Deathstalker Rebellion (69 page)

Random edged over so he could put his mouth next to Specter Alice’s ear. “How long has this place been here?”

“Who knows? It’s been here longer than us, that’s for sure.”

“It’s wonderful.”

“Damn right. Perfect place for an ambush. We can control everything that happens down here. The Wolfes’ troops don’t even know what they’re walking into. Poor bastards. There will be blood and suffering, and the slaughter of our enemy. Now, shut up. They’ll be here soon. You can play tourist later when we’ve killed them all.”

The sound of approaching running feet came from above, and Random crouched down, gun in hand. It wouldn’t be the first time he’d turned a place of beauty and wonder into a battleground. He’d seen many wonders and marvels in his day, on many planets, and left them littered with the dead and the dying. For all his noble cause, he sometimes thought that the only real legacy he’d leave behind him was a bloody trail of death and destruction. And then the Wolfe and Church troops came pouring out into the cavern, led by the three Investigators, Barr, Edge, and Shoal, and there was no time left for introspection or regret. This was the killing time, the dance of the quick and the dead, and all in the name of the noble cause of rebellion.

The great cavern blazed with light as both sides opened up with energy weapons. The brilliant beams spat in a hundred directions, crisscrossing, ricocheting from the solid metal walls. There were screams and war cries and desperate orders as the Faithful and the Wolfe mercenaries scurried for cover. Rage and the need for revenge had brought them this far, running recklessly through the dark in pursuit of a mocking enemy, but the deadly energy beams brought them to a sudden halt, as though they’d slammed into a wall. Men fell dead and dying, sometimes screaming, sometimes not, and bodies littered the narrow paths, burning quietly. The survivors found hiding places from which to return fire, until the cavern finally fell silent as the energy weapons were exhausted. There was a pause, interrupted only by the moans of the wounded and the dying echoes. Then both sides drew their swords, emerged from their hiding places, and went out onto the misty cavern floor to meet each other.

The Rejects and their enemies slammed together, steel against steel, hand to hand. No quarter asked or given. This was a blood feud for the Faithful and the mercenaries now. For the Rejects, it always had been. The two sides pressed endlessly forward, breasting the yellow mist like a tide, with no place for caution or second thoughts. Swords clashed and blood flew, and the great floor of the chamber became a mass of struggling figures.

Random and Ruby fought back-to-back, as always, unbeatable and unstoppable. Storm fought doggedly behind them, swinging his sword with the studied deliberate skill of many years’ experience. Enemies swirled around the three of them, but could not bring them down. Ruby Journey killed and killed and laughed aloud, in her element at last. Random fought with a cold, focused precision, concerned only with ending the fighting as soon as possible. He fought for his cause and took no pleasure in the killing. He burned that out of him long ago. Storm struggled on, already gasping for breath, his sword seeming to grow heavier with every blow and parry. After all, he was only human.

Finally, almost inevitably, the three most famous fighters of the rebellion found themselves facing off with the three greatest fighters of the Empire forces, the Investigators Barr, Edge, and Shoal. The milling crowd seemed almost to part to bring them together, as though they were the microcosm by which the greater struggle would be decided. Edge faced off against Ruby, Barr against Random, Shoal against Storm. They paused with something like mutual respect and then threw themselves at each other. Blades crashed and sprang apart, and then the greater crush of fighting bodies slowly separated the three couples and carried them away from each other.

Random put his back against a metal stalactite and held his ground as Edge hammered at him with his sword. Random dodged the blows he could and parried those he couldn’t, content to let the Investigator tire himself out. Except that Edge didn’t get tired. Instead, the Investigator’s strength seemed to grow with every blow as his fury grew with every failed attack. His mouth was stretched in a mirthless smile, and his eyes were dark and wild. Random ducked deep to avoid a double-handed swing, and Edge’s blade sheared clean through the tip of the metal stalactite behind him. It came to Random that fighting defensively against an
Investigator was a good way to get yourself killed, Maze-improved or not.

He boosted, feeling the blood hammer through his veins and thunder in his head, and launched himself at Edge. He fell back a step, startled, and then held his ground and would not be moved, for all of Random’s boosted strength and speed. He was, after all, an Investigator, and even an aging Investigator was a match for most things the universe could send against him. That was his job. But Random had been through the Madness Maze, and he wasn’t like most things in the universe anymore. He smiled, very sanely, into Edge’s crazy grin, and let his guard drop just a little. Edge’s sword flew forward instantly, to take advantage of the opening. And Random’s free hand came up impossibly quickly, slapping the blade to one side. For an endless moment they stood together, Edge wide open and knowing it, and then Random’s sword slammed into Edge’s chest and punched out his back. Edge let out a small bark of pain, blood spraying from his grimacing mouth, and then he sank to his knees as the strength went out of him. Random pulled his sword free, and Edge collapsed onto his face, as though only the sword had been holding him up. Random decapitated him anyway, just in case. Edge was an Investigator, after all.

Ruby boosted the moment she realized her opponent was an Investigator. Barr might be the oldest of the three, but he was still far more dangerous than most men could ever be. So she dared him into a
corps a corps
, faces close together over crossed blades, and then she spat in his left eye. And in that split second while he was distracted, she pulled a knife from her belt and stuck it between his ribs. She felt blood gush out over her hand before he pushed himself back and away from her. She launched a furious attack, with all her boosted strength and speed behind it, and he backed away, step-by-step. Blood poured down his side with every movement, but still he wouldn’t give in to the dreadful wound in his side, parrying her every blow, his face calm and unmoved. In the end Ruby had to use all her strength to beat aside his blade and all her speed to bring the edge of her sword flashing back across his exposed throat.

Blood spurted, splashing her face. She stepped back, wiping it off her forehead so it wouldn’t run down into her eyes. She smiled as she saw her cut had sliced half through his neck, and then the smile faded as she realized Barr was still
standing. He was an Investigator, and he was damned if he’d go down into the dark without taking his enemy with him. He threw himself at her, his sword swinging around in an unstoppable arc. Ruby dropped to one knee and ducked under it. Her head jerked slightly as Barr’s blade cut off a chunk of her hair. She thrust her sword deep into Barr’s belly. He grunted once and backed away, pulling himself off the transfixing blade. Ruby let go of her sword and surged up off her knee. She grabbed Barr’s head between both her hands, forced him over backward, and slammed the back of his head down onto the jagged tip of a metal stalactite. It slammed through his head and the point burst up out of his right eye. Barr convulsed and then was finally still, the breath going out of him in a long frustrated sigh. Ruby retrieved her sword, breathing hard, and then looked Barr over carefully from a safe distance, just in case. He had been an Investigator, after all. Satisfied that he really was dead at last, Ruby leaned over and kissed him on the bloody lips, then straightened up and looked around to see how Random was doing.

The battle was pretty much over. The rebels had had the advantages of position and surprise, and a familiarity with the killing ground. For all their experience and their fury, the Faithful and the Wolfe mercenaries never stood a chance. Most were dead. The few survivors had formed a defiant group around the one surviving Investigator, Shoal. Ruby moved to stand beside Random facing her. Neither of them mentioned Storm. Shoal looked from one to the other, her sword dripping blood, and then she grinned quickly, turned, and darted up an unguarded path and out of die cavern. The others scrambled after her, and the Rejects let them go. Someone had to tell the Wolfes of the great rebel victory.

The battle was over. The Rejects moved among the wounded, dispassionately finishing off the enemy and doing what they could for their own kind. They had no place for prisoners in the underground, and the long journey to the Sisters of Mercy would kill them anyway. Random and Ruby put away their swords and went to look for Alexander Storm, a swordsman long past his best last seen facing off against Investigator Shoal. They moved among the bodies, occasionally turning them over to study the blood-flecked faces, but he wasn’t there. They eventually found him hiding in a concealed hollow, well away from the main action. He
wasn’t hurt. He looked up at them, and in his face there was only anger and resentment.

“I ran,” he said defiantly. “So would any sane man, faced with an Investigator. I’m not inhumanly fast and strong, like you. I was no match for her, and we both knew it. So I turned and ran, and she let me go. She had more important things to do. After all, how dangerous could one old fool be?”

“You were doing fine until she came along,” said Random. “You were fighting just like you used to.”

“I was tired and hurting, and I couldn’t get my breath. I can’t fight like I used to anymore. I’m an old man past his prime. Just like you used to be. Only you’re not, anymore. Are you?”

“Alex …”

“I saw you fighting. No one’s that fast or that strong. Not even the Jack Random of legend. I don’t recognize you anymore, Jack. What are you? A Fury? A Hadenman? An alien? Because I don’t think you’re human anymore.”

“I’m your friend,” said Random. “Just as I always have been.”

“No you’re not. You’re looking younger all the time. No one can stand against you, not even Investigators. Whatever you are now, you have nothing in common with the likes of me anymore. Maybe you did die when the Empire had you, after all. Or at least the Jack Random I used to know.”

He pushed past them and walked away. Random started after him. “Alex, please … I need you.”

Ruby stopped him with a hand on his arm. “Let him go. He’s right. We’re not the people we used to be. We’re better. And you don’t need him. You’ve got me.”

Random looked at the bloody mask of her face for a long moment. “Yes,” he said finally. “I’ve got you.”

Mother Beatrice of the Sisters of Mercy held the flap of the hospital tent open so that the stretcher-bearers could bring in more wounded. There were many gravely injured after the unexpected rebel attack, and already the tent was full to overflowing. There was already no room left for cot beds. Beatrice had had them thrown out, to pack more wounded in. Now they lay shoulder to shoulder on bloody sheets, screaming and moaning and whimpering and waiting to die. The stench of blood and vomit and naked guts was al
most overpowering, despite all the disinfectant the Sisters were splashing around. Beatrice knew she’d get used to it after a while, but that didn’t help her now. The smell made her head spin, and she clutched at the tent flap for support. Or maybe it was just the hopelessness of it all. Beatrice and her people were doing all they could, knowing as they did that most of the time it wasn’t going to be enough. After Toby’s broadcast, drugs and plasma and medical supplies had come flooding in from the Sisterhood and other charities, as well as the reluctant Wolfes, but no more doctors or nurses. Technos III wasn’t that important, and they were needed elsewhere. No one had foreseen a bloodbath like this. She’d never seen so many casualties from one battle. Normally, they just died. Her new resources meant Beatrice could keep more of the wounded alive, but that meant a greater strain on her still limited space and supplies. Damn the rebels. Damn the Wolfes. And damn her for coming here because she thought she could make a difference.

Beatrice wiped at her sweaty forehead with the back of her hand, not knowing she left a crimson smear behind from her bloodstained hand. When she thought of what she could do with a real med lab and real equipment, it made her feel sick and useless, so mostly she tried not to think about it and got on with what she could do. She pushed her tiredness aside and went back into the tent. Back into hell. She made her way slowly down the length of the tent, stepping over bodies and patients, helping the doctors and the nurses where she could. Even if it only meant holding a patient’s hand or placing a cool hand on a fevered brow. Sometimes she had to help hold a man down while the doctors operated. They were saving the anesthetics for those who wouldn’t survive the shock of extended surgery. For quick in-and-out jobs they usually just gave the poor bastard something to bite on. To muffle the screams as much as anything.

She moved on, doing what she could, praying silently to her God for strength. The bodies were being carried away almost as soon as they stopped breathing. Partly because they needed the space for the living, but mostly because the Wolfes were storing the bodies for future use as organ donors. They’d paid for the mercenaries’ services, so they owned the bodies. And far be it for the Wolfes to overlook a source of profit. Of course, none of the wounded here would benefit. Transplants were for officer class only.
Beatrice gritted her teeth to keep from swearing. Or crying. It was important that she didn’t appear upset or worried. She had to look calm and confident, as though everything was under control. The patients needed to believe that. The poor bloody bastards.

She moved on, her shoes squelching in pools of blood and other fluids. The stench from open gut wounds and those who’d fouled themselves in dying was almost overpowering. And then she stopped, as it seemed to her she recognized a face. She knelt down beside the twitching, delirious man and frowned thoughtfully. Half of his left arm was missing, severed above the elbow. He’d taken other sword hits, too. Beatrice bit her lip. Of course she knew the face. She’d seen it often enough in the factory complex. This wasn’t a Church soldier or a mercenary. This was a clone. And since the Empire didn’t allow clones to use weapons, this had to be an escaped clone. Presumably, a rebel from the recent assault. She shrugged and got to her feet. She was a Sister of Mercy, and all were welcome here. And to hell with what the Wolfes said. She beckoned to the nearest nurse.