The IX Page 13

  Lex snorted. As if we have any choice.

  He watched as the highlanders loped easily along beside them. Glistening with sweat, they appeared to revel in the challenge of keeping up with the rest of the patrol. From time to time, they would range out onto a hillock to survey the land ahead or behind. Adjusting the magnification on their sunglasses, they would then look for telltale signs of Horde activity, and communicate with each other by whistles and hand signs. They’re a fierce bunch, and tough. I think we’ll be very glad to have them at our back in a fight.

  Peeking toward his captain out of the corner of his eye, Lex couldn’t prevent himself adding, and they might even protect us from cowardly snakes-in-the-grass like him when things turn nasty.

  The rumble of approaching hooves resonated through the air. Wilson Smith’s platoon was returning from their latest sweep, and the second lieutenant was making no effort to remain quiet. Horses came into view. Shouldering their way through a patch of head-high grass, they broke free and made a beeline for the main body of the patrol.

  “What news?” Houston snapped.

  Wilson shook his head and cast his eyes downward in resignation. “We cleared the ridge leading onto the Thunder Plain, but we didn’t see a soul. I even managed to make out the hills rising toward the Rainbow Cathedral, but nothing’s moving there, either. If the Horde is about, and these glasses work like they said they would, the monsters must be hiding.”

  “They’re there, all right,” Red Buchan grumbled, “I can feel it in my bones. In the air. Can’t you? Fey creatures have our scent, and the bitter tang of dark metal holds them in thrall. They dread its presence and keep their distance, but not for long. Their hunger is rising. Soon, it will outweigh their fear.”

  Rumblings of agreement echoed through the tartan-clad warriors who had heard the statement.

  “Well, I don’t give a damn about their hunger.” Houston’s tone was condescending and unfriendly. “Let them come. They’ll find our Spencer carbines picking them off before they get within a hundred yards of us.”

  Wheeling his horse about, he faced Lex. “Lieutenant. Take your detachment and made a wider sweep. If there’s still nothing, swing toward the Issamun Canyon. Sub-Commander De Lacey tells me that since they started their diamond runs, there’s always a concentration of brutes in that area. Let’s see if we can flush them out, eh?”

  While you’re safely back here. Aloud, Lex replied, “Yes, Sir. Do you want me to lead them to you, or engage them myself?”

  Houston tried to look thoughtful. And failed. “Test them first. If our bullets are as effective as we hope, send a scout to advise us. Then we can prepare a little trap for you to lead them into.” His face lit up as he had an idea. “The dry riverbed we ran across this morning should do nicely. It’ll conceal us from line of sight and hopefully they’ll be so intent on eating you, they won’t realize we’re there until it’s too late.”

  The riverbed? That’s another eight miles in the wrong direction, away from the city. “Certainly, Sir, I’ll prepare my men now. Which clan would you like to come with us?”

  “Oh, I’ll keep the highlanders here, Lieutenant Fox. Let them rest up a bit. We wouldn’t want any unfortunate accidents to occur because people got exhausted now, would we?”

  Turning away to hide his disgust, Lex started issuing orders.

  Within minutes, First Platoon was ready to deploy. As they formed up in file, Lex called to his officers. “Sergeant Rixton? Corporal Williams? A word, please.”

  Taking them to one side, he continued, “Keep things tight out there. I don’t care what the captain says. I trust the highlanders’ instincts. They’re more attuned to the land than the rest of us . . . even if we are on some new weird and godforsaken world a lifetime away from home. When we go out, we’re going to form our own sub-patrol. Rixton, you’ll lead the first ranging. Take your section and divide them into squads. Arrange them in compass point formation about the column, a hundred yards out. Any sign of trouble, hightail it back and we’ll take on the Horde together. No heroics. Williams? Ensure your men are rested. You’ll swap positions every half hour. Understood?”

  “Sir!” Both men replied.

  Lex had turned away when a voice made him jump.

  “And what about my fighters, laddie?”

  “Jesus!” Lex gasped. “Red. I didn’t hear you sneak up. What the hell are you talking about?”

  “I’m asking you, where you would like my . . . or should I say Searc’s clan to go? They’re more rested than we are and have volunteered for a wee stroll.”

  Lex was confused. “I’m sorry, Red. I thought the captain just ordered your men to stay with the main patrol?”

  “Ah, forget what that blithering idiot said, boy. We highlanders don’t take our orders from him. In his wisdom, Commander Cameron gave us free rein as to how to acclimatize our own people. We chose to come on this expedition so the men could get a little exercise. And Searc has decided his Vacomagi need to stretch their legs. If by a strange coincidence they happen to jog off in the same direction as you, well there isn’t much his grand ass-wipe can do about it, is there?”

  Lex couldn’t prevent a huge grin from lighting up his face. Leaning down in his saddle, he whispered, “Then by all means, do thank Searc Calhoun and his clan on my behalf.” Jerking his chin toward the north, he added, “Please ask him to stretch his legs in that direction. We should meet up within the hour.”

  Red returned the smile and sloped away. Lex muttered, “Thank God for Commander Cameron.”

  Red heard the comment. Over his shoulder he called, “Don’t thank God, laddie. Thank Caledonia. Cameron’s a highland name. The man has the salt of the earth running through his veins. Of course he’d be disposed to making wise decisions.”

  *

  (Boleni Heights—6 miles southwest of Rhomane)

  The hairs on the back of Mac’s neck prickled. He couldn’t honestly say if it was due to the effects of the obscure puissance pulsing through his stealth armor, or the presence of the nightmare apparitions in front of him.

  Roughly humanoid in shape, Mac judged them to exceed ten feet in height. It was hard to tell because they had no defined parameters. Comprised of a confusing blend of shadow and nothing, the actual proximity of each specimen was revealed by their constant expressions of hunger and passion. Each time they rumbled or howled, an angry skein of shimmering blue-black and orange-red energy skittered through what passed for their bodies, defining their matrixes and exposing a horrific array of horns, talons, and teeth.

  If they remained quiet, the only way you could spot them with the naked eye was by the distortion wave their presence generated in the ether. It looked to Mac as if he were viewing cryptic objects through a prism.

  He flipped through the settings on his HUD, and broadcast the results simultaneously over his covert radio. “Now trying infrared. Ultraviolet. Sonics. Aha! Gotcha, you bugger.” No wonder these monsters were able to take people by surprise. They barely register. “Four Troop, listen up. The Horde’s biometric frequencies absorb most forms of energy. No surprise there. However, their mere presence creates a deformation of the atmosphere. Switch to sonic motion diffusers. It seems to define their silhouettes much more precisely. You’ll see what I mean.

  “Sam? Liaise with the command vehicle and patch your screen through to their console. Make sure they and our Native American friends don’t miss this.”

  He waited while his team carried out his instructions.

  Moments later, several gasps alerted Mac to the fact that the others were now viewing what had appalled him. “Yes, ladies and gentlemen,” he said, “say hello to our enemy.”

  “Jesus, Mac,” Mark Stevens exclaimed, “have we walked in on a photo shoot for Demons Illustrated, or what? They look like the monster from that sci-fi classic from the 1950s . . . I can’t recall the name of it at the moment, something about the id, but . . .”

  “I appreciate the sentiment, Mark. But can yo
u wait one moment, please?” Mac diverted his attention to the support skitter. “Penny? Is this typical of what we can expect?”

  Penny Frasier, a xenobiologist from the year 3060 and a specialist on the Horde for the past thirteen years, replied, “Yes, Lieutenant. These are what we call grunts, or spooks. They usually come in at around ten feet high, and as you can see, they have the bulk to match. Although abstruse in nature, they have a direct influence on the physical plane and are as strong as they look. We see before us a compressed nucleus of vitriolic rage, exceeded only by their hunger. Notice how the energy vortex they generate converges around their extremities, like an aura? When they roar, it enhances the vibrancy of that nimbus, and tends to concentrate it around their eyes and jaws.”

  “And they feed by draining the life-force from living things, or the resonance of specific power frequencies?”

  “That’s right.”

  “So why the talons and fangs?”

  “Good point,” she acknowledged. “We’re pretty sure it’s to elicit a fight or flight response in bio-based prey. And to settle issues among themselves, of course. Now and again, we do see violent outbursts between individuals that result in physical confrontation.”

  “So they’re not merely for show?” Mac was intrigued by an apparent discrepancy. “They do actually serve a purpose?”

  “Oh yes, they’re a nasty bit of work all right. I’ve seen too many shredded carcasses to doubt that. But the surge of adrenalin their appearance causes in others creates an energy spike along the synapses. Remember, nerve fibers conduct chemical and electrical impulses. If the Horde can create a boost in those transmissions as they feed, they’ll derive a lot more nourishment than they would from a passive host.”

  “I see.” Mac felt numbed by the fact that anything so large and horrific would need any further help instilling terror in its victims. “And from what the briefing report implied, there’s also another type we need to be aware of. A . . . what did you call them . . . Horde Master, correct?”

  “That’s right. Or Controller, or Boss. We don’t appear to have any here among this pack, but you’d know it if there were. They emit a purple corona, and are over twelve feet high. Oh, they have halos, too. Or perhaps I should more accurately say, coronets of flames dancing around their heads. As hard as it is to believe, they make this lot look like puppies.”

  “You’re kidding?”

  “I’m afraid not. We think they serve some form of command function within the hive. As Saul mentioned, the longer the conflict goes on, the more we suspect there’s a hierarchy and intelligence to the Horde that we never expected. We just wish we could find some way to communicate with them to find out what they want.”

  “Or who they answer to.”

  “Pardon?”

  “The Masters. If they have a pecking order, there must be someone they answer to, like a queen perhaps. Has anyone ever considered that?”

  “No. We haven’t.” Penny was plainly aghast at the implications. “If there is such an entity, we’ve never seen it. My God. It . . . it—”

  “We can worry about that later, at the debriefing. Tell me. Are White Bear and Diving Hawk seeing this?”

  “Yes. They’re here . . .” she paused to confer with the others aboard her craft, “. . . and they say they can see the demons well enough to recognize their presence.”

  “Excellent. Then we’re just about ready to go. Our new stealth capability is obviously working. The Horde doesn’t even suspect we’re here. Tell me, how well do these monsters hear? They obviously can’t listen like we do, but how sensitive is their capacity to recognize sound, or the vibrations we create by movement?”

  “To be honest, that’s another thing we’re in the dark about.” Penny sounded impressed by Mac’s lateral thinking. “They’re usually so busy vocalizing their hunger that we’ve never given it much thought.”

  “So, everyone’s been tiptoeing around in their proximity as a matter of habit? Hmm.” Mac organized his thoughts. Time consuming and exhausting. Especially if it causes their prey to remain in a high state of anxiety. All those juicy energies congealed into one handy snack.

  He came to a decision. “Right, heads up, everyone. We’ll be going live in just one moment. Penny? Please ask White Bear and Diving Hawk to ready their braves. They’re your last line of defense if things go wrong.

  “Sam? You stay in the command vehicle. Let our Indian friends do all the work. They’ve got to test their capabilities and see for themselves how effective they can be in a fight. However, if it looks like they’re losing control, introduce the Horde to the Remington. Wide choke. It’ll be nice to see what they make of a shotgun.

  “Guys? Safeties off. Don’t make any attempt to be stealthy. We need to establish standard operating procedures while we’re around these brutes, so let’s test how far we can go without raising a shit-storm for anybody else . . .

  “. . . Teams confirm?”

  Affirmations rolled in.

  “Good. Then let’s get this show on the road.”

  A sudden impulse, hard to resist, caused Mac to address the professor one last time. “Penny? I think we’ll be making one of your wishes come true in just a few seconds time.”

  “Wish? Which one’s that, Lieutenant?”

  “One way or another, we’ll soon be communicating exactly how we feel to the Horde.” Mac grinned and patted the Heckler-Koch G40 carbine slung around his neck. “I think they’ll get the message.”

  *

  (Thunder Plain—10 miles north of Rhomane)

  A shrill whistle from behind caused Lex to rein in sharply. Whirling around, he scanned the savanna and was able to make out a couple of the warriors from Clan Calhoun, running hell-for-leather away from the lip of the Issamun Canyon. The rim was only about two hundred yards off, but seeing the fleeing pair made the distance between them seem like an ocean divide.

  As one, the Caledonians interrupted their flight to turn and make a stand. One dropped into a fighting crouch, sword drawn, while the other released several arrows in quick succession at an unknown target still within the draw of the ravine.

  Several riders from Three Squadron were galloping toward them in support. Over the sound of hooves and shouting, Lex thought he could hear the noise of muted explosions.

  Thank goodness I extended the outer pickets when we entered the grasslands. I knew the extra space would come in handy.

  Lex looped around a second time, reassessing the position of the other Vacomagi in relation to his own troops.

  Good. This can work in our favor. “Sergeant Rixton? Take One Section and form a line about half a mile northwest of here. We’re heading toward the dry riverbed as ordered. The captain should be ready and waiting for us as planned. When Corporal Williams comes in, I’ll lead Two Section through your position and form another column, four hundred yards beyond you. We will maintain order, and leapfrog steadily toward the RV. The signal to move each time will be a three-blast bugle call. It’ll also let Houston know we’re coming. Understood?”

  “Yes, Sir,” Rixton snapped.

  Lex turned to Searc Calhoun. The clan leader stood close by, studying the unfolding drama. “Searc, will your men want to ride double or will you make your own way out of here?”

  The sound of urgent whistling followed by several shots interrupted the conversation.

  Searc didn’t bother looking away. Grinning like a madman, he calmly waited for the reports to fade before answering. “Och, me and the lads will run along for a while to see what happens. They’ve just signaled the fact a whole hornets’ nest has been stirred up. If things get too troublesome we can always jump on board for a turn or two. Catch our breath and rest our legs while you put some distance between us and certain death.”

  Lex couldn’t help but smile. “Okay, you crazy kilt-wearing maniac. But if things get too hairy, I’ll have my men lasso you and drag you along.”

  Searc’s reply was drowned out by further shots and the s
ound of Sergeant Rixton’s section riding out. His gesture, however, made it clear what he thought of Lex’s idea.

  Chuckling, Lex trotted over to his bugle-boy, Bobby Fisher. “Bobby, sound the fall-back. I want Corporal Williams and his men to muster around me. The highlanders will follow them. Once the fighting begins, stay behind us and away from the beasts. We have to tease them, slowly but surely, toward the ambush. The success of our mission depends on you staying alive and able to signal to everyone what’s going on. Okay?”

  “Yes, Sir,” the boy replied, struggling to hide his fright behind a look of stolid determination.

  At seventeen years of age, Bobby had only served in the Army for six months, and Lex couldn’t help but feel sorry for the young man. And his family. It doesn’t seem fair. He’s too young and inexperienced to die, but to all intent and purpose he’s already dead. To the folks back home, anyhow. And instead of being able to hang up his hat and rest, he’s being forced to face an enemy that shouldn’t exist. Lex spat in disgust. If there is a God, he’s surely abandoned us. Ah well, at least I can watch over him.

  Corporal Williams and his outriders came charging through his position. As he passed, Williams shouted, “There must be over fifty of them, Sir. Looks like we discovered a whole nest in a cave,” he cocked a thumb over his shoulder at the following Vacomagi, “and those idiots think it’s fun!”

  Sure enough, as the Caledonians ran past hot on the heels of the cavalry officers, every single one of them was whooping in delight.

  Incredible! It’s—Lex caught his breath. The long grass near the edge of the gorge was swaying and bending madly, as if being trampled by a great weight. The horizon started to shimmer. Lex fumbled with the control on the side of his sunglasses in an attempt to define what was causing it.

  A rippling, ululating cry squeezed through the ether. As it did so, angry flashes of blue and red lightning skittered through the air in the same proximity. A terrible enmity congealed along the ridgeline. Lex’s blood ran cold.