Absolute Zero (The Shadow Wars Book 4) (10 page)

The tram came to a halt and cut off the conversation. Everyone stood up and readied their weapons. Trent opened the door. Immediately, he was forced into combat as a trio of lizard men, who had been digging into a pair of corpses' skulls, turned and let loose with a symphony of shrieks. Trent sighted the middle one and blew the top of its head clean off with a three-round burst. Its silver blood glinted in the dim light as it coated the wall behind it. The slim black body smashed to the ground as the other two rushed the door.

Sharpe, Tristan and Drake added their own gunfire to the fray and cut the pair down. They waited a moment to see if anything else would come running at the sound of gunfire, but nothing did. The quartet moved out into the transition area, then opened the door to the tram station. Another pair of lizard-things waited for them. Trent and Drake put them down and finished making sure the room was secure, then turned to Sharpe.

“Well?”

“This building isn't built like the others. We'll need to pass through temperature control to get to the security center and the third lockdown,” Sharpe replied.

“I guess that means you get to take point,” Trent said.

He, Drake and Tristan stared at her and she stared back. Trent knew that the balance of power wasn't quite what it once was. They'd still follow her orders, because she still held the keys out of this place, but now she was relying on them to get her out alive, too. Although Trent hoped that one of them could get the ship operating and into orbit if they really put their minds to it. They both needed each other, though for how long was anyone's guess.

Sharpe just turned and set off across the room. Trent and the others followed. They stepped out into a short corridor that led them to broad double-doors. One door was slid halfway in, the other had been peeled back by some immense force. The light beyond the opening was poor and flickered ominously. Trent sighed.

Why couldn't it be easy?

Sharpe squeezed through the opening. When nothing immediately slaughtered her, the others followed. Part of Trent felt that they were all in this together, in fact, he knew they were, but another, angrier part couldn't help but feel that the corporate dogs shouldn't have kept them in the dark and that maybe, just maybe, Sergio got what he deserved.

He studied the room they'd come to. It was large, dark and full of steam. Massive pieces of unknown equipment lined the walls and the ceiling was practically made of pipes, all of them different sizes and colors. The equipment had been hit by the conflict that had ripped through the structure. It was punctured with bullet holes, bleeding occasional sprays of sparks and most of the screens were dead or registered only static.

“I'm amazed this place is still heated,” Drake murmured as he took it all in.

“We build to last,” Sharpe replied, heading deeper into the room, towards a door at the back.

They moved in between dark monoliths of sparking machinery. Trent could see a door near the back. Sharpe led them through it, coming to another narrow, claustrophobic corridor of cold steel and thin gray light. A lonely corpse haunted the corner, head almost ripped off, leaning forward to reveal the torn-open back and hollowed-out interior.

They moved past it and through the door at the opposite end of the corridor. Trent's mind wandered as he pondered where the others had gotten to. He felt decently confident that Stephen and Trevor were likely dead, but Gideon was one tough, grizzled son of a bitch. A genuine seasoned vet of the mercenary industry.

Whatever it was that had happened, he must be alive. Could he be headed back to the ship? Holed up somewhere out of the way, injured, trying to get into contact? A part of him felt that they were likely all dead, because of the radio silence.

They moved into another security center. Sharpe took a seat at the primary terminal while the others stood guard. A moment of silence passed, and then Trent felt a ripple of cold fear shudder down his spinal column. He became immediately aware of something watching him. He scanned the room and noticed the others doing the same.

“What
is
that?” Drake whispered.

“I don't know, but I feel it, too,” Tristan murmured.

Sharpe said nothing. Trent stared at the vents, the doorway, the shadows beneath the desk across the room. He could see
nothing
to indicate what might be watching him, but he was positive there was some kind of presence in the room. Something with all the ill intent of a malignant tumor that had been given sentience.

“Got it,” Sharpe said, standing up abruptly.

She shoved the chair back so hard with her legs it tipped over. Trent knew that she felt it, too, whatever it might be.

“What's watching us, Sharpe?” he asked.

She looked at them for a long moment, then, finally, “I don't know.”

Trent couldn't tell if she was lying or not. He wasn't sure which was scarier.

“Come on, we need to get to the fourth and final terminal and lift this fucking lockdown once and for all.”

She moved out of the room. The others followed.

* * * * *

Back on the tram again.

Trent was getting sick of the things. He put his head back against the wall and closed his eyes for a moment. This whole thing had just been one confusing situation after another. Monsters? Missing personnel? Cryptic corporate enigmas? It was, by far, the most interesting mission he'd ever been given. That thought stuck in his mind and he opened his eyes. A notion came to him, one with startling clarity that almost seemed like someone else put it there.

“Sharpe?” he asked, sitting up. The others looked at him.

“What?” she asked, not looking back.

“We weren't supposed to make it out of this mission, were we?”

Sharpe said nothing, but Drake and Tristan sat up a little straighter. They were all staring at her broad back now.

“Well?” Drake asked.

“I don't know,” she said finally, but her voice held no real conviction.

“Come on, spill it,” Tristan said.

Sharpe remained silent. Trent frowned as he sat back against the wall, considering the situation. His guts told him he was going to die here...or not long after they left the planet, if they even made it that far. Sharpe remained static, but everything from her answer to her stance told him that he'd guessed the truth.

Everyone that wasn't a corporate dog was meant to die on this planet. He wondered why not just bring a squad of corporate goons for back up and realized the answer right away: this was cheaper. Find five talented yet not-too-popular mercs, promise them shitloads of cash, have them watch your ass and get the job done, then just space them when it was over. They wouldn't have to shell out for hazard pay or to keep the goon's mouths shut.

It was genius, in a way.

And also pretty damned cold.

The tram stopped. The squad filed out, moving back into the little antechamber that divided the tram from the station.

When they opened the door, the raw stink of death stopped them even before they managed to catch a glimpse of what waited within. Trent felt his stomach slowly turn over, which was impressive, since he'd personally killed dozens of men in his life. He'd seen some pretty wicked shit, but seeing a room full of skinned corpses was pretty far up his list of nasty stuff. Trent took the first tentative step out into the tram station.

“Jesus,” he heard Drake whisper behind him.

There had to be a good dozen bodies sprawled out across the ground, all of them skinned perfectly. It wasn't just that chunks of skin were missing, it was that it was
all
missing. Trent had once seen someone in a holo-film grab a tablecloth and rip it out perfectly from beneath fully loaded plates, silverware, full glasses and a vase of flowers without disturbing any of them. He suddenly had a vision of someone doing that, but with a man's skin.

“What the
fuck
were you guys doing in here?” Tristan whispered, her voice coming out ragged as they slowly came into the room with Trent.

“Fuck...come on, guns ready,” Sharpe replied.

Their boots squelched loudly in the blood as they crossed the room. Besides the two normal doors, one on either side of the room, this one had a larger one at the back. Trent thought back to the quick briefing Trevor had given them. They had come to the command center. What lay beyond must be the research labs.

Sharpe hit the button to open the door, then shouted and threw herself out of the way. Hardly half a second later, a solid stream of gunfire came through the open doorway. Everyone tossed themselves to the side, barely managing to avoid getting shot. A second later, the gunfire cut off and the door slowly slid closed again.

“Automated defenses are up,” Sharpe said unnecessarily.

“Well...fuck. Now what?” Drake asked.

Chapter 09

–
The Lockdown
–

“Well?” Trent asked.

Sharpe had been silent for a long while, staring around the room, apparently trying to come up with some kind of plan. They'd already ruled out the most obvious choices: a pair of exits, one on either side. Sharpe said that there were drone guns hard-wired to those doors as well and anyone going through would be shredded.

Sharpe remained silent and still.

Trent looked at the others. Drake stood not too far away, mainly trying not to look at the corpses. Trent didn't blame him, he was having a bit of a hard time with it himself. He'd been around death and dead bodies before, but this was a bit extreme. Tristan, on the other hand, was doing the exact opposite.

She'd taken to kneeling and investigating one of the corpses.

“Find anything interesting?” Trent asked.

She glanced up. “Sort of. Whatever did this managed to take the skin off perfectly without damaging any of the muscles beneath.”

“Jesus,” Drake whispered.

“And I don't suppose you have any ideas on what did it?” Trent asked.

“No, not really. It could be anything, given what we've seen so far.”

“Anything,” Trent repeated.

If brain-eating black lizards and things with acidic holes in their chests and something apparently built to be the perfect flayer was on the table, then basically anything was, Trent supposed. What were the rules here? He had no idea, and so he could rule absolutely nothing out. How dangerous were these things going to get?

Could whatever was waiting for them beyond this point be bulletproof? Flameproof? Not need oxygen? Could they even die?

“All right,” Sharpe said. “I've figured it out.” She crossed to one corner of the room. “Gather round.”

The other three joined her. Trent realized they were standing around a well-hidden grate in the floor. Sharpe knelt, found a release and pulled the grate up, propping it against the wall. They all stared down into a dim hole in the floor.

“We route most of our power, water and utilities in underground maintenance tunnels and bays beneath the buildings.” She paused and looked directly at Trent. “I'll guide you over the radio to some important equipment governing the drone guns and talk you around disabling them remotely. Get going.”

“I'm coming,” Drake said.

“No, I want you two here, with me, to make sure nothing else gets in here,” Sharpe replied.

“You honestly expect-” Drake began. Trent cut him off.

“Don't worry, I've got it.”

Drake stared at him for a moment, then nodded very slightly. Trent was grateful. Sometimes he liked to play dice with his life, Drake liked to do the same thing. Sometimes the other argued, and now wasn't going to be one of those times. Trent knew that Sharpe was sending him down there with the hopes that he was going to die.

He would be glad to prove her wrong.

Trent dropped into the hole, landing with a grunt ten feet down, ignoring the ladder. He looked around, finding himself in a narrow corridor where the ceiling was made almost exclusively of piping and the walls were covered with screens and dials and control panels. Nothing behind him, nothing ahead, good enough for him.

Slipping his finger inside the trigger guard, Trent turned on his radio.

“So, where am I going?”

“Ahead, ten meters,”
Sharpe replied.

“How do you know which way I'm facing?” Trent asked as he set off.

“I was looking down at you.”

“Oh.”

Trent moved down the narrow maintenance passageway. Various machine sounds came to him: soft beeping, the hum of power, the quiet respiration of a heat exchange. Trent imagined he could hear the shriek of the winds overhead. He came at the end of the corridor to a small cross-section, a corridor in each wall, making a plus.

“Okay? Now what?”

“Turn left. Follow the corridor twenty meters. Take the third door on your left. It will bring you to a room holding the control for the automated defenses.”

Trent felt a small quantum of relief. So this wouldn't be so bad. He turned left and moved off. After a moment he passed the first door, then the second. As he approached the third, something hissed behind him. Even as he spun around, part of his mind was telling him to relax, it was just a leaky pipe or something.