The IX (57 page)

“Good thinking. Get Mark and Sean to liaise with Stu and Fonzy at the chokepoint. Once the flyers and cannons take over, have them orchestrate a structured withdrawal. We’re on the way to the surface with the commander. Expect the second set of sentries at your location any minute now.”

“Roger that. Safe journey.”

Breaking the link, Mac saw they had reached the perimeter doors to the Archive. Activating the bio-scanner, he waited for the exit to manifest, and nodded to Sam to make ready.

The arch appeared, solidified, and glided silently apart. An icy chill washed over them from the corridor, and Mac was once again struck by the odd impression of insects on skin. As the robot sentries reacted to their presence, Mac felt his stomach turn, and was forced to take a few deep breaths to keep his queasiness at bay.
I’ve had this feeling before.
Where . . . ?

“Contact!” he snapped, bringing his weapon to the shoulder.

“What’s happening?” Saul hissed.

“Wait!” Ignoring the distraction of the automatic sensors, Mac scanned the length of the passageway before them.

Nothing?

The nausea continued to build.

Reaching behind, Mac grabbed Saul by the arm. “Stay with me as I move. Sam? I’ll check forward, you cover our asses. There’s a Horde portal nearby. I can feel it. Remember?”

“Yes, I bloody well do. Nice one, Boss. Do you think it’s our friend, or one of the other buggers?”

“We can only—”

Mac was overcome by a wave of dizziness. His vision swam, seeming to ripple like a corrugated roof. He staggered, and a translucent image loomed before his eyes.
Is that Stained-With-Blood’s tomahawk?
His sight shifted, and the perspective of his surroundings appeared to zoom away from him, as if falling into a receding tunnel. A familiar mental voice echoed within his mind.
Cryptogen.

The sensation faded, and Mac found himself on his knees, slumped against the wall.

Voices crowded him.

“Boss. Are you all right?”

“What’s happening? Are we under attack?”

“Where’s the danger?”

Shaking his head, Mac struggled to his feet. “It’s okay, we’re safe. I’m all right.”

As his eyes came back into focus, Mac knew what he had to do.

“I’m sorry, guys, I can’t go with you.”

His announcement was met by stunned silence and looks of utter disbelief.

Turning to Saul, he said, “Follow Sam. He’ll get you away from here.”

Mac handed Sam two sets of locator beacons. “Place these on the guns and then enter this code.” He paused to transmit the appropriate cipher. “You will find the sentinels ensured there’s sufficient power available within those units to transport several people, as well as the emplacements themselves. Activate them, and get the commander away from here. Once you’ve succeeded, join Andy and Bob in the First Magister’s courtyard. It’s going to get real busy there. Soon.”

“What about you, Sir?”

“Me?” Mac snorted. “I think I’m finally going to discover the key to a longstanding puzzle.”

*

Never in his life had Marcus felt so helpless.

For the last fifteen minutes, he’d been forced to watch a fellow officer and personal, long-term friend fight a losing battle that made his heart burn with pride and grief.

Amelius Crispus never stood a chance of winning. The intervention of the Controllers saw to that. Despite that fact, Amelius had clearly been determined to make the enemy pay dearly for every inch of ground the 4
^th
Cohort was forced to concede, for he inspired his men to fight a rearguard action that answered the death of every legionnaire with at least two of their enemy’s.

Adopting tactics similar to those employed by the Horde Masters, Amelius ordered his troops to form a double-layered, thirty-man wide defensive box. Once ready, he arranged the remaining soldiers into smaller bands of ten fighters each, and positioned them behind the protective line. Every time someone died, waiting archers peppered the Horde wedge with arrows while one of their comrades stepped forward to fill the breach. Even when a number of grunts were slain at once, sending stunned warriors sprawling to the floor, prepared snatch squads ran forward and dragged the survivors to safety, so other valiant brothers could take their place.

It was as glorious to watch as it was devastating, for attrition and sheer exhaustion eventually took its toll.

When the shield wall collapsed, the spooks surged forward, baying for blood. Yet still the legionnaires refused to run. Holding their ground, they grouped together, raised their swords high, and charged the advancing ogres.

The resultant explosion engulfed the area in a storm of anguish, and shook the inner wall to its foundations. Once the glare died down, less than forty men of the four hundred and fifty that began the fight remained.

They died as they lived. Fighting.

Marcus watched as the survivors limped and crawled toward the safety of the secondary moat. Artfully crafted, it served as another line of defense in front of the inner wall.
Now, only the scorpios and the guns stand in the way of our enemy.

Eyeing the distance between the injured men and the howling ghouls, he assessed their chances of reaching the dyke safely.
Thirty, perhaps thirty-five feet? They’ll never make it.

“What are you doing?” he bellowed to the catapult captains. “Waiting for a bloody invitation? Fire!”

As the officers turned to reissue his command, they were staggered by a blast of immense proportions. A huge front segment of the Horde ranks abruptly disappeared amid a blinding inferno that forced most onlookers to duck down behind the buttress.

What in the name of Mars was that?

Ears ringing, Marcus looked around and noticed everyone had been frozen to the spot. He glanced up.
Flyers?
“Flyers!” he shouted, pointing into the air.

A cheer erupted from the gathered defenders as the squadron of drones dropped from the sky. Splitting into two formations, one flight continued to harry the monsters gathered before the inner gates, while the other divided into smaller groups and made a beeline for the Bosses scattered throughout the arc and along the battlements.

Further detonations rocked the city. Marcus felt the familiar tug of the pressure variance caused by the activation of the strange, futuristic weapons. Reality bent and warped in one place after another as hundreds of monsters were crushed out of existence.

He peered over the top of the battlements, using his binoculars to zoom in on the far wall.
And
still
they pour through the magic breach. Is there no end to this perversion?

He jumped as the heavy cannons beside him went into action. The deep
thud-thud-thud-thud
of their cyclic pattern created a distinctive counterpoint to the higher tones of the lighter machine guns that quickly joined in.

Scanning further along the buttress, Marcus espied several familiar faces.
Ah, I see Lieutenant McDonald has spared a contingent of his men to come to our aid.

He gazed back down into the horror of no-man’s-land, relief flooding through him as he realized a number of flyers had taken up holding patterns above the heads of the fleeing survivors.

They’re going to make it after all.

As if in answer to his prayer, a cluster of reverberating booms and flashes of lightning broke out at various points along the main parapet.

“The beast masters are thwarted!” someone shouted.

Sure enough, when Marcus surveyed the region of each outburst, he could see the widespread panic the drones had caused. A number of Controllers had obviously perished, and the aftermath of the gravity fluctuations were still wreaking havoc on Horde and environment alike.

The few Bosses still remaining began to flee.

As the last one disappeared into a portal, the glittering curtain protecting the front of their army frittered away. The massed ranks of the Horde stalled, as if robbed of their motivating force.

A moment’s silence ensued. Then a
twang
from somewhere further along the barbican announced the release of an arrow. Burning with pitch, it arced through the air and fell squarely in the center of the secondary moat. The iron and tar mixture blazed into life, and the survivors making their way toward the gates shouted in jubilation. The sound of their voices jarred everyone back into action.

The ghouls moved first.

They hadn’t taken more than a few steps before the robot guns adjusted their targeting trajectory and started decimating the center mass of their ranks.

Then the archers and ballistae operators opened fire.

The air was filled with a lethal mixture of spiteful-looking barbs, three-foot long steel bolts, and thousands of rounds.

Down below, a swarm of explosions ripped from one end of the Horde charge to the other, setting off a chain reaction of secondary detonations that forced Marcus to flinch. A multitude of ogres was consumed. Yet despite their catastrophic losses they continued to advance, pressed forward from behind by eager reinforcements and the mindless need to consume life force.

Cold reality clutched at his bowels.
At this rate, we cannot possibly survive.

He tried to judge how many soldiers and other refugees still remained.
It would appear Amelius isn’t the only one who may have to sacrifice his men this day.

As Marcus calculated how many warriors would be required to hold the enemy at bay, he was approached by a legionnaire officer. The soldier was limping, badly bruised, and covered in burns. It took Marcus a moment to recognize Flavius’s optio, Antonius Septimus.

“Antonius? How fares the upper wall?”

“It persists, Colonel. The flying machines have cleared it of all infestation, and remain to guard against further incursions.” His face fell. “Pity they could not have arrived sooner.”

Something in the way Antonius spoke conveyed a deeper meaning.

“What of Flavius?” Marcus asked. “Galerius? Tiberius?”

Antonius shook his head. His shoulders dropped.

“Survivors?”

“A mere twenty of us, Sir. I’m sorry we could not do more.”

“You did enough, Antonius. More than enough. The Ninth Legion will be remembered with honor this day, for we did what others could not. Even though it cost us dearly, we protected those in our care from abominations such as this.”

He gestured, and both men turned to look out into what remained of the arc of death.

Heedless of the bullets that shredded their essences, regardless of the iron fragments that rained mercilessly down on them, the monsters continued pressing relentlessly on.

Marcus added, “How could so few of us ever hope to stand against such numbers? Or their mindless willingness to expend themselves?”

Antonius didn’t answer. A haunted look in his eyes, he stared mutely down into the carnage that had been their last, best hope against defeat.

He’s in shock. And who can blame him?

“Get yourself and your men to the transporter,” Marcus advised gently. “Your fight is over. Those of us who remain here will suffice.”

Or die trying.

*

As Ayria Solram entered the counseling wing, she was struck by how large the ward looked without people to fill it. James Houston’s suite was at the other end of the module, and the
click
of her heels echoed around the room as she walked along the central aisle.

It’s so quiet in here. But at least it’s kept him out of the way until the last moment. I’d better call for an escort though, just in case he gets agitated when I take him out into the open. Although the ships aren’t here, the fighting is bound to unsettle him.

She was about to activate her com-link when she discerned the drone of a TV report in the background.
He wouldn’t be watching the same old thing again . . . would he?

Pausing outside his door, she craned her neck to listen.

“That was the awful moment when the
Shivan-Estre
met her end. For reasons as yet unknown, her navigational beacon malfunctioned. Appearing from rip-space only . . .”

Oh, for goodness’ sake. How does he not get bored by
—

“. . . you kidding? I’ll never let that happen to me again. I’d rather die . . .”

Stunned, Ayria held her breath. She recognized Houston’s voice right away. But something about the manner in which he spoke troubled her.
It’s almost as if he’s engaged in an actual conversation with someone.

In an effort to gain greater clarity, she placed her ear against one of the panels and closed her eyes. For some reason, the gesture only made her feel lightheaded.

Houston was still speaking. “. . . that I hated the most was the isolation. The terrible loneliness of confinement. Being that close to someone and yet unable to utter a single coherent thought because of the mutating effect of the transition. Nobody should have to go through that. Or what you yourself have had to endure, come to that. You say you can help me prevent it? Then do something, quickly, for goodness’ . . .”

Confinement? Mutation? Prevent what?

The feeling of dizziness persisted. Ayria was forced to brace herself against the doorframe to stop herself from falling. Even so, her curiosity prevented her from calling out for help, as it now sounded as if Houston were actually arguing with someone.

“. . . me to wait? Why? Who for? Don’t you appreciate the risk? If we delay any longer, there’s a danger I won’t be able to shed this . . .”

Ayria’s stomach growled and she felt a lump rising in her throat.

I’d better get this over with. I feel like I might vomit if I don’t get into the fresh air soon.

Grasping the handle, Ayria opened the door without knocking. She walked swiftly inside. “Come on, James, time to g—”
Oh my God!