The IX (25 page)

“Hmm. Good idea.” As he studied the feed, Saul noted a two to three minute disparity between
live
and
mission time
. “Is the time delay causing any confusion?”

“Not really. We just have to wait a bit for each individual info-packet to arrive. The relay via the skidder was added as an additional security protocol. It collects chunks of data, condenses it, and then sends it through to us in random micro-bursts. We thought we might need it to avoid detection by the Horde. But it looks as if the chameleon, stealth, and null-point technologies are blending together rather well. It’ll mean we’ll be able to employ direct comms in future . . .”

“Hang on a second, Mohammed,” Saul cut in. “I think someone’s trying to contact me.”

Saul turned away to receive the message.

To Mohammed’s eyes, his friend appeared to tense and then hold his breath.

“And foul play isn’t suspected?” Saul’s voice betrayed his growing displeasure.

There was a further pause as Saul listened to whoever was on the other end of the link. Then he breathed out, the relief evident in his stance. “Thank you, Shannon, I’ll be right there. Have Marcus and Decimus meet me in the reception area, okay? I want the facts of what happened clear in my mind before I speak with any of the rabble.”

“Sounds like trouble?” Mohammed offered.

“Oh, it is. It seems the black sheep of our family had a little altercation with Decimus in front of a large crowd of onlookers. It ended, as you might expect, with Houston on his ass, and Decimus pointing out how unwise it would be to press their difference of opinion any further.”

“And?”

“And that was it. They went their separate ways, as Marcus can evidently testify. But somehow, our
thorn in the flesh
wound up in intensive care with burns to his hands and face, and a fractured skull.”

“Say again?” Mohammed’s eyes popped wide.

“You heard me straight. I’m just on the way there now to see what other delights this mess is going to unravel.”

“Rather you than me.” Mohammed chuckled as his friend stormed from the room. Sighing, Mohammed turned his attention back to the screens and relaxed. The operation was running like clockwork, and he was confident they would soon be in possession of the drones that would make such a difference to their fight.

He started to play the latest message stream. When the twelve foot high apparition lumbered out from the hatch of the supply freighter, his eyes bulged even wider than before.

*

Mac scanned along the length of the service road, then worked his way out onto the apron. “How many are left now?” he called over his shoulder.

“Two more and that’s your lot,” Nick replied. Despite the muting effect of the inter-link, the relief in his voice was evident. “The roof collapse was a blessing in disguise. It reduced our time here considerably.”

“What will we have altogether?”

“Thirty-one containers. With twenty-five drones in each, it’ll give us a minimum of seven hundred and seventy-five flyers to play with. Not including those we can salvage, and the obvious multitude of parts we’ve been able to recover from among the debris.”

Hmm. A good number, but suspicious nonetheless.
“Thanks, Nick. Let me know when your guys are loading the last one and I’ll call everyone in.”

“Okay. We’ll be about five or six minutes. Although the grav-discs take away the weight, they’re a bitch to maneuver when loaded. The rocks aren’t making it any easier either. They’re scattered over quite a wide margin and are slowing us down. Sorry, but if we try to go any faster than two miles per hour, I’m afraid we might spill something.”

“No problems. Nothing’s happening, so don’t rush.”

Mac lifted his rifle scope, and studied the area between the cargo ship and liner again. After a few minutes of fruitless observation, he gave up.
Nothing! So where did that Horde Master come from? And what’s it still doing inside the Seranette?

He called to his colleagues. “Fire-team, this is Alpha. Guys? Any movement from your positions?”

“That’s a negative, Boss,” Sam shot back, “west side is clear.”

“Nothing here,” Stu Duggan replied, from farther along the line of abandoned warehouses.

“Quiet as the proverbial grave,” Jumper Collins whispered, from his high atop the fire exit gantry.

Mac glanced up toward Jumper’s place of concealment.
And how come the only roof to cave in was this one? Over the very spot the drones were stored?

Something nagged at the back of his mind. Walking away from the hangar, Mac positioned himself out in the open and looked up toward the location he knew would be occupied by his cover-team. The fingernail of a crescent moon rode higher in the sky, its wan illumination insufficient to clarify any helpful details. “Mark, are you listening?”

“I’m here.”

“Are you close enough for the 420s to scan the top of the target in high resolution?”

“That’s a yes. My optics will intensify Se’ochan’s radiance. Why, what do you need?”

“It might be nothing, but I want to see if you notice anything unusual on top of this building in particular.”

“Unusual?”

“I’m trying to understand why this warehouse is the only structure to suffer damage. Everything else appears intact and functional. It doesn’t feel right to me. Just check it out, please.”

“Hang on a sec . . .” The line went quiet as Mark carried out his task.

Thirty seconds later, he was back online. “Boss? Now you mention it, there is something rather odd about our target. I didn’t notice it before because it was right under our noses.”

“What is it?”

“The roof is covered in boulders. I’ve just skimmed the other facilities, and while one or two have the odd rock here and there, the drone hangar is littered with whacking great chunks of granite. Some as big as a house, and all concentrated around the site of the collapse.”

Mac was perplexed. “Could they have fallen from the mountain?”

“That’s what I initially thought. Especially as the force field would have dropped after the Horde swarmed it. But no, while I was taking a look, Sean inspected the culvert bordering the perimeter. If there had been a rock fall, the place would be saturated in debris. It’s clean. He checked it twice.”

But . . . but that would mean someone deliberately tried to bring the structure down. Bloody hell! This job just gets better and better.

“Lieutenant? We’re ready to go.” Nick’s warning cut across Mac’s line of thought.

“Er, okay Nick, we’re on our way,” he replied.

Reacting to the change in status, Mac dismissed his suspicions and mobilized his men. “Mark? We’re on the move. As we approach the subway, draw your own squads in and begin falling back to your vehicle. When we clear the other end, make for the RV. Understood?”

“Loud and clear.”

“Fire-team, this is Alpha. Close on me at the transport. We’ll be leading the shipment through the subway on foot. Sam, you’re with me at the rear. Stu, Jumper, you two will take point, lead the way with cold-lights. Switch to full automatic. From now on, if anything gets in our way, take it out with maximum aggression.”

As his colleagues raced to respond, Mac addressed the skidder. “Nick? Let Blood-one know we’re starting the return leg. When they’ve acknowledged you, make sure your guys line the deck of the craft. They are to draw their weapons. The shields will protect you, but we can’t take any chances.” As an afterthought, he added, “We’ll hitch a ride with you until the mouth of the tunnel. Feel free to put your foot down until we get there. Once inside, Stu and Jumper will dictate the speed. Just follow the path of the glow-sticks. Is that clear?”

“Okay. It’ll be nice to get out of here.”

Amen to that.

“All teams, all teams,” Mac called, “go, go, go.”

Everyone sprang to life. Less than sixty seconds later, the hovercraft bristled with men and weapons. A barely discernible hum thrummed through its bulk as the drive engines engaged. Nick made a beeline for the gaping maw of the exit. With a lurch, the heavily laden carrier sprang forward, and the sound of metal clattering across resin rang out. Someone in close proximity gasped, “My gun, watch–”

Bam!
Zing!

The hopeless warning was interrupted by the loud report of a gun firing, followed by the distinctive whine of a ricochet.

Mac knew what had happened before anyone had a chance to confirm it.

Sure enough, when he peered forward, one of the civilian handlers was rushing to pick up the pistol he had just dropped.

Imbecile!

Stifling his anger, Mac was on the open radio in moments. “All units, this is Alpha. We have just suffered a negligent discharge aboard the skidder. Be prepared for a hostile response. The Horde might now be alerted to our presence. Cover-team? Divert immediately to Blood-one’s position and offer support from that direction. We may have to fight our way through the tunnel. If we emerge safely, provide suppressing fire until we are clear. I will detonate the mine as we ride through. Standby. Alpha, out!”

They picked up speed.

Mac called ahead, “Nick, forget my last instructions to you. When we hit the underpass, activate every lamp you have. I want the inside of that place lit up like Christmas. Tell your folks to shoot at anything and everything that comes close. My team and I will take care of the rest.”

As they skimmed across the barren field, Mac couldn’t resist another glance back at the Seranette. Almost immediately, something caught his attention.
Eh?
He looked again.
Yes, there it is. A cocooned distortion near the bottom steps.

Raising his machine gun, he used the magnification of its sights to check once more.
Screw me!

As if a veil had been lifted, a conflagration of condensed energy blazed forth. Its silver and purple penumbra bloomed bright, bathing the surrounds in spectral contrasts of light and shadow.

It’s charging itself. Openly displaying its position as it reacts to a threat . . .

Mac watched the monster closely 
. . . But it doesn’t know where we are . . . I wonder?

Catching his breath, he fought against the allure of simply watching and activated his targeting laser. Adjusting the setting, he altered its frequency into the visible spectrum. A ruby-red lance of coherence stabbed out.
Here I am
. “Contact!” he snapped, bringing everyone to attention. “Seven o’clock low, at the base of the star liner, Seranette.”

As the brilliant dot danced across the rippling substance of the Horde Master, the beast reacted unexpectedly. Throwing its arms wide, it froze, and waited.

What?
Fighting against the jostle of the moving craft, Mac walked the beam across the monster’s body and let it come to rest between a pair of intensely glowing eyes. His finger closed on the trigger. The Controller remained motionless, hands held high.

He knows I have him. And yet . . .

The jaws of the tunnel entrance closed about them, and the skidder plunged into darkness.

Damn! What’s wrong with me? Why didn’t I just take it out?

A discordance of sound and lurid, flashing light yanked Mac back to the present. Everyone at the front had opened up with their weapons. Pulling himself together, he shuffled toward the driver. Because of his advanced optics, Mac could see Nick was on the verge of panic and decided to keep himself busy by giving the out-of-his-depth technician some much needed support.

Mac kept his voice level and calm. “That’s it, Nick. You’re doing well. Just stick to the middle of the road and let us take care of the jaywalkers. I’m right behind you, so nothing’s going to sneak up and bite . . .” Mac paused to destroy three wraiths running alongside. “Your back’s protected, and we’ll be out of here in a few minutes with a clear run toward Rhomane and a celebratory drink.”

“But they’re all around us,” Nick squeaked.

“And so are we. We’ve got guns and iron and so many rounds that we won’t have enough targets to shoot them at.” Mac dropped to one knee as he changed magazines. The skidder rocked under the influence of multiple detonations.

Resuming his position, Mac continued, “Don’t worry about all the explosions. As you can feel, the shields are absorbing the worst of the energy. You concentrate on your screens. Keep us moving, keep us safe.” He tapped Nick’s console. “Look, the exit’s already looming.”

He stepped away to peer around the stacked crates toward the front of the craft.
Yes, there it is. Just over two hundred yards to go.

Then Mac noticed something that warmed his heart. Now the civilian crew had something to concentrate on, they were venting their nerves admirably. The null-shield was enough of a protection anyway. But now and again, a more daring ogre would risk the pain of scrambled atoms to throw itself against the fabric of the ship. Those attempting to gain a foothold in such a manner were met with a volley of steel that cut them to shreds within seconds.
Well done,
he thought,
despite the monumental screw-up, this will temper them for future missions. We’ll make soldiers out of them yet.

Firing off a series of rapid bursts, Mac issued further instructions. “Mark? We’ll be hitting the exit in approximately one minute. Prepare your arcs. Anything that follows us out is fair game. The device is already primed, so give us a healthy gap to maneuver in. Once we’ve got some breathing space, pick up everyone on foot and hightail it out of there. The extra bodies will slow you down a bit, but we’ll pair up for the rest of the journey. Everybody’s going home tonight.”

“Roger that. We’ll be ready in less than thirty seconds.”

“Good to hear.”

Satisfied, Mac returned to his business of dispensing death. Swiveling rapidly from side to side, he emptied magazine after magazine into the swarming host. Chrysanthemum bursts engulfed the party in an eternity of all-consuming conflagrations. Time appeared to slow down. Empty casings cascaded to the floor, their tinkling music providing a tympanic counterpoint to the deep resonance of repeated implosions occurring all around them. A pressure wave began to build that threatened to burst eardrums and sanity alike.