Quake (25 page)

Master

Durell led Jam into a huge stone chamber decorated with tapestries and burning brands in iron brackets. Set in the floor, scooped from the rock was a large sunken pit lined with huge blocks of rectangular stone, measuring maybe ten metres by ten. There were intricate old weathered carvings set roughly in some of the blocks lining the pit; the floor was criss-crossed with grooves and gutters leading to wider channels feeding off around the edges.

Gol stepped into the chamber and Jam’s copper eyes locked onto the large grey-bearded man. Jam saw Gol swallow, hard, and walk tentatively around him to reach Durell’s side.

‘Is he safe?’

‘Yes.’

‘I fucking hope so ...’

‘I will show you.’

Across the chamber, through a narrow stone arch, came Kattenheim. He held a man by the arm, a man who seemed deflated, beaten, withdrawn. As they walked his head came up and his stare widened in horror as he saw Jam—

‘Fuck, no,’ he gasped.

Kattenheim heaved the man into the pit, where he landed heavily before scrambling to his feet, pushing his back against the stone of the wall. His gaze roved wildly searching for an avenue of escape. Kattenheim lifted a huge-bladed axe and tossed it into the pit where it clattered with a shower of sparks against the stone. The man scrambled forward, lifting the weapon. He understood the game.

‘This is Scarlet, a former captain of the Australian SAS and latterly of Spiral, DemolSquad 142. We captured him and a few others of his ilk in Tibet on a mission that went badly wrong.’ Durell reached out, patted Gol’s shoulder, smiled a hidden smile. ‘Don’t worry. Watch.’

‘Come on, you fuckers,’ Scarlet was screaming, anger firing him into action, brandishing the large-headed axe in both hands and readying himself for battle.

‘Kill him,’ said Durell softly.

Jam’s triangular head tilted, dark copper eyes fixing on Durell. Then, with a hiss, he leapt into the pit and strode towards the man swinging the axe. The axe whirled, then smashed down.

Jam spun, ducking low under the sweep of the heavy blade, and powered a right hook straight against Scarlet’s jaw that sent the man spinning to the ground to lie stunned. The axe clattered uselessly against stone. Silence suddenly reigned.

Jam paced up and down, seemingly unsure. Then he leapt into the air, both armoured feet coming down with a heavy crunch on Scarlet’s head. The Spiral man’s skull cracked open, spilling liquid pulped brains into the kill channels. Jam’s face lifted questioningly to Durell.

‘Athletic,’ said Kattenheim softly, red eyes watching the proceedings with interest. ‘Much faster than the other Scorp.’

‘Summon the Nex.’

Three Nex warriors were called and they arrived, wearing their tight black suits and thin boots, and carrying Armalite X sub-machine guns. They stood silently, waiting, copper-eyed stares fixed on Durell. Gol forced himself not to take a step back. He set his face in the cold stone mask of the stoic.

‘You are unsure?’ asked Durell.

‘Let us see,’ said Gol softly.

‘Kill it,’ snapped Durell, pointing at Jam.

The three Nex moved swiftly apart, Armalite X guns lifting and opening fire. Dozens of 5.62mm rounds screamed across the chamber, striking sparks from stone. Jam leapt high into the air, bullets spinning and whining beneath him. He twisted in mid-flight, kicked off from one bare stone wall and landed suddenly among the Nex—

The Armalites ceased firing.

Jam punched left, then right - he flexed his arms and spikes rippled upright. He slashed them across the first Nex - ripping its face clean off. It fell, screaming, to one knee, blood pumping between its fingers. More bullets spat from muzzles. Jam whirled low, kicking the legs from under a retreating Nex and then slamming his fist through its back to explode in a slurry of purple from its chest. His free hand plucked the Armalite X from its twitching fingers, and with his fist still embedded in its ribcage and with bullets skimming past his head Jam fired off the magazine’s contents into the third Nex’s face. He watched emotionlessly as it collapsed into a smoking heap.

Cordite smoke drifted lazily.

Jam withdrew his fist with a slurping noise from the still-twitching Nex and it collapsed, spewing blood that ran down the walls into the kill trough and along the channels designed to carry away the detritus of slaughter.

Jam calmly found a fresh mag from the Nex’s ammo belt and moved towards the Nex without a face. It was making a low keening sound and rocking on its knees. Jam filled its head full of scything metal and then allowed the Armalite X to clatter to the stone floor, his eyes lifting to stare at Durell and a snarl flickering across lips that had once been human.

‘Well done, my child,’ said Durell softly.

‘I thought they were supposed to fight
inside
the kill trough?’ said Gol, having felt the passing of bullets and looking at the blood on his boots and lower trousers.

‘Jam improvised,’ said Durell. ‘What think you, Kattenheim?’

The German ex-para nodded in appreciation. ‘Strength, speed, agility, improvisation, lack of mercy. Ideal. A beautiful weapon to turn against Spiral...’

‘And the DemolSquads,’ said Gol softly.

‘One final test.’

‘Is that necessary?’

‘Oh yes,’ said Durell.

Kattenheim disappeared, then returned with a small group of Nex soldiers. Between them they dragged a woman and three children - and without breaking stride they tossed them into the kill trough. Durell watched with amusement as two of the children became hysterical upon seeing streams of blood down the wall and the split-skulled corpse of Scarlet. The woman cradled them to her, covering their faces. She glared up at the small gathering with hatred across her face.

‘An innocent family, how sweet. A positive example of what the human race can achieve - pinnacles of organic evolution,’ said Durell softly, smiling sardonically. ‘Jam - kill them.’

‘But...’ hissed Gol, his head turning—

Jam leapt forward into the pit and, arms glistening with human and Nex blood and gore and brains, moved towards the cowering family. His dark eyes surveyed them, head swaying a little, and tiny spikes sprang up along one heavily muscled and armoured forearm.

‘Is this necessary, Durell?’

Durell’s slitted eyes gleamed. ‘Death is always necessary,’ he said, his words forming sombre lyrics to the music of anguished screams and gurgles that followed.

Gol sat in the room which he used for meditation. The castle in which Durell now based his operations was huge. Built of grey stone many hundreds of years previously, and modified by Durell to certain very specific details, it held an ancient feel; the walls were thick and designed to repel invaders, and much of the decor - oil paintings, tapestries, Swiss and Austrian furniture, thick German rugs scattered throughout the many stone corridors and rooms - was original. Huge black iron brackets lined the walls. Windows were edged with lead and rattled in high winds.

Gol was seated on the large bed, naked, legs crossed, eyes closed. Rain howled against the windows, but he was switched off from the current reality; in his meditation he relived his past—

Running, running ... pursued by the Nex. He could hear the sweep of the Comanche’s rotors overhead, hear the whine of its LHTec engines, feel the presence of the Nex and their submachine guns close behind his sprinting form - with his arms pumping, fist holding the precious silver disk with the schematics for the QIII processor. He had done the honourable thing, done the only thing he could to protect the information and give Spiral a chance of winning the war
—

Sacrifice ...

He leapt from the clifftop. Into the narrow chasm with the glittering river far below.

A Nex ran over the cliff behind him, not because of any programmed response but through a lack of ability to kill its speed.

Gol fell, wind tearing through his beard and hair— Tears flowed across his cheeks and were snatched away by the wind of his fall—

Something hit him in the back of the head, and twisting mid-fall Gol saw the Nex trying to lift its sub-machine gun, copper-eyed stare fixed impassively on his face and its single focused intent obvious—

It would not let him live.

It wanted to place a bullet in his face - as extra security in case the impact following the fall didn’t kill him.

Free-falling, the glittering river speeding close, Gol lifted back his mighty fist and delivered a thundering left hook. Blood spurted from the Nex’s mouth, along with a tooth, and Gol hit it again - and again. Bullets suddenly howled as the Nex pulled the trigger. Gol reached out, grabbing the hot barrel. It scorched his flesh and bullets flashed off over his left shoulder, cutting lines in the stone walls of the flashing, speeding canyon—

They grappled, spinning.

Gol pulled the Nex close, slamming his head into its face once, twice, three times, four times - until it went limp and they were spinning, spinning and falling and the river loomed up suddenly close and frighteningly real and—

They plunged below the waters, the Nex first, Gol wrapped closely in the creature’s loose embrace. The force of the impact seemed to knock all life from Gol. Blackness swamped him, and he felt the second impact against the river bottom with a blow of pain pounding through every limb. He felt the Nex’s body come apart beneath him, and felt his own frame smashed against the river bed like a corpse flung by the sea at an unforgiving wall of rock—

Blackness poured like dark honey into his mind.

And then ... nothing.

Gol had awoken on the river bank, both cliffs towering far above. Ten Nex stood around him, their copper eyes staring into his face.

‘Is it dead?’

‘Not yet.’

Cold laughter rippled.

‘Drag it to the truck. Durell might want to question it.’

Gol caught a glimpse of the silver disk, the disk he had given his life to protect, shoved beneath dark grey clothing. He was dragged along the ground and heaved into the back of a truck where pain screamed at him from every part of his battered body. Unconsciousness claimed him.

Darkness, as violent jolts hammered through the truck’s suspension. Gol kept his eyes tight shut and did an internal diagnostic. He could feel both legs and one arm broken, and something was wrong with his spine. He also thought his jaw was broken. The jolts from the truck did not help. They fed the pain a diet of need and Gol welcomed the darkness when it finally - eventually - came once again.

When he awoke, bright lights were shining into his face.

‘This will hurt a little,’ said Mace, smiling down as the needle slid into Gol’s throat. The burning came over him as a rush and he screamed as Durell approached, copper eyes staring down with a hint of... compassion ...

‘Welcome back, my oldest friend.’

‘Fuck you, Durell, you are a traitor ...’

‘Ahh ... we will speak again in a little while. Mace, take the sample for the clone.’

‘Yes, sir.’

The pain had consumed Gol as the liquid burned through his veins and the insects filled up his mouth. Then he was eaten and swallowed and raped by the Avelach.

Gol opened his eyes in the present - and breathed calmly. Rain clattered against the windows and the night had fallen as Gol had relived his transformation from human to Nex.

He smiled.

Strange, he mused, how betrayal is all about perspective.

But now he was Nex, now he was part of Durell’s army - and now he could see everything clearly.

And still ...

Something was wrong: a splinter in his brain, a tumour in his soul. He knew now that he was fighting for the right side and that becoming a Nex had saved his life and transformed him into a superior life form - even if they had used different experimental inhibitors so that his Nex status was slightly - how would they describe it? - different. They would destroy the evil named Spiral. They would turn it, as Durell had said, into a New Eden. They would rule, and they would be like gods looking down from Olympus ...

Gol smiled.

His body relaxed.

He felt the slow pulse of blood through his Nex veins.

Gol uncurled from his meditative crouch and leapt to the floor. He padded over and poured himself a brandy, allowing the liquid fire to scorch his throat and warm his belly.

Something disturbed him.

Gol wasn’t like the other Nex.

He didn’t crave the cold, like the other Nex.

And although his emotions were subdued, he still felt empathy to a greater extent than the cold copper-eyed killers ...

And his eyes—

Something had happened - or, more importantly, had
not
happened to his eyes. Most Nex had copper orbs, a side-product of the inhibitors used and the Blending process ... but for some reason, this physical transformation had not affected Gol—

And it set him apart.

He was different.

A mongrel among pure-breed Nex.

Gol moved to the window, staring out at the rain. He sipped his brandy and the face of Natasha popped into his head, surprising him. My long-lost love, he thought with a wry smile. My child, I wonder where you are now? I wonder what you are doing?