Beyond the Gates of Antares, page 26
They advanced forward, slower even than before. Shadows danced in the peripheral of Kale’s visor. Fear gripped her for a reason unknown and she felt ashamed. Algoryn did not feel fear in battle, she reminded herself. The heat signals flagged up again.
“Wait,” Ghalris breathed down the interface, his voice weakening. The squad halted, Kale keeping her eyes fixed ahead.
“Status?” she asked him.
“The rocks,” he said quietly, “shoot them.”
“The rocks?”
“Shoot them, now!”
Kale swerved angrily toward Ghalris, but before she could speak, a gout of flame spouted from the tunnel ahead. It engulfed Gestra, who shrieked, but Ghalris was there, mag pistol firing, drumming into the boulder that seemed to scuttle ponderously toward them.
“Aim for their mouths!” he shouted.
Kale saw it then. The heat signals were creatures, small and hunched and rocklike in appearance. There were four of them and they moved with swift purpose despite their bulky frames. Gestra was untouched, her sophisticated reflex armor protecting her from the flaming burst. The rock opened its mouth again and inside Kale could see a molten interior. Fire should have come from that gut of lava, but Ghalris discharged a furious number of compacted rounds into the gaping maw. The creature shuddered and slumping to the ground; the heat signal vanished.
Following Ghalris lead, Kale sent rounds from her pistol into the opening gullet of another rock creature. The beast reared onto its hind legs, spouting a torrent of flame. The burst came at Kale through her visor like the waves of a gray ocean. Akin to Gestra, her armor absorbed the inferno, energy shield sizzling, and she burst through unscathed, her shots firing down the monster’s throat. It too shuddered wildly and keeled over, dying in a rising cloud of dust. The other two creatures were felled by J’ko and Ghalris, who stepped over one of the dead frames and kicked it.
“Lavamites,” Ghalris said, wheezing.
“What are they? Boromite?” Kale had fought the worker gangs before but never had she encountered creatures that breathed fire.
“Boromite pets,” Ghalris answered. “They use them to melt rock particularly hard to shift. Nasty buggers, especially in groups. They’re usually herded by a Boromite soldier though. These ones must have broken free.”
“Or this is him here,” J’ko hailed.
Kale went to where J’ko was standing, thirty paces down the tunnel, standing over the body. He stood over the body of a fallen Boromite. Through the gray tint of her visor Kale could see the rock flesh was singed and bitten. The herder had been killed by his herd, and Kale harbored no sympathy. In the dead rock brute’s hand was a glowing apparatus. Kale reached out for it.
It appeared to be some form of tech, Boromite in origin. It was square in shape, clumsy in design, and heavy. The single screen at its center whirred and blipped, foreign symbols flickering at sporadic intervals. Kale tried to decipher the wavering digits, but her interface found no match in its vast databank. “What is it, Leader?” J’ko asked.
Ghalris responded. “It’s a map.” He reached over to press a button on the device’s flank, which locked the screen onto one sequence of symbols.
Kale was skeptical. “How do you know? There are only numbers and lines.”
“That’s how the Boromites read maps. The numbers down are the tunnels they have excavated, the series of digits beside them are the co-ordinates to the entrances, and these blocks that flash green are where they camp. They have multiple settings, dependant on which sector they are in, making it easier for gangs mining to find one another. It’s made so their enemies can’t track them.” He sounded pleased with himself. “Quite clever really.”
Kale pulled the device away. “You know how to read this?”
“It’s simple, once you’re shown,” Ghalris said with growing enthusiasm.
“And who showed you?” J’ko asked. Like the rest of the squad, J’ko held disdain toward their newest member and his know-all attitude, even in moments like these where Ghalris’s knowledge proved surprisingly useful.
Ghalris shrugged, holding his severed arm. “Back on Kah’uun, in my village, a Boromite gang was hired to blow through core rock to reach the minerals beneath. The Boromites were quiet, but liked to show us things, especially things to do with digging and blowing things up.” He kicked the dead lavamite again. “Showed us how to deal with them too.”
Kale had to admire her newest squad member, despite his supercilious demeanor. “Can you read it then?”
“Yes.” He nodded, remaining still.
“Then read it,” Kale barked, throwing the device at him, “and get us out of here.”
Ghalris made what she could only imagine was a discontented groan. He struggled using only one arm, but after clicking a few buttons, seemed to manage it. Dust clouds cascaded from the ceiling again. A rumble sounded behind Kale. She turned to look back down the tunnel and saw glimmering light through the suit of her visor; the faint glow of daylight.
“Move,” she called, lifting her weapon and charging back to her squad. “They’re coming. Move out!”
“I’m nearly done,” Ghalris started, but a sharp shove from J’ko soon silenced him.
“Do it running then,” the veteran squad member said, “unless you want to wait see if the Boromites will help you.”
They ran down the tunnel blind, taking the left route where a junction appeared. Ghalris was behind her, shouting.
“We’ve gone the wrong way! This leads deeper into the mountain.”
“Then find another way,” she shouted back.
They ran for a good five hundred yards, dust falling in a cloud behind them. Through the interface, Kale could hear her squad panting with fatigue and knew they could not maintain this pace much longer. They couldn’t hide, for these were the Boromite tunnels and the brutes would know every nook and corner.
“Left here,” Ghalris shouted.
They followed his command. Over the heavy pounding of their footfalls, Kale could hear the distinct yet unmistakable flurry of gunfire coming from beyond. The Boromites were swiftly closing the gap.
“Right,” Ghalris shouted again, taking them down a steep decline. Kale skidded and dust clouded her vision. J’ko overtook her, his armor clanking on the earth. Kale got up and pounded on, her armor heavier with every furious step. Ghalris hailed them through the interface.
“Wait, something isn’t right.”
“What are you talking about, Ghalris?”
“This isn’t…wait!”
Kale tried to skid to a halt, but it was useless. The ground below them disappeared and she flailed with her squad as they helplessly plummeted to the unknown below.
***
The engine of Ail Vagar’s interceptor roared, an inspiring cacophony that rang like a lullaby in his ear. Beneath the ebony chassis, the blighted landscape of Ylaris was but a blur, melding into one continuous strip of radiated brown. Four other interceptors tailed him, flying in a ‘v’ formation with Vagar leading. He could feel the tingle of wind through the thick padding of his gloves, a sensation which made him smile. This was where he was born to be.
This was why they called him the Sky Raven.
“Three quadrants west, Leader,” his second, Fannra, called through the combat interface. Vagar raised a fist in affirmation, and on his signal his squadron banked left, interceptors whirring. Before them, a vast forest spread itself out and the squad broke formation to traverse the barren trunks. Vagar did not slow his pace, nor did his squadron. They were Ravens all, denoted by the distinct black armor they wore in favor of the traditional crimson of the Algoryn. They were elites, chosen to undertake this special mission by Commander Fantris himself. The best of the best.
“Signal, Leader,” Fannra voiced once more, his voice crackling through Vagar’s helmet. Vagar saw it too, the faint blip flickering in his visor’s area relay. It was faint, slow, and it was Algoryn. Vagar kicked his interceptor into a higher speed and headed for the source, allowing himself a smile. This is how glory is attained, he mused.
This is how legends are born.
***
Kale, accustomed to the rigors of combat and campaign, opened her eyes slowly and, for the first time in many years, felt uncontrollably weak. Her visor crackled with energy, the screen splintered, distorting the image of her surroundings. A murky river flowed behind her, trickling along the edges of her combat boots. She hoisted herself up, groaning with pain. Further north, she could see the immense waterfall that had spewed her and her squad from the false mountain tunnels; the trap laid by the Boromites.
She was alone. Scrambling around, she discovered her weapon gone, lost in the mire of the radiated river. Ponderously, Kale crawled forward, jerking her head as her visor whined and whirred, attempting to regulate the damaged image feed. “Leader Kale to squad,” she croaked, tapping into an open communication shard. “Leader to squad. Leader Kale, distress signal,” she called again and was greeted by the harsh echo of silence.
Kale managed to free herself of the muddy riverbank, propping against a tree. The river gurgled softly and above her head she could hear the distinctive call of an avian creature. The planet was no longer still, and Kale was alone.
Slowly she lifted herself onto her feet, each step a new sensation of pain; broken ribs and a fractured hip, she suspected. Without her armor, however, the fall onto the rocks below would have shattered her like splint. For that, at least, she was grateful. Calibrating her sensor field, Kale sent out a distress call through her shard, searching for any sign of her squad. The sensor beeped twice then flickered off as the results returned void. She wondered if any of them had survived the fall, if they were nearby, and struggling to find her as she was sourcing them.
Kale shook herself. She needed to keep moving; she was lost, alone, and weaponless on a planet filled with hostile forces. Reprograming her communication shard, Kale opened a wider channel and sent out a distress call.
“Kale to Command, come in. Distress call 8-0-9-2, squad down, request immediate assistance.”
Again, there was no reply. Kale grunted. The riverbank led into yet more trees, bereft of limb and leaf, the bark torn and warped. Her footfalls generated a low cloud of dust that snaked along her feet. She would have been exposed to the planet’s radiation she knew, her body no doubt afflicted by the sheer mass of irradiated water that had crushed down upon her. She may not even survive the night, yet she would endeavor, survival instinct embedded in her psyche.
Shelter appeared ahead, flickering faintly in her cracked visor. An old ruin. It appeared to resemble a primitive temple, circular in shape, its sun-faded stone the color of bone. Fragments of timber-framed dwellings littered the area as the trees dissipated. A religious settlement, Kale surmised, devastated by the onslaught of the thermal assault. At that moment, she cared little. She headed for the stone ruin, convinced only that she need to rest and hide.
The steps rose and led to a pointed archway where once a door had no doubt been. Inside was mostly intact, surprisingly, though Kale garnered that the building had never contained much in the way of physical articles. It was without a roof, blasted away by an external explosion, and in the center was a stone altar, round and surrounded by rubble. A small room to her left seemed the best option, a primitive door still hinged. She pulled it, and after a few attempts it came loose and swung open to reveal a tiny chamber. The interior too was littered with rubble, stone fragments blocking the door, but Kale squeezed and set herself down on the floor. Her breathing was ragged, her body aching. Vison began to fail her.
“Kale to command, distress call 8-0-9-2. Call 8-0-9-2, come in command. Anyone? Please.”
The interface crackled, returning no response and Kale let fatigue wash over her, drifting off into a low slumber.
***
The ore was of poor quality. Grun-Dar growled as he examined the paltry sample the Isorian messenger had supplied him with. It was light in his hands, and crumbled easily. Fickle, just like the Isorians.
“Where did they say we’d get the rest?”
Grun-Dar turned to Kullek, his second who had spoken. The rest of Grun-Dar’s squad examined the poor specimens they had been given with the same scorn. The mood was foul. Grun-Dar’s squad now numbered only five, the rest having been wiped out by the Algoryn forces that escaped into the tunnels. Grun-Dar had made the one that fell behind pay though, churning the reptilian’s insides into mulch with his drill. It had been a deserved death, and Grun-Dar wanted to enact it upon the remainder of the tenacious Alorgyn squadron that had eluded his grasp.
“The temple,” he replied, tossing the ore into the paltry pile they had been given. “She said the rest would be there.”
“I don’t trust them,” Kullek grunted. “Those Isorians are a rare sort. And those tentacles aren’t natural.”
Grun-Dar spat a mass of dirt-ridden phlegm onto the dusty ground. The air was heavy, and even Grun-Dar, an experienced miner accustomed to the hazardous environs of bio-drilling, found it harder to breathe on Ylaris. The planet was irradiated beyond hope, but the Boromites had a high resilience to any and all kinds of chemicals, centuries of mining in toxic environments warping their biological make up. “They said they’d pay us, and after the past few days, we deserve it.”
“We do,” Kullek replied, “we’ve done enough of their dirty work.” He kicked at an ore sample near his foot and it crumbled into fragments. “Digging those transmats free, that was the easy part. They never told us the Algoryn would show.”
“We’ll get them too,” Grun-Dar reassured his companion. “The Guild Mother forgets nothing.”
“Let’s just hope it’s soon.” Kullek cast the specimen in his hand aside wantonly. “Pathetic,” he murmured. “Sooner we get off this rock the better.”
“And where would we go then?”
Kullek shrugged. “There’s a nice contract going in the Xavian system. Harvesting planetary lava streams. Wouldn’t mind an easy job like that for a time.”
“We’ll get this one over with first.” Grun-Dar tossed the useless ore away. Time to get paid properly, he decided. “Squad, move out.”
They left the caves, entering into the twilight of the planet. Days were long on Ylaris, the orbit around the planet’s one remaining sun taking the better part of forty-six hours. The atmosphere was odd, the air thick with more than just radiation, and Grun-Dar wondered how such a desolate, backward world had ever been so close to the outskirts of a Gate and yet advanced so little. They descended the slopes, their heavy footfalls echoing in the small valleys. In the distance, Grun-Dar could see the vague outlines of the planet’s former settlements, un-illuminated silhouettes that invaded the horizon. A planet of darkness. It almost made him shudder.
“How far is this place again?” Kullek rasped.
“Not far.” Grun-Dar pointed a massive finger ahead. “In the middle of those trees somewhere. She said they would send out a signal. We should pick it up soon.”
“I don’t like it,” Kullek reinforced.
Neither did Grun-Dar, but he remained stoic. The Isorians troubled him too, with or without their ominous armor affixed with spindly tentacles. They were an odd breed, a collaboration of alien and human tech that was as disconcerting as it was frightening in power. Their language was forebodingly delicate, spoken in hurried whispers and through riddle. They must have been persuasive in their jitterings, for Grun-Dar’s Guild Mother had accepted the contract and so Grun-Dar found himself on Ylaris, doing what he and his diggers did best. Only something set him ill at ease.
“That it?” Kullek piped.
They had been walking for some time, time that had passed unexpectedly swiftly for Grun-Dar. His gang was separated out, the hulking Scukkar taking point. Kullek was beside him, and ahead the towering ruin waited.
“Any signal?” Grun-Dar asked Scukkar, who reached into his pouch with a massive gnarled hand to reveal his surface detector. Two bleeps later and he nodded back to his commander. “The ore should be here then,” Grun-Dar said, but readied his mag gun all the same, advancing cautiously. “Keep your eyes open. I don’t trust those tentacled bastards one bit.”
They advanced through the gloom, entering the ruined structure with caution, each one of the bulky soldiers alert and uncertain.
***
A thundering roar roused Kale from her slumber. Instinctively she reached for her holster to draw her gun, but all too late remembered it was gone. A crash sounded seconds later, followed by guttural voices. Boromites.
Drawing her combat dagger, Kale adopted a stealth position on her haunches, crawling breathlessly toward the ruined door. Her ribs still stung and her head throbbed mercilessly. The soldier in her overrode those mere physical trifles however, and Kale took in her surroundings. The mutterings ceased, and she could hear heavy footfalls marching away. Carefully, she leaned her head against the door, peering through the cracks, seeing through her hazed visor the muscled forms of Boromite warriors stomp away.
“Responding Leader Kale, call 8-0-9-2, what’s your status?”
The call took her by surprise. Not that it had been sent, but because it was on an open interface, an open shard.
A shard that the Boromites heard.
As one, the brutes turned and headed straight for Kale’s door.
Combat adrenaline kicked in. Drawing her combat blade, Kale sliced futilely at the granite hide of the closest Boromite, the thin weapon sizzling off his active reflex shielding. The brute swiped left in fury, but Kale dodged his clumsy blow easily, lancing up with her weapon again, this time penetrating his energy field and drawing blood on the softer flesh of the Boromites forearm. He grunted in pain. Next to him another Boromites opened fire with a mag gun. The shots glanced off Kale’s armor, who spun rapidly to assault the shooter with a flurry of blows. The Boromite ceased fire and used his gun as a club to swat away the crimson soldier’s strikes, which despite the fury of Kale’s sudden assault were becoming laborious. She was tiring. Behind the brute she was futilely stabbing, Kale could see an opening; a low hole in the wall where she could escape.
