Part 44 (1/2)
”How close is it?” he whispered to DeChance.
The esper frowned. ”It's waiting, just beyond the light. It feels . . . strange, unfinished.”
”Maybe we should just turn around and go back,” suggested Corbie.
”No!” DeChance said urgently. ”We have to get to the copper tower! It's our only hope. Besides, the creature would only follow us.”
”Terrific,” said Corbie. ”This just gets better and better.”
”We could always throw a grenade at it,” said Lindholm.
Corbie looked at him. ”In a confined s.p.a.ce like this? Are you crazy? The blast would come straight back and make mincemeat out of us!”
”Sorry,” said Lindholm. ”I wasn't thinking.”
”You'd better start quickly,” said DeChance. ”It's moving towards us.”
Lindholm and Corbie levelled their guns on the darkness. DeChance drew hers, but her hand was still too unsteady to aim it. She activated her force s.h.i.+eld and peered watchfully over the top of it. A faint, glowing light appeared deep in the dark of the tunnel, growing steadily stronger as it approached the Squad. Corbie bit back a curse as the creature's form became clear, lit by its own eerie light. It had no shape as such, only a frothing ma.s.s of eyes and bubbles that filled the tunnel from wall to wall like a wave of onrus.h.i.+ng foam. Great snapping mouths appeared and disappeared as the creature surged forward.
Lindholm fired his disrupter. The blast went right through the boiling ma.s.s. A few bubbles popped, but otherwise the beam had no effect. Corbie stepped forward and cut at the ma.s.s with his sword. The blade swept through the foam without pausing.
Corbie stumbled forward and fell on one knee, caught off balance by the lack of resistance. A snapping mouth tried for his hand and only just missed. More mouths reached for him. And then the creature came into contact with Corbie's s.h.i.+eld, and the bubbles popped loudly on meeting the energy field. The fanged mouths disappeared back into the staring, boiling ma.s.s. Corbie swept his s.h.i.+eld at it, and more bubbles burst. The creature began to quickly withdraw down the tunnel. In a few moments it had disappeared back into the darkness and was gone. Corbie got to his feet again, and shook his wet leg disgustedly.
”I just know I'm going to catch something horrible from this stuff. Esper, is that thing out there, waiting in the darkness, or is it still running?”
”Still running,” said DeChance. ”I don't think anything's been able to hurt it in a long time. Now let's get moving again, please. It's a long way to the copper tower, and we want to get there before dark. Things are worse in the city at night.”
The Squad moved on through the narrow tunnel in their own little pool of light. The tunnel branched repeatedly, but the esper always seemed to know which way to go. Ceramic pipes lined the walls for long stretches, coiled around each other as often as not, before disappearing back into the stonework.I suppose even an alien city needs good sewers , thought Corbie.And this place smells so bad it's got to be part of a sewer. I've known slaughterhouses that smelled better than this.
The water grew deeper, lapping up around their knees. Fungi began to appear on the walls in shades of grey and white, often spread in wide patches more than two inches thick. Corbie was careful not to touch any of it. It looked like it might be hungry. Patches of swirling sc.u.m appeared on the surface of the water, and Corbie watched them suspiciously. He had a strong feeling some of them were following him. And then the Squad came to a sudden halt as they spotted a large smooth-edged hole in the stone wall to their right, some distance ahead.
”Can you sense anything, esper?” asked Corbie quietly.
”I'm not sure. There's something there, but it's s.h.i.+elded. I can't get a hold on it.” She rubbed tiredly at her forehead. ”It could be some creature's lair, or even some form of machinery.”
”You stay here,” said Corbie. ”Sven and I will go take a look at it.”
”You could have at least asked for volunteers,” said Lindholm mildly. ”Power's gone to your head, Russ.”
”Moan, moan, moan,” said Corbie. ”You never want to do anything fun.”
The two marines moved slowly forward, gun and sword at the ready. Their force s.h.i.+elds muttered quietly to themselves. The hole in the wall seemed to grow larger the closer the marines got. Finally, they stood before a six foot wide hole, studying the darkness within from behind the safety of their force s.h.i.+elds.
”Can't see a d.a.m.ned thing,” muttered Corbie. ”How about you, Sven?”
”Nothing. Can't hear anything either. I suppose it could be a lair that was abandoned some time back.
The esper said the aliens had all been asleep for a long time.”
”True. And I can't imagine anything alien enough to stay down here by choice.”
Deep within the hole, something moved. Lindholm and Corbie raised their guns reflexively, only to freeze in place as an endless tide of darkness came rus.h.i.+ng out over them. The esper cried out once, but neither of them heard her.
Corbie was standing on a snow-swept battlefield, surrounded by the dead. There was blood on his uniform, only some of it his. The double moons of the Hyades drifted on the night skies. The Ghost Warriors had been and gone, and the Empire marines had fallen before them. The marines were first-cla.s.s soldiers, but they were only flesh and blood, and they'd stood no chance against the Legions of the living dead. Blood stained the snow all around, and the bodies of the slain stretched for as far as Corbie could see. Nothing moved save a single tattered banner flapping in the wind. Corbie's sword was broken and his gun was exhausted. Out of a whole Company of Imperial marines, he was the only survivor.
Ghost Warriors. Dead bodies controlled by computer implants. The ultimate terror troops; unthinking, unfeeling, unstoppable. Corbie had thought himself a brave man, until he'd had to face the Ghost Warriors. They tested his courage again and again, until finally they broke it. The Legions of the dead were enough to break anyone.
Corbie looked around the silent battlefield. It seemed to him that he should be somewhere else, but he couldn't think where that might be. There was a sudden movement close at hand, and Corbie fell back a step as one of the Empire corpses lifted its head from the snow and looked at him. Dried blood had turned half its face into a dark crimson mask, but its eyes gleamed brightly. It rose unsteadily to its feet to stand before Corbie. There was a gaping wound in its chest where one of the Ghost Warriors had ripped its heart out. The corpse grinned suddenly, revealing b.l.o.o.d.y teeth.
”You always were a survivor, Corbie.”
”Major . . .” Corbie tried to explain, to apologise, but his voice was harsh and dry, and the words wouldn't come.
”Don't talk to me, survivor. You haven't the right. We stood our ground, followed our orders, and fought and died, as marines should. You chose not to, survivor.”
”I stood my ground.”
”Only until it became clear that we were losing. Until it was clear the Company hadn't a hope in h.e.l.l against the Legions. We stood and fought to the last man. You burrowed in among the bodies of the fallen, smeared yourself with blood, and hoped you'd be mistaken for just another corpse. And so the Company fell, and you alone survived to tell of it. I had such hopes for you, Corbie. But you betrayed us.
You should have died with us, where you belonged.”
”Someone had to survive, to warn Command.”
”That wasn't why you did it. You were afraid. You've been afraid ever since.” The corpse drew its sword. ”Well, solider, now's your chance to pay in full.”
Corbie threw away his broken sword, and drew the long Service dagger from his boot. ”Only a fool dies for no good reason.”
Their blades met, the clash of steel on steel carrying clearly across the silent battlefield.
Lindholm stood in the centre of the Great Arena, and all around him the Golgotha crowds cheered their appreciation of another death. The losing gladiator was dragged away, leaving a b.l.o.o.d.y trail behind him.
It wasn't a subtle crowd gathered here today. They had no eye for the finer points of swordsmans.h.i.+p and defence. They wanted blood and suffering, and they didn't care whose. They'd paid to see death, right there in front of them, and they couldn't get enough of it. Their cheers grew louder and more frenzied as Lindholm's next opponent entered the Arena. Even before he turned to look, Lindholm knew who it was; who it would have to be. Tall, lithe, and graceful, Elena Dante acknowledged the cheers of the crowd, and saluted Lindholm with her sword. Dante, the smiling killer, the darling of the Golgotha crowds.
”I never wanted to fight you, Elena,” said Lindholm quietly.
”It was bound to happen sooner or later, Sven,” said Dante. ”That's how the Arena works. Don't think I'll go easy on you, just because we're friends.”
”More than friends.”
”Maybe. It still doesn't make any difference. Out here on the sands there are only winners and losers.
And I always fight to win.”
”You can't kill me,” said Lindholm. ”Not after all we've meant to each other.”
”You always were a romantic, Sven.” Dante grinned widely. ”Tell you what. We both know I'm going to win, so you just put up a good fight, give the crowd their thrills, and I promise you a quick death.”
”You'd do that for me?” said Lindholm.
”Sure. What are friends for?”