Uprising, page 16
The Ambot glanced at its blackened limb, as though unable to quite process the injury. Then it raised its undamaged claw, unleashing a second blast of heat. She ducked beneath it, feeling her face blister, and the air filled with the stench of singed hair. The machine turned to follow, its mandibles clicking in what could almost have been frustration. She ducked behind it again, trying to keep the lumbering beast between the carts. She was tiring, and clumsy as the machine was, it never tired, never stopped.
But something was wrong.
It was slowing, its movements sluggish, as though wading through water. Metal scraps slithered from its path as the machine staggered, servos creaking as they pressed against some unseen force.
The miners had activated the upturned minecarts, and the Ambot was caught between them in a magnetic bubble.
She turned, vaulting over the barricade. The miners were adjusting the outputs, trying to pull the creature apart. The nearest looked at her and shook his head; the generator was at full power, but they could only slow the beast, not stop it.
She sought a weapon.
There. Behind the generator: a discarded harpoon, cable still attached.
She called to Tanner, who was now running the generator.
‘On my signal, cut the power. Then get ready to run it through the cable.’
He nodded.
The Ambot could not comprehend the strange force exerted on it, robbing the strength from its limbs, but the machine must have been aware enough to recognise the settlers as a threat. It raised its remaining weapon, and a surge of heat lashed against the minecart, the frame warping and buckling as the miners hurled themselves away from the blast. As the metal bubbled the cart shut down, distorting the magnetic field. The Ambot was suddenly off balance, staggering as the remaining carts dragged it backwards. Instinctively it strained against the force, claws tearing into the bedrock as it sought to drag itself forwards.
She strode to meet it, a step from the magnetic bubble, the harpoon raised, cable trailing behind her.
The Ambot hissed, redoubling its efforts, scrabbling towards her. As it struggled to its feet she raised the harpoon.
‘Now!’ she said.
Suddenly the field was gone. The Ambot surged forwards, off balance. As it fell she lunged to meet it, driving the improvised spear into the machine’s sensor bank. She tried to leap clear, but the wounded automata landed a glancing blow, the impact sending her sprawling. She landed heavily, rolling to a knee, clutching her shoulder.
The machine rose, the harpoon still embedded in its faceplate, a cable dangling from it. The Ambot hissed, lumbering towards her, its sawblades whirring in anticipation. It ignored the miners scrabbling with power outlets, their intentions quite beyond it. Its mandibles twitched one last time in anticipation. It raised its fist to deliver the killing blow.
Tanner threw the switch.
The workshop’s generator sent a surge of power down the cable, through the harpoon and straight into the Ambot’s sensor bank. The machine stiffened, servos locking, its sensor lights flaring red, then white, then finally dimming to nothing.
Smoke wafted from its faceplate, and the beast was still.
Elissa crept through the narrow confines of the mine. She moved awkwardly, her ribs bruised from the stub-round. She couldn’t believe the old man had survived the headshot, but three more rounds in his chest had silenced him.
It had taken an age for the cage to descend. She’d half expected Caleb to have left some surprise for her – a shredder mine or plasma charge – but there was nothing. He was nothing, she kept reminding herself. This was merely a setback.
The mine stank, the fumes burning her lungs. She should have taken a respirator, but she’d never thought she’d need it. She’d considered waiting him out, except the mines were linked by walkways. If he found a way across she might never catch him.
She still had her long-las, but in the confines of the tunnels it was a clumsy weapon; the barrel was too long to negotiate the tight passageways. She’d tried strapping it to her back, but even then she found it catching on the tunnel walls. She debated stripping the rifle, but doing so would not only deprive her of her weapon but also slow her pursuit. She had a stub pistol holstered in her belt, along with the knife; perhaps she could leave the gun and press on without it?
But what if Caleb had hidden somewhere ahead?
If she left the weapon behind he might double back, retrieve the gun and wait for her to emerge from the tunnels.
Her heart was pounding. She took a breath, calming herself, choking back the worst of the fumes. She tried to remember what Garak the Seeker had told her during the hunt. He never needed a trail, he just followed the route he knew his prey would take. Caleb’s wrists were bound; that would limit his movement, especially climbing. They were heavy too, chained with thick iron. It would be hard to muffle the sound of those chains, especially if he tried to move quickly.
She slowed, holding her breath, listening.
There. The clank of metal. The echo made it hard to pinpoint the source, but she could tell which direction it came from, and followed the sound, her rifle catching against the tunnel walls. There were a dozen turnings, the entrances marked with coded symbols.
Which way?
She held her breath, waiting, the only sound the pounding of blood in her ears. Every instinct told her to run forward, that to hesitate was to risk losing him. But her father had told her that the mark of a great hunter was patience, knowing when to act and when to react. He must be tiring. Most likely he had found a hiding place somewhere and was waiting for her to move past him. A single step could give her presence away. She had to outlast him, let him think she had given up the search.
Footsteps. She spun, running as fast as she could, rifle held low. Ahead the tunnel branched in two, the right passageway blocked by broken pipes, the left clear. Something was painted on the wall above it: a red cross. She saw movement at its far end, a figure diving for cover. She darted down the tunnel, raising the rifle, trying to get a clear shot.
A stabbing pain lanced into her side.
She screamed, losing her grip on the rifle as something pierced her thigh. A whiplike coil spun out of the rock before her, slashing across her cheek and tearing a morsel of flesh. More were emerging along the corridor. Lashworms – the tunnel was infested.
She managed a half run, the muscle in her thigh protesting as blood pulsed from the wound. The corridor ended just ahead, less than a dozen strides away. She dived through, tumbling onto her side and rising awkwardly.
Something smashed into the side of her head. She staggered, somehow staying on her feet, raising her hands to shield her face. A second blow swept her defence aside, iron cracking her wrist, and she lost the feeling in her fingers. Through blurred eyes she saw Caleb lunge at her, his mouth covered by a respirator, swinging the iron padlock that secured his restraints like a club. She retaliated, launching an awkward right hook that glanced off his chin. A second caught his temple, staggering him. She tried to follow up, but he anticipated the third strike, ducking aside and wrapping the chain around her forearm. He twisted, rolling behind her and wrenching her arm across his shoulder.
Something tore in her elbow.
She screamed, snatching her knife with trembling fingers, slashing wildly, her training momentarily forgotten. The blade sheared across his hand. He gave a gratifying grunt of pain, releasing his grip on her arm. She stabbed again, the knife piercing just below his shoulder blade. He staggered but lashed out in return, driving his fingers into the wound in her thigh. Her leg gave and she fell to one knee, losing her grip on the knife, which remained embedded in his shoulder.
Caleb was moving awkwardly, hands still bound, unable to reach the knife in his shoulder. Elissa rose slowly. Only one leg could hold her weight and her right arm was near useless, her grip too weak to hold anything, but feeling was returning to the fingers of her left. She scrabbled, seeking the stubber, but the holster was empty, the weapon lost to the struggle.
She knew she was tiring, her strength seeping from a dozen wounds, but Caleb was not faring much better. Her gaze darted about the tunnel, seeking a weapon that could finish it, while Caleb backed away, retreating towards what appeared to be a chamber of rusted iron embedded in the rock, the metal buckled and tarnished by the poisonous fumes of the mine. She hobbled after him, slowed in part by the wound in her leg. Worse than that was the burning in her throat. The mine was killing her; she knew that now. But if she could kill him quickly there was still a chance: she could take the respirator and return to the Spire, her oath kept, her honour intact. So she pressed forwards, still scrabbling for a weapon, as though the pistol could somehow be lodged somewhere in her belt.
Her hand closed around a krak grenade.
It was risky. An explosion in the tunnels could crush them both. For all she knew the toxic fumes were flammable. But she was running out of time.
He ducked into the chamber, backing slowly to its centre. She edged closer, seeking an opening, but he continued to slink away from her, always just out of reach. Even though his mouth was covered by the respirator she could tell from his eyes he was smiling.
‘Are you feeling all right?’ he asked. ‘You look a little off colour.’
She darted forwards, hands raised to his throat, but he stepped into her, slamming his forehead into her face. She staggered, eyes watering, and barely avoided a kick aimed at her head. Caleb spun, off balance for a moment, but she was too dizzy to take advantage.
‘Seeing you like this reminds me of your father.’
She screamed, drawing strength from her fury, scrabbling for the knife still lodged in his shoulder. His thumb stabbed out again, piercing the wound in her side. She howled, collapsing, all her strength gone. Even shackled, even with a knife in his shoulder, he had won. She was too weak to pursue him, choked to death by something she couldn’t kill. Somehow he’d manoeuvred around her so she lay dying at the centre of the chamber, his back to the entrance.
He bowed to her, set to depart. Her fingers found the krak grenade again.
She managed a smile. She could still fulfil her oath.
She launched herself up one final time, grasping the chain binding his wrists and priming the grenade. But he twisted, thrashing like a beast, and the chain slipped from her blood-slick fingers. The explosive tumbled from her hand, bouncing once before coming to a stop in the centre of the chamber.
There came a moment that lasted a lifetime: Caleb disappearing into the tunnel beyond, footsteps pounding on the rock, the red light flashing on the grenade, counting down her final moments.
She saw her father on the day of the debutante ball, admiring her in her finery. She knew he was suffering then, his age finally catching up with him. But none would have known that from the speech he gave, the strength in his voice. He’d been so proud of her.
The explosion tore through the crumbling iron, unleashing a torrent of toxic sump-liquid distilled from the waters of Sinkhole. Elissa’s final thoughts before the wave struck her were of the glittering spires of House Harrow.
10
Caleb stared out across the emerald waters of the sump lake known as Sinkhole, his back pressed to the mineshaft that led down to the settlement of Hope’s End.
He sighed, lowering to his haunches, his hands crossed, fingers drumming against his wrist.
Beside him, Iktomi merely sat.
‘We’re going to die out here,’ Caleb mused. ‘You know that, right? After everything we’ve endured, we will finally meet our end in the middle of nowhere because a trawler didn’t bother showing up.’
‘He said he comes every three days.’
‘And if he doesn’t?’
‘Well, if you die first I can survive by eating your corpse.’
‘That’s what we’re reduced to? If you die first I get to eat you?’
She glanced at him, brow furrowed. ‘Sure,’ she said, turning away. ‘Why not?’
‘That’s if we even last long enough to starve,’ Caleb said. ‘This island doesn’t exactly look that stable.’
He was right enough. The island had been formed by jetsam floating across the toxic waters, a halo surrounding the entrance to the world below. He rose, gingerly picking his way across the island until he was near the edge. He prodded the uneven ground with his toe and a two-foot section broke off. It floated a few yards out into the lake before a score of tentacles emerged from the sump and lazily drew it beneath the waters.
‘Well, that’s encouraging,’ he said, stepping slowly away from the edge.
‘Try not to break the island.’
‘We should have stayed in Hope’s End,’ he complained. ‘At least for a while. We could have persuaded them to build us a raft.’
‘They wanted us gone.’
‘I could have talked them round,’ he said.
She raised an eyebrow. ‘The last time you talked them round it ended with two of them getting shot and us blowing up their main source of income.’
‘You’re focusing on the negative – the point is I talked them round.’
‘They let us go because it was easier. Let’s not do anything to change their minds.’
‘And we let them keep that Ambot,’ he continued. ‘Once they get that up and running it will change everything. We didn’t even charge our half fee either. All in all, I think they owe us – they could have at least given me a bottle of Wildsnake so I could die happy.’
‘Do you wish to go back and tell them?’
Caleb paused for a moment, recalling the passage below the sump, and the terrible creatures that prowled the depths of the toxic waters.
‘Stone would have let us stay,’ he said, taking a seat beside Iktomi. ‘Y’know... if he’d survived.’
‘You can’t be sure of that.’
‘No, I can’t. But I still wish he’d survived.’
‘He was a tough man,’ she said. ‘He died well.’
‘He was tough because about half of him was bionic. I have no idea how someone who lived down there could afford to be so extensively rebuilt. Did he used to be somebody important? Was there some other reason he was down there?’
She shrugged. ‘Everyone has a story.’
‘Yeah,’ Caleb murmured. ‘Harrow’s daughter certainly had a story in mind, and I’m pretty sure we were the villains of the piece. How strange is that?’
‘Sickening,’ Iktomi agreed. ‘If I’d met the girl I would have cut out her heart.’
‘Well, quite.’
They watched the sump lap against the shore, staining it green.
‘There’s still a bounty on my head,’ Caleb said. ‘I don’t know for sure who set it. That’s not good.’
‘Maybe you should learn to keep your head down?’
‘Maybe.’
‘And your mouth shut.’
‘You’re right,’ he said. ‘It would be better if we forgot this little adventure.’
‘No stories of your great deeds?’
‘None,’ he agreed. ‘Well… unless someone asks. I don’t want to be rude.’
‘They might ask about your nose.’
‘It’s crooked, isn’t it?’ he groaned, examining his face with his fingers. ‘I knew it. How bad does it look?’
‘That depends how vain you are.’
He thought for a moment. ‘Let’s assume excessively.’
‘Then maybe I should try and straighten it,’ she said, beckoning him closer.
He bent down. She took hold of his nose between thumb and forefinger.
‘Ready?’ she asked. Before he could answer there was a sharp crack and a surge of eye-watering agony. He swore, surging to his feet, his hands clasped to his face. She waited.
‘How does it look?’ he asked. ‘Better?’
She studied his face. ‘Better,’ she agreed. ‘But not quite what it used to be.’
‘I think I can live with that,’ he said. ‘I don’t think you get to be quite the same after something like this.’
They stared out across the sump. In the distance the silhouette of a barge was slowly drifting through the smog, the oarsman propelling it towards the island.
‘I’m sorry I got you into this,’ he said, as they watched the barge draw closer.
She shrugged.
‘And I’m sorry about your finger.’
She held up her bandaged hand to examine its three remaining fingers.
‘I didn’t use it much.’
They watched as the barge drew closer.
‘You didn’t have to stay,’ Caleb said. ‘When I let things get out of hand… it’s not your problem.’
‘I took an oath,’ she replied. ‘I swore that if I survived that journey through the Ash Wastes I would repay you, protect you in return.’
‘Yeah, but you’ve saved my life half a dozen times since.’
‘And yet you still need to be protected,’ she said. ‘Until that is no longer the case, or one of us dies, I will uphold my vow.’
Caleb frowned. ‘That was a poorly thought-out oath.’
‘I know,’ she sighed. ‘I was young and dying of exposure. Also, I had been bitten by many spiders.’
The barge rolled into place, the oarsman offering a smile as he extended the gantry. Caleb was about to board when Iktomi touched his shoulder.
‘We could keep going,’ she said, nodding across the waters. ‘Perhaps it’s safer on the other side of the lake?’
‘Didn’t you listen to the oarsman’s stories on our voyage here?’ he replied. ‘All that talk about beasts on the far shore who wear the faces of men? I think I’d rather face more bounty hunters.’
‘Those were just stories,’ she said as they stepped onto the barge.
‘Perhaps.’ Caleb shrugged, his gaze intent on the distant waters. ‘But a story is always a little true.’
