"Well, hell's bells..." Colonel Taylor seemed to be in deep thought; his mouth made a chewing motion despite the lack of any food within it. He scratched his chin, then said, "Captain, go see that the civvies are taken care of."
Captain Jackson executed a brisk salute and then left the clearing the way he had led Jon and Carbine in.
"Sir, what do we do about these?" the soldier holding the N-Tab asked. Taylor turned around and looked at the kneeling and hooded Invasives.
"Kill them, and their cows. Burn the wagon."
“Wait, sir! I’m sorry, but maybe I didn’t make myself clear,” Jon protested. “These Invasives aren’t the guilty party. Justice has already been served.”
"I heard you fine the first time, Lieutenant. My order stands."
"You can't just kill them, sir! They didn't do anything!" Jon insisted.
"Uh, Jon…" Carbine shot his friend a wary glance.
"Is that so?" Taylor asked, eyebrow raised and eyes glinting. "They are filthy little things, stinking up my planet. You some kinda trash-lover?" He reached down slowly and deliberately withdrew his sidearm, a pre-Storm model 1911 .45, polished steel with a wooden grip. Jon hesitated, unsure of how to proceed.
The Colonel half smirked and watched to see what Jon would do.
Jon’s heart was pounding, and he felt as if his throat had tied itself into a knot, making speech difficult and swallowing impossible. Colonel Taylor snorted, spat on the ground, then turned to the Invasive nearest to him, a hooded one that was oblivious to what was transpiring around it.
"Sir, please!" Jon managed to force out of his constricted throat.
Looking back while still facing the kneeling Invasive, the Colonel locked eyes directly with Jon and smiled, pulling the trigger. A single shot echoed through the camp like a thunderclap. The alien slumped forward, its head spilling a green ichor onto the frosty grass. The one without a hood on its head squawked loudly, which the N-Tab automatically translated as, "Run, my son!"
"Bastard!" Jon screamed and started as if to lunge towards the Colonel. Carbine reached out and gripped his friend on the shoulder, holding him back.
"Jon, no," Carbine hissed through gritted teeth.
Still hooded, one of the smallest captives stood up and began to run. Essentially blind, the little creature stumbled more than ran. Its futile attempt at escape came to an abrupt end when it tripped over one of the tents’ guy wires.
"Kill them all!" the Colonel barked. In an act of cosmic mercy, Jon and Carbine were spared the gurgling screams of the dying aliens as the roar of gunfire drowned them out.
"No!" Jon yelled, his voice lost in the deafening noise. Jon felt Carbine tighten his grip on him and fought back the knot in his throat. The shooting was short-lived, and when it was over the Colonel strode right up to Jon, who made no attempt to hide his rage.
"You're lucky I don't kill you too." Then, turning to his aide, he said, "Now that that is done, let's take care of our other problem."
What do you mean? Jon almost asked, but a sinking feeling in his gut told him the answer. The Colonel holstered his pistol and then signaled the infantryman with the N-Tab. Taking the device from the man's hands, he punched a button on the screen and then asked, "Captain?"
"Yes, sir?" Captain Jackson responded over the com.
"Are you ready?" the Colonel asked.
"Almost, sir. The civilians are currently being escorted into the hospital tent."
Hearing this, Jon breathed a sigh of relief.
"Good. Once they’re in, seal the door and then signal the Heavies," Colonel Taylor ordered.
"What?" Jon's jaw became slack. The knot in his throat returned, tighter.
"They're tainted, Lieutenant. Hell, you may be too now that you've been near them. You think I'm gonna let a bunch of Unpure people run around the countryside, spreading lies about little Harvester spheres? Spreading their taint to Pures?"
"But… no! They’re fine! I checked them out myself! You can't do this!" Jon raged. Alongside him, Carbine stood as motionless as a statue, fists clenched.
"And what makes you think you're qualified to make those assessments, hmm? Harvesters have touched them. Gotta put 'em down."
"You're full of shit," Jon said, his voice now calm and steady. "There is something else going on here. I'm contacting Headquarters."
"Is that so?" The Colonel spun on Jon, teeth flashing sharp reflections of the halogens through a sadistic grin. "And who are you gonna complain to, soldier? Warbak? I am the Military."
Before Jon could respond, the N-Tab crackled back to life with the captain's voice. "Colonel, sir. All civilians have been accounted for and are secure in the tent."
"Hold that thought, Lieutenant," Colonel Taylor said to Jon, raising his index finger in warning. Then, into the N-Tab, "Good. Fire when ready."
From what seemed to be just on the other side of the tents, flashes of brilliant light accompanied by the staccato drum of heavy-caliber machine gun fire lit up the night.
Something snapped inside of Jon. Something inexplicable, yet powerful enough to trump all his discipline and training. Before he could control it, or even recognize it, the surge of alien emotions overcame him, spurring him into action.
Jon leaped at the Colonel, surprising him and taking him to the cold ground in a tackle. Even as they tumbled, Jon rained blow after blow on his commanding officer. He couldn't feel the impact of his knuckles on the man, only heard the thuds, even over the Heavies’ guns and the cries of the dead and dying not far off.
Jon spied a glint of steel near his face and knew that Taylor had managed to unholster his sidearm again. He reached for the man's arm to gain control of the weapon but fell short, twisted as his body was and halfway under the older man's torso.
Jon braced for the shot, but it never came. He heard Carbine yell something and saw a glimpse of a side-zip boot. The pistol disappeared from sight, and he heard Taylor grunt in pain. Jon looked up to see Carbine gearing up for another kick when from behind him an infantryman appeared, rifle raised high in the air.
The rifle’s butt came down hard, and Jon could hear the crack it made when it struck his friend’s skull. Carbine fell nearly on top of him. Jon rolled and quickly pushed himself up, but stopped halfway there, one knee still to the earth, the muzzle of a Lawnmower mere centimeters from his now upturned face.
Jon watched the colonel get up in the corner of his eye. The bruised officer dusted himself off and then stooped down to retrieve his .45.
"You disappoint me, Lieutenant."
Jon remained silent as the Colonel strode over to him, pistol now in hand. Just as Taylor reached him, the sounds of the Mechs’ guns halted, almost perfectly synchronized. No cries filled the silence, only the soft winter wind blowing gently through the gaps in the tents.
"I hope you ate a good breakfast this morning. Adios."
The feel of the cold steel against his forehead made Jon wince. He closed his eyes. The longest second of his life turned to two, then three. Jon reopened his eyes and saw the soldier who earlier held the N-Tab whispering into the Colonel's ear behind a half-cupped hand.
Taylor pulled the pistol away from Jon's head but kept it pointed at him.
"Son, I'd rather buttfuck a rattlesnake than let you draw one more breath, but the corporal here might just be right."
Jon couldn't believe his ears. He looked up at the Colonel and saw a tiny drop of blood forming at the corner of his mouth.
"Thinks we outta send you back. Have the Ministry give you a once-over. New Breeds ain't supposed to disobey. Maybe something wrong with all y'all."
Images of Lily Sapphire on stage, staring at him, flashed into Jon’s mind. He was stunned both by Taylor’s words and by his own actions.
Raising his free hand, the colonel wiped the blood from his lips and then spat. A blood-flecked wad of saliva landed squarely on Jon's bent knee. Taylor snapped his fingers and soldiers rushed in from the sides, grabbing Jon by the arms and twisting
his joints to force his hands behind his back. Two others picked Carbine off the ground and put him into cuffs.
"Send these two turds back to the Zigg. Seems like New Breed needs to go back into the oven. They wasn't done cookin'." Jon watched with a mix of dread and relief as the pistol found its way back into the Colonel’s holster.
"This is for the lip," Taylor sneered and launched an uppercut into Jon's stomach, forcing the wind from him.
"And clean up this mess." Taylor gestured to the slaughtered Invasives. "I don't want this place to start stinkin'."
"I knew you were rotten the first time I met you, sir," Max gloated. Max, along with an infantryman, sat across from Jon and Carbine, who were both in manacles. All four of them rode in the back of a Republic Armored Personnel Carrier, a troop transport truck, long and straight, as heavily armored as a light tank, but lacking firepower. They bounced up and down as the APC made its way back to Home along the same rustic road that Jon and his squad had followed south a few days prior.
"I suppose I should thank you," Max continued to mock. "If you weren't such a screw-up, I wouldn't have gotten field promoted to LT. Thanks, boss."
Jon wasn't sure if it was the kid’s grin or his attitude that made his stomach turn. Or maybe it’s everything. Frustrated and impotent, he endured Max's taunting in silence, replaying the previous night's events over and over in his mind. It was easy to explain his behavior and his rage against the Colonel’s actions as the symptoms of a bewitchment; Lily had tainted him. But try as he may, that explanation never settled right in his mind. Everything that the Colonel and the 51st had been up to felt plain wrong to him. He couldn’t escape that, and so sat in confused silence, suffering Max’s taunts and trying mightily to make sense of his feelings.
"Don't think you're getting off easy with a simple execution, no. The Colonel explained it all to me when he promoted me." The new lieutenant’s sadistic smile widened with glee. "The New Breed program was expensive. Like, really expensive. I'm taking you straight to the Ministry. They need to find out why you don't work." Max paused for effect, trying to intimidate his captives. "They need to take you apart. Piece by piece. The Ministers are going to have a field day with your brains."
Refusing to give him any satisfaction, Jon stared past him, eyes unfocused, face emotionless.
"You're going to wish you were dead. You'll probably lose your mind. And then, if you aren't a complete vegetable, you will undergo re-education. When you come out of that, you will look forward to killing Drop-trash." Jon's stomach lurched, and he fought not to show his discomfort at the thoughts Max was planting.
"But suppose none of that works…" He rubbed his chin and mused, "If that's the case, I guess they'll just grind you up like hamburger and use your genetic material to bake the next batch” Max said, then burst into forced laughter.
"Isn't that funny?" Max impatiently asked the guard that rode with him.
"Yes, sir," the guard said flatly.
I trust you. The voice of Lily Sapphire echoed in Jon’s mind again. Without turning his head, he moved his eyes and studied his friend, Carbine, who sat next to him, head down, a look of pitiful remorse on his face. No, it can't be. It can’t just be Strange. Carbine disobeyed too. And he is just as upset, maybe more so.
"I said, isn't that funny?" Max leaned forward and grabbed Carbine's black curls, pulling his face up. Jon's pulse quickened, wondering what would happen next. Just leave him alone.
Carbine's jaw moved, looking to Jon like he was grinding his teeth. Then to Jon’s and Max's surprise, Carbine spat a wad of saliva onto Max's chin. Max released his grip on the sergeant’s hair and lurched backward, eyes wide in shock. He quickly wiped his face with the back of his hand and then stood, growling, "Why you…!"
Max stood, legs wide, finding his balance, then cocked his arm for a massive backhand. Carbine jutted out his jaw, inviting the blow, refusing to back down. Max was just about to let loose when the truck jolted, screeching to a halt and throwing Max off his feet towards the bulkhead of the APC.
Max bolted up from his crash, accusation and confusion painted on his face as clear as graffiti in the Shanty. Jon was as confused as Max was but decided to mess with him.
"Uh-oh." Jon raised his eyebrows, locking eyes with Max and smirking.
The new lieutenant's eyes narrowed with suspicion. Through the armored frame of the APC, they all heard the muffled voice of the truck's driver. Suspicion turned to alarm as the voice grew louder, and then turned to a scream of agony followed by a gunshot.
Max's eyes widened. He looked around the back of the transport, speechless, head jerking in quick jolts, then he fixed his terrified gaze on the guard escort.
"Do something!" he screamed. The infantryman flipped the switch near the rear of the APC, lowering the hatch-ramp. Bright rays of dawn’s light shot in, making Jon squint as his eyes adjusted to the natural light. Max withdrew his sidearm and grabbed Jon by his cuffed arms, pushing him in front.
"Come on, let's go," he ordered and followed behind Jon, who now served as his human shield. Following behind the guard, Jon was pushed down the ramp and around the driver's side of the transport. Behind him, he heard Max order Carbine to "stay put, and don't try anything funny."
Jon was not sure what he was expecting, but the sight before him certainly wasn't it.
Death walked, in the shape of a woman.
She was tall, her raven black hair long, down to her waist. She wore a vintage, pre-Storm Military-style overcoat, which swept down nearly to her athletic calves. Where the coat parted in the back between her legs, there protruded a metallic tail, slowly waving side to side like a charmed snake.
Jon blinked, twice, and then realized he was not seeing things. The woman before them not only bore a tail, but had four arms, one was wielding the largest pistol he had ever seen, the barrel of which was still smoking.
However, the most striking thing about the mysterious woman was her face. Angelic in shape, demonic in visage, her features were covered in black and white colors and embellishments to make her otherwise human face appear skeletal. Large black circles enveloped her eye sockets, a spade shape of black accentuated her nose, and lines extended from the corners of her mouth up her jawline towards her ears, hidden by her ebon hair. Her lips appeared stitched, giving one the impression of teeth, a rictus grin of ghoulish beauty. Small floral accents outlined the borders of her hairline and neck. In between all the black shapes and highlights, her skin was impossibly white as polished ivory, or bone.
"What the...?" Max muttered, a breathless whisper.
One of her arms was outstretched and was actively pulling the driver of the APC by his neck out the side window, which was much too small to accommodate him. Her other arms, minus the one holding the smoking gun, were pressed to the driver's door with open palms, leveraging the pull.
The infantryman in front of Jon didn't even have the chance to aim, let alone get a shot off. Jon watched in horror as the woman's tail appeared to sniff the guard out, then twitch, bull-whip style, and release a small spinning, star-shaped projectile. The guard instantly dropped his rifle while his hand shot up to slap the side of his neck, inadvertently impaling itself on the exposed half of the bladed star buried in him. Through the gaps of his fingers, the soldier's heart pumped his life's blood down the back of his hand and onto his uniform. Blood welled in the man's mouth as he attempted to speak, and then, with a brief stumble, he fell, leaning at first onto the side of the APC, then slumping down to the ground against the massive rear tires.
Other than the almost subconscious-looking flick of her tail, the woman ignored the fallen soldier, Max, and Jon, focusing entirely on pulling the driver of the transport out the window. As she did, the man's armor-clad shoulders became stuck in the frame of the small window port. The woman continued to pull, forcing the man through the small opening and his screams to reach a pitch that made bile rise in the back of Jon's throat.
Jon, still being used as a shie
ld by his captor, whispered, "Max, give me your gun," but Max only stood in stunned silence.
The driver’s high-pitched screaming turned to deflating wet gurgles as the woman finished pulling, ripping his skull and most of his throat and spine from his torso.
Her task complete, she turned her cadaverous gaze at Max and Jon. Surprisingly, the fear provoked by that gaze was enough to inspire Max to action. He raised his pistol from behind Jon's back and fired at her.
Deftly, almost as if she were bored, she caught the projectile with the driver’s head, still in her hand, then tossed the exploded remains off to the side in one fluid motion. She fixed her painted eyes on Max and Jon and began to sprint towards them. Her lower set of arms reached into the folds of her long coat, which trailed behind as she ran.
Still hiding behind and slightly off to the side of Jon, Max squeezed off a second shot. The sprinting woman timed her reaction perfectly, withdrawing from her side a flat metallic club, rimmed with shiny black teeth. Smoothly executed with impossible mathematical precision, she sliced the club across the space before her. Jon heard a tink and watched in sheer amazement as a cloud of dust on the ground and a spark of ricochet on the side of the APC appeared simultaneously on either side of the rushing assassin.
She sliced the bullet in half! Jon thought, dumbstruck.
The mysterious woman finished her sprint by leaping into a somersault.
Unable to believe what he had just witnessed, Max's grip on the pistol faltered. A blink of an eye later the woman came out of her roll, unfolding before Jon like reverse origami into a strong stance, thrusting the flat tip of her war club through the small gap between Jon's chest and arm and into the stomach of the man behind him.
The Goddess Gambit Page 14
