Chimera Company had finally reached their destination.
But Bresca-Brevae was burning.
NEXT ISSUE: Trapped in the Vortex Plaza Massacre!
ISSUE 7
OSU SYBUTU
Wanting to slip into the city unnoticed, they left the bikes and the Saruswine stabled at a small farm just outside the city, Enthree parting with an assurance to the animals that the Chimeran party would return soon. The Muryani had developed such a tight bond with the beasts that Osu half-believed the Saruswine understood every word.
As they descended the hills on foot, the sense of apocalyptic doom wreathing Bresca-Brevae hit so hard that he began to doubt whether their mounts would be waiting for their return. He mentally pushed that problem into the far future as they encountered the first wave of refugees streaming from the burning city. They were Littoranes in tightly packed formations of a dozen or more. Those on the outside carried hammers, knives, and makeshift clubs. Youngsters and a few objects of high value were protected in the middle.
The Chimerans asked for news of what was afflicting the city, but the fleeing Littoranes either didn’t understand or didn’t want to. Whatever it was, the flames were deliberate. From the low hills surrounding the bay, they’d seen shadowy figures carrying burning torches.
The closer they drew, the louder the sounds of chaos became. Shrieks and screams filled the air, punctuated by occasional gunshots.
It was too much. The team had intended to split up in the search for Fitzwilliam, but Osu declared the situation too dangerous and ordered them to stick together.
He knew there would come a moment of crisis when his leadership of the Chimerans would be challenged. With seven troopers matched against the three surviving legionaries, Chimera Company was unbalanced. Arunsen seemed to think that gave him a natural authority, but this remained a Legion operation. The Militia were here only as escorts.
But that moment of crisis was not yet upon them. When Osu told them to stick together, Arunsen mulled over the instruction and then grunted – apparently the standard Militia way of acknowledging an order.
Since they would pass close to the spaceport on the way to the city proper, Osu diverted the Chimerans there first. If Fitzwilliam’s ship was registered in his name, locating him there should be easy.
Should be. Osu doubted it would be so simple. Nothing had come easy so far except the punishing blows of friends lost.
When they were only a few hundred yards from the main spaceport gate – which thankfully had an armed guard not wearing rebel uniforms – a column of human refugees who had been heading for the gate suddenly switched direction and ran headlong at the Chimerans, pursued by a murderous mixed group of humans and Littoranes wielding swords and weaponized tail tips. The pursuers howled bloodcurdling battle cries from mouths bubbling with foam.
“Dust them as they pass,” said Arunsen.
“SOTLs,” Osu told the legionaries, “the troopers are playing the part of the mercenary escort. We keep our arms concealed and let this ugly lot do their jobs.”
Leaving the shooting to the Militia felt like a gamble, but the risk paid off. The pursuers terrifying the fleeing civilians turned out to be strictly amateurs. They made Arunsen’s rabble look like elite troops.
The Militia separated into two clumps, allowing the civilians to pass between them, then caught the pursuers in a crossfire of blaster bolts and rifle slugs.
If these were the Invaders Bronze had encountered before, then they were not much of a threat. At least not yet.
The human survivors dropped to their knees in the snow, chests heaving, and eyes wild in faces unprotected against the cold.
“How could you?” one of the men gasped, his gaze on the Militia masquerading as mercs. “Murderers.”
Still fighting to regain his breath from the icy air that must be burning his lungs, the man walked back to the heap of fresh corpses, searching among the bodies.
Osu followed, curious. “What you mean, murderers?”
The civilian ignored him as he sat down beside a bloodied corpse, lifting the dead man’s head gently onto his lap. He cradled the would-be killer’s head, stroking his hair. “He was my husband.”
A cry of sheer delight escaped the survivor’s lips as his husband gasped in pain and opened his eyes. The dying man reached up with a bloodied hand and stroked the neck of the person cradling him, leaving a bloody trail.
Osu buzzed with horror because he’d seen what had really happened. The infected man had gasped with pain because he had deliberately dipped his fingers inside his own stomach wound, coating them with infected blood before scratching the neck of the man he’d been chasing with a sword.
He hadn’t given a last gesture of affection; he’d completed his murderous task. The victim just didn’t know it yet.
“Keep away from us,” Osu shouted at the man holding his husband. “He’s infected. He’ll turn too. Don’t let him touch you.”
“Infected with what?” inquired one of the other survivors. Some of the troopers also gave Osu a questioning look.
“A blood-borne infection that drives you into a homicidal state,” he explained. “I’ve heard of it consuming other worlds. I think that’s what’s happening here.”
The man paid no attention to Osu’s words, but when Arunsen leveled his blaster at him, he looked up from his fallen husband to see death staring him in the face.
“What do we do about this one?” Arunsen asked.
More bloodcurdling screams rent the air. With all the panicked bodies streaming from the city, Osu couldn’t tell where the noise was coming from, but what they had just witnessed was clearly no isolated incident.
“If he comes close, shoot him,” he instructed Arunsen. “Otherwise, leave him be. We can’t save the entire city.”
The screams were getting closer.
“Let’s get to the spaceport gate. Double time.”
“Wait!” snapped Lily. “Where’s Meatbolt?”
Everyone looked around. It was the sharp-eyed Zhoogene trooper who saw him.
“He’s heading for the city,” said Sward. “No… Damn! I lost him in the crowd.”
“I’ll look for him,” said Enthree.
“Me too,” Bronze added with a little too much eagerness.
“You two can’t go by yourselves,” said Arunsen. “Sybutu said it was too dangerous and, for once, he’s right.”
“If it were any other pair,” said Osu, “I would agree. But these two? They’re safer than the rest of us put together.”
Arunsen didn’t look convinced but he waved the pair of Chimerans away and they sped off in pursuit of Meatbolt.
The others made for the spaceport, under the watchful gaze of its garrison.
VETCH ARUNSEN
A wall fortified by watchtowers enclosed the spaceport, and armed guards manned the heavy main gate. The defenses were not enough to delay a serious military assault, but looked sufficient to guard against the rampages of overexcited religious extremists and petty criminals. Given the preponderance of PPR-3 blaster rifles, the humanoids who looked like nervous vagrants were a Militia detachment, and the even more nervous-looking Littoranes were armed citizen volunteers wondering how their home had descended into a hellish pandemonium over the course of a few hours.
The main gate was sealed, but a smaller side door opened, and a man approached the Chimerans in a velvet cloak and self-heating leather boots that repelled snow, water, and dirt. He was flanked by a pair of troopers on either side.
Remember, I’m playing the part of a mercenary, Vetch told himself.
Unlike the Legion, the Militia didn’t go in for uniforms much. If your unit commander thought the expense of outfitting worthwhile, you would wear blue above the waist and cream or white below. Underneath their outer layers, the Raven Company troopers did indeed wear blue smocks bearing an embroidered Militia emblem of a silhouetted hammer raised against a star, a reminder of the Hammer of Democracy incident in the earl
y days of the Federation.
But unless they were ordered at gunpoint to strip, none of that was on show. All they’d had to do was leave their Militia-issue PPR-3s behind at Fort Iceni and no one would ever know they were serving Militia troopers.
“We request passage into the spaceport,” stated Sybutu.
Request passage? Who did the jack think he was? A medieval herald?
The Militia officer ignored Sybutu, pushing past the two remaining legionaries and on to the troopers beyond.
“You…” He pointed at Vetch. “And you.” He indicated Lily. “I know you.”
“You’re mistaken.” Vetch shook his head as he spoke, adopting a gruff voice.
“I don’t think so.” A crawling sensation up his spine told Vetch that the officer’s voice did sound a little familiar. “You’re the reason I was sent to this craphole world to die, Sergeant Arunsen.”
The man lifted his glacier goggles.
Vetch sucked in a chill breath. “Hello, Lieutenant Kulm.”
Yeah, this is kinda awkward.
“Shite!” muttered Green Fish, and with good reason. Kulm had been their platoon commander when they were exiled to Rho-Torkis.
“I thought I was well rid of you scum,” said the officer. “Mind you, here in Bresca-Brevae, I thought it was as good as it would get on the Rho-Torkis posting. Right up until this morning when that mob of maniacs tried to seize the spaceport. They weren’t in uniform. No one knows who they are, but they’ll be back.” Kulm stood straighter. “They weren’t expecting resistance.”
“You fought them off?” said Vetch. He tried to keep incredulity from his voice. Really, he did, but he failed. Throw untested people into a crisis and you could never be sure who would crack and who might prove to be an unlikely hero.
But Kulm?
“Of course.” Kulm’s voice shook but he spoke with real pride. “We played a critical role. So did the citizen volunteers… As you can see, a madness is afflicting the people here, driving them to burn down their own city. Some say it’s Littorane religious mania, but humans have been seized by the same form of crazy. I think it’s biowarfare. Nasty business.”
“We were sent here by Major Yazzie to check your status,” Vetch informed him quickly while the officer still seemed to be in a good mood. “We can’t connect to any global comm system. Radio signals go unanswered.”
“Yeah. Comms are down. Funnily enough, Trooper, we noticed that too. And if anything, that’s the part of this steaming pile of drent that bothers me the most. I’ve even pinged a few satellites. They’re still there, just not talking to us. How can I ping a satellite in orbit, when I can’t transmit a radio signal to Fort Iceni? Last I heard, that was impossible.”
Kulm’s face settled back into its usual callous look. “And talking of impossible, I thought Lieutenant Shen had been given the dubious pleasure of herding you dogs. Major Yazzie wouldn’t trust a punishment company like the Ravens to wipe their own butts without an armed guard of reliable troopers. Now tell me the real reason why you’re here and why I shouldn’t have you shot like the rogues I know you to be.”
“We’re escorting two humans and a Kurlei. I don’t know who they are, but the major wants them off planet before the Rebellion closes its grip on Rho-Torkis.”
“Rebels, you say? We did see a fighter craft two days ago. Rebels. You talk as if they’re going to conquer the planet.”
“Rho-Torkis is already lost, and the rebels are mopping up the last resistance.”
Kulm didn’t reply at first. If the rebels really were in a mopping up phase, then Bresca-Brevae would probably be the next major objective. “Bugger!” he said with feeling. “I wouldn’t be on this planet if not for you and the mess you made on Lose-Viborg, Arunsen. And now I have to defend the spaceport with thirty troopers and armed newts in plastic swimsuits against a rebel invasion that was prepared to take on Camp Faxian. What news of Faxian? Tell me that the Legion is going to save the day and brag about it for centuries. I wouldn’t begrudge them that on this occasion.”
“Faxian was completely destroyed, Lieutenant. The Legion’s been wiped out.”
Kulm gave a bitter laugh, his legs trembling. It was the kind of laugh a man gave when his only other option was to give up and weep.
“The military situation is hopeless,” said Vetch. “Wouldn’t it be better to surrender to the rebels rather than go down against the madness infecting the city?”
“You know nothing, Arunsen!” Kulm was screaming in fury, his face purple with rage. “How could you, ignorant prison scum?”
Vetch fingered the haft of his war hammer. He’d had it up to here sucking up to arse-skragg officers. Between the rebels, the RILs, Lord Khallini, and the phony legionaries, the planet was about to be overrun, and still the lieutenant thought the best use of his time was to throw insults at the enlisted ranks.
With comms out, who would be left alive to report Vetch if he accidentally buried Lucerne’s head in his former platoon commander’s skull?
“Easy, Vetch.” Lily’s calming voice stayed his hand. “Kulm was promoted from the ranks without having to purchase his commission,” she explained. “It’s rare, but it happens. And all of his fellow officers are waiting for the opportunity to point to him and say his promotion was a mistake, that Kulm has no breeding and could never have any honor because he was always just a guttersnipe. His family, his entire town would be made to suffer. The only way out for Kulm is to make a brave but futile stand, dying as a result.”
Vetch softened. “I’m sorry, Lieutenant Kulm. That sucks royally, but the major gave us orders, and from what Lily says, if you’re seen to help us achieve our mission, that would benefit your family in the long run.”
“I’ll tell you what would make me look really bad, Arunsen. Being seen within a hundred klicks of you and your Raven rabble. Maybe the major really did give you orders, but she certainly didn’t give me any to let you through. She did, however, issue standing orders that deserters are to be shot on sight. Go, go now and don’t come back. If you do, I’ll have you shot.”
BRONZE
The instant Bronze passed through the city’s force dome, the heat of conflagration hit him so hard that he staggered.
A strong breeze of chill air buffeted his back, sucked in by the flaming city from its frozen hinterland. The wind’s strength was much reduced by the force dome, but the air inside was so much warmer that the breeze felt unnatural. A perversion of nature.
From the outside, the dome that stretched over the city was made visible by a cloaking of light mist and smoke, and by the way the snowflakes that had begun to fall danced away from its surface. Here on the inside, the air was too choked by the smoke trapped inside the dome to see it arcing overhead.
Damned thing is going to choke Bresca-Brevae to death.
The municipal dome was not like the military force shield the RILs near Camp Faxian had used in their ambush. This was a much gentler shield designed to retain heat and deflect rain and snowfall. Howling gales out in the bay were diminished to gentle breezes as they passed through.
“We need to kill the dome shield,” he told Enthree.
“If the dome fails, there will be a massive increase in the supply of oxygen to the fires. They will accelerate beyond control. The smoke is irritating but is currently well short of lethal concentrations for healthy individuals.”
“You’re right,” Bronze reluctantly agreed.
Both of them dodged out of the street and took shelter behind a colonnaded portico to allow a mob of Littoranes to pass out of the dome to the safety of the snow. The newts at the front stalled on the other side, shocked by the encounter with the raw cold and wind. Those behind bumbled into them, unleashing a flurry of vicious tail whippings as the frightened city dwellers lost their civility.
“Never get in the way of an angry Littorane,” Bronze murmured. Talking of which…
Two hundred yards up the street in the direction of the city, a line of six L
ittoranes guarded a junction, their low-slung silhouettes backlit by an angry orange glow. The details were difficult to resolve in the hazy air, but Bronze had the impression the line was watching the other Littoranes flee, drawing satisfaction from chasing them out.
His augmented eyes began cleaning up the image and he saw the watchers had their tails up aggressively. In their fore-hands they carried improvised clubs, and metal torches from which sprouted orange flames that reflected off the dark orbs of their eyes.
“They aren’t closing to kill,” said Bronze. “Nor was the group of infected we dusted outside the spaceport. They’re herding.”
“What makes you think they’re infected?”
Because I’ve seen it before, Bronze said to himself, and forced the memories of Azoth Zol back down into the depths of his soul.
What do you know about it, Muryani? More than you’re letting on, that’s for sure. I’ve not come here to chase Meatbolt. He’s already dead. I want to learn what’s really happening in the city, but I also want to know more about you.
“You should learn to trust me,” Enthree told him. “It’s the only way to save Meatbolt.”
“And you should learn to be more observant, Muryani.”
Bronze shot a meaningful look at the infected enforcers, who were now advancing on the two Chimerans with the menacing stomp of angry Littoranes.
“Indeed,” Enthree replied. “They are what I was talking about. You need to trust me, so start now by grabbing a secure hold across my shoulders.”
To say the idea didn’t appeal was an understatement, but Bronze’s philosophy was to try everything at least once – and certain things every time he got the chance.
Enthree placed her four front limbs on the ground and knelt on her hind legs, presenting her back. She drew her limbs in a little beneath her body like an ambush spider readying to spring on its prey.
Worked for him.
He leapt onto her back and grabbed around her shoulders.
Chimera Company - Rho-Torkis Box Set Page 27
