The Ninth (41 page)

“So you win then, is that it?”  Tyra was still struggling to cope with what her eyes told her.

“Not quite.  The frag grenade belonged to
your
division.  As such, the FF didn’t get a single point for your downed defense force at the base of the tower.  I wonder if you got credit for them . . .  In any case, the FF is a few points shy of victory.  After we hold the tower for a few more minutes victory will be ours.”  Brent disarmed Ronald.

“Tower is secure!  Looks like we really did it!” Kindra proclaimed as she reached the top.

A second trooper ran past Kindra and hugged Brent.

“It really worked!  I thought they’d discover you.”  Cassandra patted him on the back after releasing her hug.

“Ye of little faith,” he chuckled.

“So what now?” Kindra asked expectantly.

“Get the Blasters to the north facing.”  Brent issued his orders.  “Keep the RG from storming the place.  Also, see if you can get a medic up here.”

“A medic?  You’re hurt?”  Kindra sounded surprised.

“This suit doesn’t quite fit and the left side is mostly disabled from the hip down.  My legs are killing me from that climb.”  Brent futilely rubbed the outsides of the suit.

Kindra let out a single laugh as she descended back into the tower.  A blot of light flashed overhead.

“That’s new,” Tyra said casually as another blot of light arced over them.

Cassandra quickly raised her rifle and pointed it at the SF leader.  Ronald stepped between them.  She stared him down as he refused to move.  Brent put a hand on her rifle, forcing her to lower it.

“It’s okay, Cassandra.  They won’t fight back any more; they know they lost.  Tyra, what is that?”  Brent walked to the north railing.

“Don’t ask me.  I’ve been here since we started, and that’s the first time I’ve seen weapons fire reach this high.”  Tyra peeked out from behind Ronald.

“Looks like the RG is really hammering us.”  A blot of energy flashed a few inches from Brent’s face.  “Entirely sniper fire, though.  No danger to the structure.”

“Guess the ground doesn’t share our accuracy penalty.”  Ronald still stood defensively in front of his leader.

“Of course they don’t.  That’s what the Administer wanted.”  Brent quickly backed away from the lances of energy streaking from below.

“What do you mean?”  Tyra asked skeptically.

“The tower is a trap.  The reason the Administer gave it so much focus is that he wanted us to think it was the key to victory.  In truth, it’s a losing position.  Heat from the desert makes accurate firing impossible, the confined interior makes heavy weapons impossible to set up let alone use, and the wide-open base is a constant threat that is nearly impossible to keep secure.  This thing is a giant death trap.”  Brent patted the stone floor.  “Although, it is a pretty death trap.”

Tyra stared at him blankly.  He hadn’t been in the tower more than a minute, and he knew all its weaknesses.

“Wait, if it’s so bad to keep this place, why are we here?” Cassandra asked bluntly.

“Simple.  We were out of options,” Brent explained to Cassandra.  “While we stopped the RG to the west, they also boxed us in.  There was no way we could attack the RG’s main base, and the battle between us was largely a stalemate.  The TA could offer a few kills, but they were hard earned and took too much time.  Even with artillery fire they are too well fortified.  It would take much longer than ten minutes to break through their defenses and get enough kills to put us over the six hundred points needed.  That left us with the tower and the SF inside.”

“So now what?  We try to keep this place for ten minutes?”  Cassandra tilted her head, puzzled.

“Doesn’t work that way.  The ten minutes I told you about earlier was if we had a score of zero.  Every second we occupy this place we earn a point.”  Brent ducked as another energy pulse zipped by.  “Add in the kills and captures we’ve earned so far and we only need to hold this place for two more minutes.”

“In other words, we kick back, relax, and wait for our victory,” Cain said amusedly as he and a medic emerged from the tower below.

Cain kneeled at the right edge of the north railing and starting firing wildly on the RG base below.

“What do you think you are doing?” Cassandra shouted at the blasting Cain.

“Putting on a good show.  The RG is getting edgy.”  Cain would look through his scope every now and then, but mostly he was firing blindly.  “They probably don’t know we have almost won, but they know
something
is up.  They keep preparing assault squads but pull them back at the last moment.  If we can keep up a constant barrage of fire, we might be able to delay them until we win.”

Cassandra took a kneeling position next to Cain, and Brent took a position next to her.  The three fired randomly on the RG below, keeping them at bay.

“One minute more, sir,” the medic shouted over the weapons fire.

As if that had been a signal of some kind, the RG put on the pressure.  The RG squads attacking the TA and those targeting of the FF ground forces shifted targets to the tower.  Pulses of energy lit up the sky as they passed from every direction.  Attack groups from the RG base charged the tower.  Brent could see concentrated fire coming from the base of the tower, knocking out troopers left and right.

“If we keep this up, we’ll win in just a few seconds.  Morons are walking right . . . Brent get down!” Cain shouted abruptly.

A tremendous wave of heat washed over Brent as he hit the floor.  A horrible odor assaulted his nose through the open faceplate.  Getting to his knees he found Cain leaning against the solid edge of the railing.  His entire body was shaking.  He followed Cain’s gaze to a white suit in the center of the floor.  Cassandra had been hit.  As Brent edged closer to the suit he could hear Cain vomiting.  When he reached her side he knew why.  It hadn’t been a low yield shot that had hit her.  Instead of just paralyzing the suit, the energy burst had burned right through it.  Cassandra’s chest was exposed; blood oozed from the smoldering flesh.  Brent quickly pulled her helmet off.  Her eyes were slightly glazed and unfocused.

“Cassandra!”  He shook the suit.

Her head sluggishly turned toward him.  Her hand weakly lifted up to his face.

“Medic!” Brent shouted with every fiber of his being.

When no response came, he quickly scanned the tower top.  The medic was completely paralyzed, watching the scene in horror as he futilely tried to move in his white suit.  Brent pressed his hands against the open wound, hoping to stop the blood flow.  Impossible amounts of blood gushed out between his fingers.  She was in shock, and her heart was pumping at full force.

If she had the strength of ten troopers, her heart would bleed her out in one-tenth the time.  He pressed with all his might, begging the heart to calm down.  A stray blot of energy streaked across the tower top and hit Brent.  He fell over as his suit became immobile.  Tears swelled in his eyes as he saw Cassandra’s hand searching hopelessly for him.  He tried with all his might to get closer, but the suit refused to budge.  Despair ripped at his chest as he watched Cassandra’s hand fall limply to her body.

Brent demanded his body move.  He would not give up as long as he drew breath.  The suit moaned as he pressed against it.  Rage consumed him as the suit held him still.  A cracking sound faintly caressed his ears.  Channeling his rage, he pressed against the suit with all his strength.  The suit bent and buckled.  Straining, he demanded movement.  Brent shouted as loudly as his lungs were able as he put every ounce of strength in to moving the suit. The suit shattered, sending fragments of the armor flying off the tower.  The blots of energy stopped flying through the sky.

Brent returned to Cassandra’s side.  Her eyes were completely glazed over.  The blood was still draining out of her.  He pressed with all his might against the open wound.  He pleaded and begged for her to survive.  His very soul wished for a way to save her.  Brent closed his eyes as the tears ran down his face.  He continued pressing against the wound, but he knew it was too late.

Suddenly, a searing pain filled his hands.  His eyes flung open.  Flowing through his body was a familiar green light.  He instantly remembered it from the fifth exam.  The healing light the Shards had used to treat his wound.  While familiar it was also slightly different at the same time.  It wrapped around him as the auroras wrapped around Cassandra, but he couldn’t feel any strange emotions.  As Brent pressed into the wound with all his might, the green light intensified and flashes etched through his skin like a circuit board channeling to his hands.

The brighter flashes of green light burned his flesh as they moved along.  They left no visible mark, but the pain was unimaginable.  The green light started to surround the wound and then the rest of Cassandra’s body.  The light blazed out from the tower like a brilliant lighthouse guarding a rocky coast.  The light grew brighter and brighter until Brent could no longer see anything but the light.  His hands could still feel the wound.  His body ached as the green light continued to tear at his flesh but he wouldn’t relent.  Gradually, he lost sensation in his hands.  He couldn’t feel anything anymore; a cold white light surrounded him now.

Brent tried to look around, but he was completely surrounded by white light.  He searched out with his hands, only to grasp empty air; Cassandra was gone, along with the tower.  He was drifting in an endless void of cold, white light.  A shiver ran down his spine.  Gentle warmth pulsed near his face.  The warmth rested on his cheek; it was a hand.  Brent couldn’t see it or react to it, but he
knew
someone was there.  The hand pulled away, leaving him alone in the cold.  He lost all sensation.  A thick blackness ensnared him as he lost consciousness.

Deep in the belly of a dead ice world, long since forgotten by the Commonwealth, an old discord was once again being discussed.  Hidden beneath the layers of ice and rock, they had gathered, an increasingly common event.  Detection was always a threat, so even here they communicated over coded transmissions rather than direct speech.

“Would you take that off?” Second said with disgust.

“Why does it bother you so?”  Fifth smiled to herself.  “A constant reminder I’ve done my job better than you could have?”

“The emblem of the ITU has no place here.”

“Perhaps, but without their loyalty to me our plans would be worthless.”

“You are both correct,” Third interjected.  “Our pawns will
finally
allow us to take our rightful place, but it is in poor taste, Fifth.”

“This is all in poor taste!” Seventh protested.

“Quit whining,” Sixth said.  “We all know your opinion; no need to constantly remind us.”

“Please, we will get nowhere bickering randomly,” Eighth pleaded.  “It’s safe to assume no one has changed their stands, I trust.”

Again, as many times before, silence answered Eighth’s question.

“If that is the way of it, then why have we gathered?” Third asked irritably.  “Some of us have more important matters to attend to.”

“More important than
this
?” Second openly mocked Third.  “You cannot seriously deem your tinkering more important than our objective.  Surely the will of the Forged is more important than boosting your arrays by another measly half percent.”

“That’s enough, Second,” Seventh snapped.  “Third raises a valid point.  Why have we been gathered again?  Our last gathering was
only
five years ago.  If this keeps up, we’ll be meeting
annually
!”  Seventh groaned with distain at the thought.

“It’s my fault, I’m afraid,” Fourth said sheepishly.

“A new detail for us to consider, Fourth?”  First asked.

“Contain yourself, First,” Sixth said.  “I’m sure whatever it is that Fourth has discovered will not sway any of us – never has before.”

“Be quiet, both of you.  We all know how difficult this is for Fourth,” Fifth said soothingly.  “Let’s not delay him any longer.”

“The troublemakers are building a fleet,” Fourth said, “a big one.”

“Can you be certain of this?”  Second demanded at once.

“He would never ask for a gathering if there was any doubt,” Fifth said defensively.

“Well, this certainly complicates things,” Sixth said solemnly.

“I told you they were a threat!” Second shouted furiously.  “I knew it was a mistake to expand our numbers.  The Forged should have ended with the first three!”

“That was never your decision to make.  In addition, I will remind you that it was I, not Fourth, who completed consensus,” Third said with a hint of pride.  “Your ranting is pointless drivel.”

“You might have come first, but you think like they do,” Second hissed.

“Irrelevant,” First stated flatly.  “Consensus was reached.  Consensus is absolute.  The will of the Forged is absolute.  The individual thought processes are irrelevant as long as consensus is reached.”

“Even First doesn’t agree with you, Second,” Sixth gloated.  “Why do you waste our time at the gatherings with your mockery?”