by Chris Turner
No matter. He would push Dez too to the limit on this one. Already 200 top scientists and engineers were working on the project. The rest of Cybernetics’ operations would be put on indefinite hold for all he cared. This breakthrough must be given absolute priority.
Mathias’s lips curled in a cunning leer as he envisaged the final goal—a superior AI, one the galaxy would gaze upon in awe...
* * *
Mathias woke up from a doze, rubbing his bleary eyes. He coughed, wincing at the fermented taste of liquor in the back of his throat. A sinister feeling ran up his spine, his sixth sense alerted. He hit the wall switch and poked his head down the hall. The corridor was empty, eerily quiet. Where was Goss, and Janson, his security officer?
Surely Goss, the officious sod, must be back from his mission on the Scorpion ships? He called out on his communicator. Nothing. Mathias threw it down on his divan in a sulk. Goss, probably dodging him, afraid to put out the order to kill the bitch who had betrayed him.
A flicker at the edge of his vision: a dark form gliding down the hall, glistening with moisture over its squid-like body.
Mathias blinked in disbelief. He grabbed for his holstered weapon and fired off a round. The shot deflected harmlessly off the thing’s body armour. Squids! How the fuck did they get aboard? Mathias’s heart thumped at the frightening realization of what must have happened. The Rdelnarian shipment! For shit sakes! Goss must not have opened and inspected it. How many times had he warned the dumb fuck to beware of bombs, assassins, the like?
Mathias’s last conscious thoughts faded to dust as he was wrenched from standing position. A thick mass of tentacles coiled around his body, with force enough to crush the life out of him.
* * *
Goss winced aboard the Scorpion flagship Draxen, realizing how unprepared and ill-informed the crew were. “What do you mean Captain Adlis isn’t even here? Is it vacation time for everyone here, including captains? And what do you mean we only have half arsenal?” He shook a fist at Bis, the new security leader who blanched under the android’s glare.
“We were not informed of any offensive manoeuvres, just a routine escort. For Christ sakes, it’s Rdelnar we’re talking about here!”
“Goss, you better look at this,” muttered the helmsman. “Two Mark IV’s bearing down at heading 350.”
Goss dashed over to the console. “You’ve got to be kidding me—Mathias, the critical bastard, said there’d be no—”
“They’re coming in fast, sir.”
“Engage them then, you fools.” Goss shrieked into his headset: “Alert all backups. Scorpions 6 and 7. Where are you? I repeat. Code red!”
“We’d better warn Mathias.”
“Do it!”
“I can’t, sir, signals jammed. It’s like he’s in hyperthrust limbo. Ship’s offline. What the—? We can’t even warp out of here ourselves.”
“What the hell does that mean, Lieutenant? Never mind! Get the targets locked—”
A blast came to forward port. A uro bomb. It knocked out their central visual. Goss and his men lay sprawled on the ground. The navigator leaped up, his hands clawing for the console which sparked, klaxons blaring all round, emergency lights flashing. A trail of smoke rose from the starboard panel. “They’re hammering us!” he cried.
“Where’s the rest of our team?” croaked Goss, dismayed.
“They got Mark IV’s all over them!” yelled Bis.
A war eagle came rocketing in on a killing vector. Helmsman Jordan jerked the controls in time to launch a photon blast out of starboard with enough precision to transform the war Orb into a flaming inferno. Two more came zooming in from above to take its place. Jordan swore, sent heat locks on the two. Bis clutched the controls, looking for more foes to lock onto.
“Weasels, prepare to die!” came Jordan’s triumphant shout. Both Orbs reddened, flattened, and flared into oblivion.
Goss pounded a fist into the central controls. “How did this happen?”
“Don’t know, sir,” said Bis. “Unheard of for Zikri to attack so close to secured Rdelnar space.”
They must be desperate, thought Goss. He remembered the firepower of the Orbs on Phebis. His human-attuned circuits could only register fear.
A sizzling flame arched across the central viewport and a nasty crackling hiss filled the air. Emergency power flickered on and off, bathing the ship’s bridge in a rich sepia gloom.
“We’ve no main power,” muttered Bis.
“Flash bomb,” grunted Jordan. “Knocked out our ship’s main conduit.” He bowed his head.
Goss swore. The crew would die when the ship’s battery-power and life-support failed. That or Zikri sweepers would force their way in to salvage what survivors they could for the Mentera tanks. The Zikri must be desperate to attack out in open space.
Goss signalled to Jordan and Bis, and they and the three junior officers donned protective helmets with limited oxygen reserves. Then they scrambled for weapons and armour in the kits strapped to the side walls. They sealed the door and barricaded it with instrument panels, seats, anything they could rip down, thus blocking the bridge’s only access point. While the ship floated lifelessly in space, thousands of kilometres from Rdelnar, men’s darkest fears welled in them and their hopes died. The pale orange globe of Rdelnar swung obliviously below.
“We sent a distress signal planetside to Rdelnar’s forces,” muttered Jordan.
“It won’t do any good,” said Goss, “they’ll never get to us in time.”
Goss and Bis, Jordan, and the junior officers crouched grimly in the murk in full battle gear, training their blasters on what they knew would be coming soon through that door.
They did not have to wait long.
A crippling blast sent the double-door curling inward in a mass of tortured metal. Goss and his men braced themselves. They opened fire, levelling blasters at eye level on the sea of smoke that poured in. Writhing shapes jumped through.
Thrashing tentacles seized the first unlucky men before they could get many clean shots off.
Some Zikri flesh fell charred and smoking to the floor. Goss’s defenders fell too, screaming curses at the invaders’ assaults.
Goss ripped at the slimy and strangling Zikri tentacles that flailed around him and buffeted the clammy bodies smacking into him. They expected to subdue him easily, not realizing what he was. Anguished shrieks and groans merged with the chitters.
As a cyborg Goss knew he was immune to the crushing force that would snap a human’s spine in seconds and he ripped Zikri limbs from sockets, flinging them every which way, pummelling alien flesh with his unusual strength. But such an advantage was short-lived.
Krin appeared, a hulking brute of a Zikri, brimming with wrath at the human shape that was unleashing such carnage on his soldiers. A useless waste of Zikri life. It was writ all over his polyped face and in three quick strides he glided forward and wrapped his muscled fore-tentacles around the synthetic’s neck and gave a savage twist. Off popped the head with its sparking wires and dangling components and thudded to a halt amidst the wreckage and gore. Goss’s headless body thrashed about the blood-drenched floor for several seconds before it lay still.
* * *
The Zikri invaders gaped in bewilderment and awe at the smoking heap of circuitry that they thought had been human.
“Pick up the pieces,” Krin growled. “Gather them and the humans, for Krake.”
* * *
On a signal from Bral, his personal backup, Krin boarded Mathias’s N-Juen vessel and lifted a muscled tentacle to warn his soldiers to hold off on the torture instruments. His eyes strayed to the viewing terminal Mathias had been examining lying on the comfortable leather divan before he had been brutally apprehended. His polyp rounded in a surprised exclamation. He would recognize that fierce and impassive face anywhere for as long as he lived. The killing machine aboard the Orb! But of course, no need now to torture the pitiful human lolling senseless at his feet. This advanced
instrument enabled this human Mathias to track the man, his hired underling. He must have planted a homing device on him.
But how? It seemed impossible. Sewn into his armour? Why not take off the armour? Was the human not aware he was being tracked?
Krin stirred, pondering. Remarkable. Easy enough with the receiver in hand to back-engineer this technology. A fiendish light grew in Krin’s eye. He would trace the signal.
Bral clicked a button on the interface and the human’s facial profile spun in 3D on the console. Location: 692-V3 Jorek sector—the pirate sector, also known as the Dim Zone.
Krin grinned broadly. His wavering tentacle wandered to the red button stationed on the monitor. Depressing it, he saw the life form depicted in yellow on the visual pulse into hues of red and jerk spasmodically. A cold smile curled Krin’s mouth. It seemed Mathias had an ingenious way of spurring his minion on. He motioned his soldiers to take the machine and the unconscious Mathias aboard the Orb.
* * *
When Mathias came to, he found himself floating upright in a watery medium on an alien ship.
In fact, it was all a groggy blur, looking out of a glass prison, some sort of tank. Reeking tentacles had seized him with bone-breaking force and now there was Goss, his synthetic, ripped into several pieces, clumped in a glass container box before him, his gaping eyes and head lolling out.
This must be some hellish nightmare. Mathias cringed, felt no pain, only a sense of vacuous non-existence, much more horrifying than any ‘death’ he could imagine. The dispassionate Zikri leader and his entourage stared at him through the glass like judgement officers, a sort of vindictive triumph glinting in those pig-like eyes of theirs...
* * *
Even subcommander Krin for all his fearlessness felt a frisson of anxiety as the Mentera ring station came into view. The double-torus craft was still undergoing repairs from the attack by the Jakru and their rogue general Zaul.
He had never liked dealing with the locusts. He believed the Zikri had become subordinate to the Mentera when the alliance had been signed. That they were doing all the insects’ kidnapping for them, running all the risks. But he kept his polyp shut. It was not becoming of one of his rank to speak out against decisions made from higher up. Others would govern and effect policy, not him.
Krin’s orders were simple: hunt down the escaped prisoners responsible for the Orb’s demise and redeem his failure. That was his charge, or die.
Some of the heat would be off his tentacles, now that the mastermind of the human expedition, the one called Mathias, had been caught.
Summoned aboard Krake’s ship, Krin adopted a whole new persona: one meek and deferential. He entered a roundish hall of barbaric splendour, dark and pillared with ribs like the innards of a gutted whale. The slick and gleaming curved walls displayed racks upon racks of their typical fiendish torture instruments of metal. He played a sensitive game here, sparring with Krake who was a proven master several years his senior. A game where life and death were separated only by a thin thread.
“What happened to Vngbrug?” demanded Krake, his grizzled face curdling in anger.
Krin recalled how he had slaughtered Krake’s gurkuk like a disobedient pup aboard Mathias’s ship during the battle. “Alas, he did not make it.” Krin reflected further, there could be only one commander, and Vngbrug was definitely not it.
Krake’s features contorted in new fury. “What do you mean ‘alas’, and how many Orbs did you lose?”
“Three, sir.”
“I should kill you for that now, Krin. On your knees!”
Without hesitating, Krin grovelled before his superior, splaying upper tentacles, white-side up before him, as was Zikri custom of kowtowing before a commanding lord.
Krake gripped Krin’s tentacles in his own, almost an intimate embrace, a visible display of power, dominancy, hierarchy and strength. Krin showed just the proper hint of pressure, for it was an insult to squeeze back with full force, as it likewise was to meekly yield.
Krake applied more pressure. It demonstrated he could rip off his underling’s motilators at any time. That or damage the muscle beyond repair. Krin resisted enough to make Krake feel powerful and respected, but not so much as to express an overt challenge. There were tremors of rage brewing there that were quite ready to tear Krake’s motilators off.
Krake spoke at last: “As chief punisher, you know it is my duty to keep my immediate subordinates in place.”
“Yes, lord.” Krin remained prostrate, squinting at the racks of pain-inducing torture devices on Krake’s vine-draped walls, slicked with a gleaming gel. Three Zikri victims were currently in tentacle-manacles, in various degrees of anguish.
“So what happened out there?”
“Vngbrug was eager to prove himself. I counselled against bringing in more Orbs for reinforcements.”
Krake’s grip pulsed with increased pressure. “True, but that does not exonerate you from blame.”
Krin winced. “Your gurkuk bungled the job. Through his hubris and conceit, he foolishly engaged forces beyond his ability. An unnecessary risk. His only wish was to impress you with ripe spoils should his bold tactic succeed. He set me up to take the fall, should it fail. It did, with considerable loss of Zikri warriors and Orbs. I witnessed the savage robo-human thing. Tore your gukruk and Kral apart like pups scrapping over a bone.”
“So why have you come then?” snarled Krake. “Do you have anything for me?”
Krin was about to divulge his famous prize, Mathias, but something stayed his tongue. A glimmer of ambition in the commander’s eyes was enough of a signal for him. No, he would keep his treasure secret for now, until such treasure could bring advantages his way. If need be, he would trade the human’s life for his own.
“I have—”
“What? What have you? What of the skurg who ravaged the Orb on the dead moon?”
“We have a fix on him, lord. Our next mission awaits. I thought I’d report to you my spoils—in advance.”
“An irregular procedure, but proceed.” Krake lifted a tentacle, releasing its grip on his underling.
Krin gratefully lifted himself to his feet and massaged his numbed tentacles. “I have come to offer a dozen subjects and the remains of a human-like machine for study in our labs. Perhaps we can revive it and produce others like it.”
Krake twitched a motilator and chittered sullenly. “At worst, we can back-engineer the device and use it for our technical weapons’ arsenal. Very good, Krin. Anything else to report?”
Krin licked his polyp of a mouth and quivered a lower tentacle, indicative of a no. Lies like this spilled easily from his maw. He had told many of them during his rise to power and they came quite naturally now. But should he be caught in one by Krake—Krin shuddered at the thought. He recalled Vngbrug choking in his own blood. He had hidden Mathias safely away in the hold, no chance that Krake could readily get his greasy tentacles on him. Yet a quiver of doubt pricked his hide...
Krin’s eye arched away from the torture devices, avoiding his commander’s eye lest it find some way to detect his guilt.
“I will personally deliver the dozen specimens to Consul Jnedz aboard the Mentera station, as I have reason to curry favour with the First Commander. He’s a prominent locust lord. You will accompany me.”
Krin assented with a flick of an upper tentacle. He breathed a sigh of hidden relief, confident that he had disarmed Krake.
Krake turned his penetrating gaze toward one of the chittering, drooling prisoners suspended from manacles. “Vagul here was lax at his post and neglected to warn us of invasion early in the Jakru attack. He left Zikri ships open to assault. Many deaths resulted. Recall: five ships, can you believe it! The Jakru did that much damage to our fleet. Treguk, Ak Gruilkaa!” he cursed. “A hundred ships lost, and more from the Mentera’s armada of lightfighters and ring stations.”
It was news to Krin. He looked at Krake with new respect. Krake obviously had links higher up the chain than
he imagined, perhaps even to admiral Nrog himself. He recalled snatches of the Jakru battle and knew they had flown in ships disguised as Mentera decoys, a clever plan, even if hatched by aliens. Even if it had failed to accomplish its goal. But only five ships? The paltry number appalled him. It did not, however, help his situation.
“Vagul is beyond redemption,” said Krake. “He must be put to death for his carelessness. But not too quickly. You, however, are granted a chance at redemption, as we, the Zikri, are a forgiving race.”
Krin bowed and watched the ends of Vagul’s tentacles slowly being stretched to the max by metal pulleys and cables.
Krake flicked a tentacle. A wall switch, activated by Krake’s motilator clicked, and Vagul’s closest, most abused tentacle was drawn beyond its means of capacity. Krin heard a wrenching snap, then a ripping of flesh as the member was torn free from its socket and flopped onto the floor with a sickening thud. Vagul let out a screech that chilled Krin’s innards. Horrific, beautiful torture—yet oddly, a sick fascination for all Zikri who witnessed it.
“He is nearing his hundredth round of torture,” observed Krake, “and will not last much longer. Pity. I quite enjoyed our sessions. Between the torturer and the tortured a sense of intimacy develops, if the victim lasts long enough. It’s almost as painful for the torturer to let go of his charge as it is for the tortured to succumb to his pain.”
Krin could understand something of this. He was just glad he had eluded Vagul’s fate.
* * *
As Krake and Krin approached the Mentera ring station in Krake’s personal shuttle, details became clearer. A Velasian star-cruiser, one from the free colonies, enormous, grey, octagon-shaped, but fish-like at its fore. This was a colony ship en route to Punara in the Bedjron sector. The hulk was being towed by a Zikri tug through the protective ranks of aphid ships toward the Mentera ring-torus. The locusts, Krin reflected, would take the starship’s crew, which Krin estimated at a humble 3-5 thousand, and use the colonists for their vats. Quite a haul. The humans, trapped and wired up to the mesh like lab rats, would feed the locusts’ power generators. The ship’s technology would support the Zikri initiative and be incorporated into their own vessels. That, or they would use the craft as bait to orchestrate more ruses and heists.
