what isn’t, Minister.”

  There was nothing more to be said, but the cabinet went on saying it, a wall of repetitive noise that ceased to have meaning. Prescott got up and leaned over Jillian. Nobody else took any notice. Shock among politicians was an odd thing to watch.

  “You can go now if you like, Jillian,” he whispered.

  Her face was absolutely ashen. “You … warned me, sir.”

  “Yes.”

  “Thank you. Thank you.”

  He knew that would be one of the very few thanks he’d get in the next few days. Now he wondered how long it would be before one of the people in this room called friends and family—or the media—and the whole thing spilled over into recrimination and panic.

  Civil security is st
anding by.

  We have the bulk of the armed forces back in Ephyra, or within three days of it.

  I can handle this. We have to make this work.

  “Ladies and gentlemen,” he said, “I’m happy to leave you here to come to terms with my decision, but it’s made, and I’m afraid I’m going to have to leave you now.”

  “You can’t just walk out,” Mauris snapped. “We’re going to condemn millions to death on the off chance that it might stop the Locust.”

  “That’s it,” Prescott said. “Please, do be responsible about this information in the next few hours. It is, as I said, classified. Goodnight.”

  He walked out, went to his private office, and closed the doors behind him.

  Ten minutes later, Adam Fenix opened them.

  “I suppose you can spare a few minutes for me,” he said sourly.

  “Well, that went as well as could be expected. Did they give you a hard time? Call you a monster?”

  Fenix ignored the question. “There was another way,” he said. “But I thought it was better not to start them off.”

  “Oh, now’s not the time to get cold feet.”

  “I said was. It’s a much longer shot.”

  Prescott surprised himself by how quickly he grasped at Fenix’s straw of hope. “What was it?”

  “That we could try to flood the Locust underground, where they live, using Hammer strikes.”

  Prescott thought of the scale of the infestation. It seemed odd to use insect words like that when the Locust were so large and so powerful. “But there must be millions of them, and to flood tunnels or whatever they have down there … we would need to breach sea defenses and divert rivers. We would still lose entire cities. And it would take time we don’t have.”

  “Yes. Yes, the loss of life would still be huge.” Fenix sounded as if he was trying to convince himself. “And we ran out of time in the end.”

  “Besides, how would we know where to flood? We still know next to nothing about these creatures, nothing about their weaknesses.”

  Fenix stood in front of the desk and just looked at him. Prescott wasn’t sure why, but he had a feeling the man was holding back.