Authors: Michael E. Marks
Ridgeway had his arms around the concept but the theory seemed fraught with holes. "So why wasn't the ship in good repair when we got here?"
Merlin turned and raised his index finger. "Stitch got that one. These things run on pure thermodynamic conversion, heat to energy. So when the ship's engine crapped out and the whole place became a freezer--"
"They went into hibernation." Ridgeway interjected.
"Bingo. And they stayed that way until we turned the heat back on. Things got warmer, and they woke up. The warmer it gets, the more energetic they become."
"Hmph," Ridgeway grunted, his head nodding slowly. "So what's controlling them?"
Merlin slumped and his fingers tapped rapidly as he looked back toward the console. "That's the part I'm trying to figure out. There's gotta be some central control that manages them, prioritizes what they do." He pushed back from the console and shook his head, "But I can't find shit in terms of a memory core. It's like they're thinking for themselves."
Rising slowly from the chair, Ridgeway rolled a stiff shoulder. With the CAR cradled in his left arm, his attention lingered on an abstract point in space. Timetables rolled through his mind as his right hand unconsciously sought familiar purchase on the CAR's pistol grip.
Given a choice, Ridgeway mulled, I'd say screw the bugs, the repairs, all this shit and leave this wreck like we found it. Reality offered a different perspective; they were stuck and had to keep the lights on until something showed him the way to the door. "Any sign of Jenner or an evac team?"
Merlin shook his head. "Nada."
Before Ridgeway could utter the invective that pushed to the front of his mind, Darcy's voice crackled over the ComLink. "Looks like I'm not crazy after all."
"Good to know," he murmured as he stepped away from Merlin. "What have you got?""
"You'll have to see it to believe it." Darcy's voice held an odd edge, her tone vaguely triumphant. A small icon blinked on Ridgeway's TAC, the announcement that Darcy had had queued up a telepresence. Ridgeway initiated the link and stepped into Darcy's world.
In a blur of shifting perspective, Ridgeway found himself in a narrow compartment. He followed what was then his own arm as it pointed to a mangled piece of equipment hanging from the wall. Darcy's voice floated in all around him. "That's no fucking delusion."
Ridgeway's eyes flashed wide behind his faceplate as he looked at the severed arm. Half a dozen heavily-clawed fingers were buried in the composite wall, anchoring the limb in place. With a grunt Darcy pried the fingers loose one at a time. Dark fluids dripped freely as she wrenched the arm from the wall. The sniper's senses pouring into his own brain, Ridgeway could feel the arm's weight as it flopped in her grasp.
He felt it twitch as well.
"Shit!" Darcy cursed as the multi-fingered claw snapped convulsively. She dropped the limb on the floor and lurched back, drawing her sidearm in a sudden blur of motion. The front sight hovered on the writhing appendage. Ridgeway could feel her finger draw slack from the trigger, holding just shy of the break-point.
"Sonofabitch isn't dead yet!" Darcy snarled.
Judging from the arm's motion, Ridgeway could only concur. He knew the sort of random, post-mortem spasms that a body went through when its head was blown apart. That dance was random and chaotic, a freeform performance triggered by the discharge of whatever nerves were still hardwired to the rest of the body. This was methodical, Ridgeway realized with growing concern. The hand clasped and opened as the wrist rotated through a full arc of motion.
While clearly an arm, Ridgeway had no clear sense if its origin was mechanical or biological. Skeins of what appeared to be living tissue stretched in and around a mechanical construct. The hand itself looked to have been some kind of complex Hurst tool, the kind of device designed to cut victims from badly wrecked vehicles. Crescent claws gleamed in the darkness like slices of a stainless-steel apple.
Ridgeway followed Darcy's front sight as it tracked down to what would be termed an elbow. There the limb ended abruptly. Shredded flesh and torn wires marked the traumatic amputation. Fluids oozed steadily from the mangled stump.
"Son of a bitch." Ridgeway muttered as the arm slowed to a stop.
"Damn straight," Darcy huffed, breathing hard. She holstered the pistol slowly, but kept her right hand firmly on the grip. "I built this hide just a few hours ago and left a Claymore here to watch the door." She nudged the severed arm with her toe, "This is what was coming in when the doorbell rang."
A long moment ticked by before Darcy added, "Remember when I told you something was coming? Well, it's here."
"Roger that," Ridgeway said softly, his mind racing. "Do you have any idea where it went?"
She had clearly given that point careful thought. "Whatever the fuck this thing is, it ate a Claymore right in the face. It lost one limb, there's no telling how many other parts came off. If we're lucky, the rest of this thing is chunks spread across the Lobby."
"Can't make that assumption." Ridgeway was firm. "We've got to operate on the basis of at least one wounded and who knows how many others. Do you have any idea which way they went?"
The sudden nausea took Ridgeway by surprise. Telepresence was still an emerging science and the tricks used to transmit perception were sketchy in places. Amid the tremendous mass of data that defined the five basic senses lay an undercurrent of less-understood feelings, that region where memory and emotion blurred what was real and what was imagined. Living as he was in the envelope of Darcy's senses, Ridgeway felt a sudden chill in his guts that he knew was not his own. It crept up from the pit of his stomach and wormed it's way into his chest.
His reflex was to pull back, but Ridgeway recognized the sniper's unspoken distress. He breathed slowly and reached out, opening himself more fully to the transmission. As he did, even peripheral sense of his own body diminished. With each second, he melted more and more into the fabric of Darcy Lonigan.
Darcy's eyes had returned to the arm, her focus riveted on one of the wounds. Bright edges of metal curled back from a jagged hole made by one of the Claymores numerous flechettes. Strips of meat and cloudy plastic tubing lay tangled in the chasm. The wound glistened in the darkness as tiny starbursts of orange light played through the sheen of silver sand. The creature was full of nanites, Ridgeway realized with a start. The same shimmering nanites that flowed in Darcy's veins.
Oh my God.
Darcy looked down at her own hand and flexed her fingers slowly, her voice inexplicably soft. "Guess we know why I'm getting a sense for these things, huh." Her gaze swept beyond the tunnel entrance and climbed high to the air ducts that criss-crossed the ceiling. Her voice carried a distant note of urgency. "They're close, real close."
"Get out of there Darcy."
"Not close to me Major." Darcy turned aft, her voice suddenly sharp. "Close to you."
CHAPTER 29
The wall exploded in a thunderclap of tearing steel. Metal screamed as fragments showered the CryoSphere.
Ridgeway saw the huge dark shape plow through the wall above Tier Two. A curved metal plate spanned the front of the car-sized mass, the blade's lower lip sawtoothed with triangular spikes. The rest looked like a column of compressed junk without wheels or armament. The mechanical mass hung up on the balcony, bucking madly.
Ridgeway's mind raced as he scrambled to regain his footing. Was it a weapon or just some freakishly large battering ram? If not launched for it's own deadly effect, he thought quickly, then its importance was the hole it left behind. Ridgeway looked up at the breach. A damn big hole.
Something scuttled in the darkness beyond. From the midst of the Island, Monster rose to one knee and fired the Gatling in an arc across the dark aperture.
As if in response, a loud groan reverberated through the sphere. A twenty-meter section of Tier Two sagged downward, failing under the thrashing weight of the battering ram. That burden shifted radically as the slug-shaped mass unfurled an array of legs that grappled wildly for traction.
In unison, three blazing streams of gunfire reached out to the Ram from points around the sphere. The creature's exterior sizzled as jagged lines of covalent discharge unleashed a wild display of near-ultraviolet light. Tiny bits of molten metal rained down across the floor, red hot splatters that belched columns of steam as they fell into the supercooled moat.
Drawn to the glow of sensors, Ridgeway aimed at a dark slit just above the heavy blade. At the fiery touch of covalence, one of the reddish orbs burst in a shower of glass. The aperture slammed shut with a bang and the Ram lurched backwards.
Taz shouted something and the stream of fire from overhead shifted. The Marine leaned forward into the rail as he cut loose with tight, controlled bursts over the Ram and into the hole.
Ridgeway's eyes went wide as a white-orange starburst of incandescence appeared behind the focused Taz. It slid rapidly across the wall in a wide arc, leaving a glowing trail that seeped molten metal.
"Taz! On your six!" As Ridgeway screamed, a wide section of metal folded back into the darkness and the solid wall at Taz's back became a gaping doorway. Ridgeway's rifle snapped fiercely to the multi-limbed form that burst from within.
Nearly a dozen mismatched mechanical limbs carried a torso even more haphazard than the Ram's. The right forelimb bore some kind of welder's torch, though the speed with which it moved belied any sense of the tool's considerable weight. Given what it had just done to the wall, Ridgeway had no desire to see what the torch could do to armor. The blazing tool swung in an arc that would pass through Taz somewhere around the collarbones.
But Taz dropped and the torch sizzled through the air above his head. Twisting as he fell, Taz jammed the CAR's muzzle into the belly of the beast and fired.
The creature arched upward as a storm of disintegration chewed into its guts. Powerful legs flexed madly as the creature's torso rose almost six feet into the air. One of the flailing limbs caught Taz on the hip and drove him into the floor.
Ridgeway tracked a long burst into the center of the creature's mass, carving a wound edged with burning metal. Legs thrashed as it tried desperately to climb out of reach of the blazing rifle. As the wound gaped wide, Ridgeway could see the gleam of metal against the muted tones of muscle.
The cutting torch flared, its blinding glare bleaching color to black and white. Grappling figures of light and shadow fought madly on the balcony. Ridgeway tried to aim but even with the armor's imaging system, he felt like he was staring at an arc-welder without a mask.
The ball of light dropped low, blocked briefly by the creature's own hulking mass. For an instant Ridgeway saw the dark outline of the limb as it swung upward. On gut instinct he snapped the muzzle of the CAR just ahead of the blur. He knew the moment he squeezed the trigger.
Missed.
The torch sped clear of Ridgeway's fire. The bullets slammed instead into the creature's arm. Bone, or whatever stood in for it, broke apart in a shower of wet fragments.
The nearly-severed torch veered wide of Taz and cleaved the rail in a starburst of sparks. Locked in mortal combat, the two combatants fell together through the gap.
* * *
On the Island below, Monster felt the tremor behind him but had no chance to turn and gawk. Merlin lay half-buried at his feet and the two creatures in his face demanded his full attention.
Though badly damaged, the Ram continued its ponderous advance. The second creature, only slightly smaller in size, emerged from the jagged fissure. Vaguely crawfish-like in shape, it scuttled quickly into the light. On one forward appendage, six wide barrels extended from a drum-like rotary mount, a clumsy-looking approximation of Monster's own weapon. Without hesitation, it aimed at Merlin and fired a single barking shot, the gun kicking up in sharp recoil. A spike of bright steel, almost as long as Monster's forearm, buried itself into the floor next to Merlin's skull.
With an industrial clatter, the creature's six-gun cycled and the next steel spike jacked into the firing chamber. Monster caught a sharp ascending hum as electrified rails quickly charged. Sixgun leaned forward on a dual tripod of legs and brought the weapon to bear once more.
Oh no you don't. Monster's lips pulled back in a snarl as the Gatling spoke first.
Two of Sixgun's rear legs vaporized in a blackish spray and the creature lurched back, forelimbs swinging. The spike-thrower barked again, sending the second javelin high into the far wall.
As Monster scrambled to reach Merlin, Sixgun flopped onto one side and thrashed to regain it's footing. Scrabbling to an angled stance, it braced itself against the hindquarters of the Ram, adding its own considerable weight to the burden on the damaged wall. The chatter of gunfire was punctuated with the sharp crack of steel stressed to the break point. The wall gave way.
The thunderous roar of collapse engulfing him, Monster took a wild swipe for Merlin's exposed hand. A cloud of thick grey dust broiled across the Island as a large steel beam fell from above and drove itself into the floor. Directly below the cascade of metal, a tank of liquid nitrogen ruptured with an airy crump, vomiting thousands of liters of super-cooled liquid. Clutching the gauntlet in his grasp, Monster threw himself into a desperate dive.