Assault on Ambrose Station: A Seth Donovan Novel (42 page)

66.

It took Zoe almost two hours to piece together a viable antidote for the Sectis drug. Something to do with the alien chemistries that were used. She wasn’t one hundred percent sure it was going to work, but it should offer some resistance to the drugs effects. Good enough for me.

Osiris gave us access to the synthesiser we needed to produce the serum, and after printing out doses for Naga Team, he ordered as many doses as possible produced and started handing them out to his troops. It wasn’t lost on me that he made no mention of giving it to the civilians in his care. I tried to tell myself it was smart to protect the combatants first, but it left a bad taste in my mouth regardless.

I wasted no more time than necessary. Alexander and three of his scouts lead us out of the fortress proper, following a ravine formed by ruined buildings covered by soil and overgrowth. Most of the landscape outside the walls had seen similar treatment, converting the rubble of half-finished construction into arable land. What fields we saw were jotted with concrete slabs and corroded rebar. The scent of smoke was heavy on the air, a constant reminder of the coming destruction.

“We’ll be coming wide around the two main forces,” explained Alexander after we stopped for a breather, “We’ll lose time doing so, but we want to come around behind them and hit them from the rear.”

“Smart tactic.” approved Kekkin, “Force moves like
fedang,
no direction.”

The scouts were in radio contact with several other teams that were moving about the countryside, monitoring the horde. Artemis and Tac remained at the university, monitoring our swarm of recon drones.

Between them, our team was able to avoid the main brunt of the attacking force. This was going to be a surgical strike, not a pitched battle. The kind of thing Naga Team was built for. It took us almost fifteen hours, slogging through the ruins of a post-apocalyptic landscape, but eventually we met with the tail end of the raiding force.

Our first sighting was a small group of lethargic raiders, moving as if exhausted. We thought about picking them off with snipers, but we need not have bothered. While we watched one, then others, began to collapse. By the time we reached them, they were corpses. A quick scan of their blood confirmed what we suspected – the Sectis chemical affected them.

“Maybe the drug wears off?” suggested Geko.

“Or they build a resistance to it?” said Triptych, “If they remain within the area long enough the regular dose no longer provides the same effect, they get weaker and fall behind.”

I nodded in agreeance. “Seems plausible.”

“The closer we get, the stronger the
calak
becomes.” said Kekkin.

I turned to Alexander and his scouts. “We can take it from here. You can go back to the university and report in.”

He took offense to what I said. “We’re not leaving!”

“You don’t need to be here.”

“This is our world, not yours! This is our fight more than it is the Protectorate’s.”

“I understand that, but I don’t want to put you in unnecessary danger. We’re trained soldiers, with state of the art weapons and armour.”

He gave me a look that spoke a multitude of words. I looked around at us, and saw the sorry state we were in, the wear of our long journey to get here evident.

“Okay, point taken. But we’re professional soldiers, you’re…”

“What? We’re soldiers, too. We’ve been fighting for years!”

“I mean no disrespect, but you’ll be needed back on the wall when the main force hits.”

“This battle is more important. If we cut off the head of the horde, we give the university a fighting chance.”

I sighed. “You don’t know our tactics, our method of fighting. You’re not augmented like we are.” To prove my point I picked up a small block on concrete and crushed it in my gauntlet, the exo-rig hardening like a diamond brace.

“This is the Protectorate way? How do I know you won’t run like the last time an important battle took place? You think you can come here and show off with your fancy gear and your brave soldiers? Then what? Run when the fighting get’s too fierce? I saw the sky battle, years ago. I saw the Protectorate sky ships burn and the soldiers land. But they did nothing. They died and they ran. How do I know you won’t run, too?”

While he said this, tears were running down his cheeks. It affected me, too. I felt each accusation like a blow. Because he was right. We
had
run. We were being beaten, but instead of regrouping, we withdrew. My squad died as a result, I never considered what price these people might pay. Was this situation, the raiders, a consequence of our failed assault during the Push? Doubts began to cloud my mind. What right did I have to be here, causing more trouble for these people who had suffered enough? What right did I have to even think that I could make a difference here when thousands could not?

A heavy gauntlet gripped my shoulder. “
Naga-zak
was there, at your sky battle.” said Kekkin, “He was the last to leave, not because he chose to, but because he had to. He was the last to stop fighting, but he never gave up, he never ran. He is here now to finish the job. He did not have to be, but here he is. Here
we
are.”

Alexander looked me in the eyes. I saw the defiance on his face, but I also saw the fear. “We’ll fight with you.”

“I can’t ask that of you.” I said

“You don’t have to – we all have something to gain by being here.”

I looked over at the other scouts, saw the same determination in their faces. I nodded, and gripped Alexander’s forearm. He smiled at me and returned my grasp.

We didn’t have far to travel, after that. We started to spot more of the stragglers, and we started to sneak up on them and kill them with knives.

Geko and Harris took point, trailing each group until a good ambush site was reached. Eventually, there started to be too many to take out and we returned to avoiding them. It wasn’t long before we found the Sectis’ lair for the coming battle.

As we climbed a toppled building, we found an industrial compound flattened, mostly, by the wreckage of forward section from a starship. The markings on the hull were Ghantri, one of the types built by the Jaani in the ship yards above us. All about the wreckage were throngs of the converted, the most alert ones we had seen so far. These converted appeared strong, in full control of their facilities. There would be no easy kills with this lot.

“I’ve never seen so many in one place,” said Alexander, “Normally they move around in groups.”

“They’re preparing for the attack.” I said.

Kekkin nodded. “We should wait for the attack to begin, safer.”

I agreed. Alexander took some convincing, though. He wanted to go right in. He saw the wisdom in this eventually – especially when I pointed out that it would be dark soon.

We waited and the ring of Ambrose Station rotated, putting the Gossamer star out of sight. As the purple glow of the Great Web nebula lit our way, the drug crazed soldiers moved towards the university, letting out cries of war.

Ar’od Dar gazed down upon us from his web.

67.

The dark was our weapon.

We moved between pools of tenebrous shadow. We crept toward the convert encampment, ghosts of vengeance and death. Kekkin found the first sentry. Rising as if smoke, he hacked their head clean from their shoulders in one swift blow
.
Renthal scored the next. He drove his combat blade through the hapless convert’s throat, covering their mouth. Harris took his share and gutted a pair that stumbled across our path. The strength of our suits allowed us to inflict terrible wounds with ease, cutting down our foe like chopping cabbage.

We reached the heart of their camp without firing a single shot. There were still dozens of converted in the encampment, reserves or guards for the Sectis, no doubt. The air was a pungent melange of earthy soil and a sickly sweat odour like honey and pure alcohol. It made our heads light, the blood in our ears hot, but Zoe’s serum worked.

We crouched in the shadow of a tattered tent, while Alexander and the scouts provided overwatch from the roof of a squat, flat building forty metres on our flank. I at least managed to convince them to avoid the heaviest fighting. They would provide covering fire while we retreated after our kill.

“That airlock should be serviceable,” pointed Renthal, “I saw a converted walk through there an hour ago.”

“We move when that next patrol passes.” I said, indicating a trio of guards nearby.

When they passed, Geko moved up and examined the hatch, then waved for us to follow shortly after. Inside was dark, lit only by a burning torch. The flickering shadows made it hard to see details, but we found the inner ‘lock and made our way inside the crashed ship.

“Launching recon drone.” whispered Triptych, flicking a small hovering drone from a recess on his arm. It lifted away and raced down the passageway, feeding a wireframe image of the ship as it went. We followed slowly behind, weapons at the ready. We had our rifles drawn, attaching flash suppressors to the muzzles. These modules would reduce our range significantly, but the light from the rifles would be less, and the noise even more so. Against shielded opponents, they were next to useless, but we guessed these converts would not have such technology.

Contact,
texted Triptych,
dead ahead. Two tangos.

Geko, Harris, you’re on point,
I ordered

The pair moved ahead, hunched over their rifles. Faint, high-pitched reports rang out down the corridor, accompanied by faint flashes of light.

Tangos down,
reported Harris.

The passageway carried on for another fifty metres before branching. The drone followed the starboard side, while we carried on to port. We found another converted, walking down the passage carrying a lit torch, and put him down as efficiently as before.

Check those hatches,
I said to Harris, as we reached a string of hatches along one bulkhead.

Empty,
he said, after carefully opening the first. The others were the same, filled with trashed equipment and refuse. Only one appeared to have any function, a simple sleeping quarter for several people.

LT,
said Triptych,
the drone has found a stairwell.

I glanced at the feed.
Send it up – we’re going to head for the bridge. We’ll backtrack and head that way.

As we moved, the drone kept painting the feed with the layout of the upper deck. The passage opened into a wider corridor, with side exits. At the far end of the upper deck was a larger, fortified hatch.

“Blast door,” said Kekkin, forgoing the usual overlay comms, “Bridge beyond.”

I gestured for Naga Team to go, and we made our way to the stairwell. At the top, we encountered more of the converted – three had gathered in one of the compartments off the corridor, and another two were further down. With brutal efficiency, we gunned them down, the flashing hardlight bullets faintly illuminating the corridor like weak strobe lights.

We approached the blast door and I reached out with my nanites to look for weaknesses.

“No power, mechanical only.” I said after a few moments, reading the data provided by my Scan Paradigm.

“Not sure we can cut through here.” said Renthal, “These blast doors are built to withstand damage, after all. The bulkheads will be reinforced, too.”

“Let’s set up this corridor as our rear guard,” I ordered, “Triptych, sensor mines at the top of the stairs and disorient flares along the bulkheads. I’m going to try and scan through this bulkhead, see if I can find how to open this.”

“Will be on the other side.” agreed Kekkin.

My hand was cold against the metal as I closed my eyes. The nanites began to slip between the molecules, investigating the construction of the door. I sent them in all directions, taking the time to search for the mechanism. I located a winch nearly ten metres to the left, along the bulkhead.

“I’m sensing a void on the other side, it’s pretty open.” I pulled back from the door. The squad was removing their suppressors. I did the same.

“What’s your plan?” asked Renthal.

“I’m going to translate through and get to that winch. Hopefully it hasn’t seized.”

“Good luck.”

I grunted, and then blew the air out of my cheeks. “Here goes nothing.”

I slipped between dimensions, stepping through the hatch as if it was made of gelatine. Disoriented, I stood wavering for a moment. The darkness was absolute on the other side, and I got the impression that the compartment was big and empty. I carefully slid across the deck towards the winch, moving my hands across the bulkhead for guidance. When I reached it, I managed to get a gauntlet on it before suddenly being torn away and tossed into the air by an unknown force.

I crashed to the deck, the wind knocked out of me, and heard my rifle clatter away. I hastily activating my suit lights and scrambled to my feet. A dark shape flashed before my eyes and a solid blow smashed into my chestplate, sending me flying once more.

I smashed into a console, scattering shards of glass in all directions. I felt, rather than saw the shape move towards me again, but I activate Spatial Translation and shifted five metres to my right. I swung around, trying to get a clear look at my attacker, drawing my
lurzak
with a snap from my left shoulder. With my other hand, I pulled a flare from a utility pouch and ignited it. Before I could make sense of my surroundings, a black claw lashed out at the flare and slapped it across the compartment.

In the crimson glare, I could see the bridge was big. Bigger than the Astral Spider’s was. I guessed this ship was originally at least as large as a destroyer was, probably closer to a cruiser in size. Arrayed as three tiers of platforms, descending as it went, several banks of consoles adorned the bridge, but otherwise the compartment was spacious and unburdened.

I caught sight of the Sectis, then. My lights rose up on a large figure, wreathed in swirling, crawling…things. The Sectis was tall, about three metres. It had no legs, but rose up on a column of writhing, mechanical devices like millions of tiny insects. Its torso and main body were a dark grey carapace, but in place of arms were a dozen long insect-like appendages. All about it flew swarms of the same dark mechanical insects that obscured its lower section. Dozens of multi-faceted eyes crested a triangular head, eyes that sparkled in my suit lights. The lower part of the face was soft tissue, instead of chitin, with a mouth full of sharp black teeth.

It regarded me coldly, tilting its head to one side, sneering. Its many arms flexed, outstretched like a spider ready to pounce.

“It resists…” it spoke, a voice like a rusty file. I could make out a fine mist spraying from its bony shoulders and back.

“Surprise, motherfucker.” I said, circling for better footing.

“Not like others. This one defies.”

“There’s a whole lot more of us ready to defy you, too.”

“Speaks words. Empty words.”

“You think you’re going to get out of this alive, don’t you?”

“So does it.”

I tilted my head at it.
Touché,
I thought.

“Why are you here? You never came dirtside before.” I probed.

“Why are you? Where are you from?” it countered.

“A trade of information?”

It seemed to shudder, throwing a multitude of synthetic insects from its torso as it did.

“Yes. Words with it.”

I relaxed a little, but didn’t let my guard down entirely. I was still within range of its claws. I continued to side step, warily keeping my distance. It matched my movements, its head tracking me as I went.

“Me first. Why are you here?”

It grinned a black-toothed grin. “To lead army. How do you resist?”

“Science, arsehole.” I could play this game, too.

“Cunning. Not smart. Answers question, or it dies.”

“We broke down your chemicals and injected an antidote. Is this how you converted those people? With this drug?”

“Convert, no. Control, yes.”

I rubbed my chin with my off hand. It was time I brought Ormund in on this.

Are you seeing this?

I am,
he replied,
intriguing. It hesitates to kill you, seeking information instead. What are you planning?

I was hoping you have some questions to pose it. Seems willing to share at the moment. We might not get another chance like this.

We need to know about that fleet, and what they plan to do about this army they’ve converted. That should be your priority.

It seemed to be regarding me, its head moving about in short jerking motions. Its next question sent ice through my veins.

“Who does it speak to? Where is other voice?”

“You can hear that?” I blurted it out in shock without thinking.

It flexed its limbs again, stretching them wide threateningly. “Not its turn. Answer question.”

“A friend. He is far away, not on this station. I told you, there were many more of me waiting for you.”

Try and not threaten it, just yet,
texted Ormund.

It was my turn for a question. “What is the purpose of this army?”

“Crush enemies. Win battle. Bring glory to gods.”

Its taking a very literal approach to these questions, you’re going to have to outthink it.

A hissing noise emanated from the Sectis. “It can try.”

I backed up a step, rising up to the second platform and putting a console between us. It followed, circling around the console as it came.

It pointed a clawed limb at my chest. I tried not to flinch away from it. “How many on station?”

“Hundreds.”

“Lies!”

It lashed out, almost catching me unprepared. I ducked the blow at the last moment and the claw raked across the console, sending debris in all directions. I fell backwards and backpedalled further away.

“Smells lies! Answer! Speak truth or it dies.”

“Nine!” I called out as it advanced on me, “There are nine of us left on the station. Six are close!”

It paused its menacing advance, recoiling its limbs. It let me rise, using a shaky hand to help me stand as I leaned against another console.

“Where is your fleet?” I stammered out, trying to find some backbone.

“Gone to find gods. Bring Ar’od Dar to soft ones.” It once again gestured at me.

I carefully stepped backwards again, circling around to another bank of consoles. Slowly, it followed, keeping me within striking distance.

“Why is it here?”

“Why am I here?” I asked.

“Answer.”

“To rescue Osiris Blackburn,” I replied but when I saw it rear up again, I knew that I had not spoken the truth, “To rescue the civilians here, to avenge my fallen squad. To bring closure to my past.”

These answers seemed to placate it. Instead of striking, it hissed at me.

“Too many answers.”

“It’s the truth. You know it. My turn. Where are your gods?”

It waved several limbs in an arc, indicating two thirds of space above us.

“Great Web.”

The fleet went into the nebula? They think the Destroyers are in there?

At least they’re not on their way to Protectorate space,
I replied.

“Protectorate tried to kill,” it said, pausing for a hideous chuckle, “Killed them back.”

By now, I had risen through to the back of the compartment, mid-way between the blast door controls and my fallen rifle. At least, where I guessed them to be. I dared not turn my head to look, or my game would be up.

I jumped a little when it hopped onto the next platform, my breath drawn in a gasp.

“When will Protectorate strike again?” it asked, stalking closer to me.

“Probably never, they don’t think it’s worth the risk, anymore.”

“Why?”

My answer seemed to have baffled it. It pulled up short, standing tall instead of hunching over menacingly. I stammered out an answer. “Why? Politics, mostly. Resources. They’re cautious. They don’t think annihilating you would be worth the cost. They would rather cage you up."