The Swords of August

The first thing I heard from under the caved in ceiling was yelling. Not a casual greeting or a simple projection of the voice, it had an alert tenseness to it. Even all the technology I was wrapped in couldn't make out the words, which only spoke to how much rock we were buried under.

"Shit, I think they made contact." Chen said.

A muffled scream punctuated his words.

"We've got to get out of here. Can you do anything?"

"I'm buried under like a metric ton of soil, Ed. What am I gonna do?"

"And? You're in the best spot out of all of us. I don't even think Larsen is awake yet."

I looked at the biofeedback data. Larsen was out cold still, as I'd expected.

"Fine, fine... guess I'll wriggle my way out, like a worm."

"Great. As chief worm, I order you to dig yourself out, shoot anyone not on our side, and pull us both out of this mess, alright?"

"You don't ask for much, do you?"

Chen went silent after that. I could see through my sensors that he wasn't buried nearly as deep as the rest of us. Lucky bastard.

I watched as he heaved and strained, shifting himself through the debris and to safety.

In the end, it wasn't Chen that saved the men trapped outside, it was an unexpected ally, though not an unfamiliar one.

The thundering avalanche of a railgun deafened all other sounds.

"I leave for five minutes, and look at the mess you get yourself into." Carver's voice broke into our channel.

"It was a lot longer than five bloody minutes! Where the hell have you been?"

He scoffed. "You know, the usual, meeting a mass-murderer and making deals I really shouldn't. I'll explain later, but all you need to know is that we need to go, as in right now."

"Tell us something we don't know." Chen said, as Carver pulled him from the debris. "Thanks."

"How's this then?" Carver took a knee and fired another burst of hypersonic spikes, joined by Chen and his own weapon. If it wasn't so bulky and overdesigned, I'd have questioned its ability to function, but Carver either had a knack for designing battlefield hardware, or Chen was lucky.

I didn't care much which one it was, especially not when I could see the overpressure alone was ripping into the bugs. The sheer destruction in such an enclosed space was unreal.

After about twenty to thirty seconds the two ceased fire.

"That's a hell of an alarm clock." Larsen groaned. "Who's out there?"

"Your resident genius and expert on weapons technology." Carver said, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world.

"Well, can this genius get me the hell out of here? I'd like to stretch."

I laughed. "You two see anything out there?"

"Besides a mountain of dead bodies? No. Why?"

"I get the feeling we're not alone."

We reacquainted ourselves with Carver and as we were pulled from the debris by strong, armor-shod hands I performed a few diagnostics.

"My suit's got a bad actuator in my left shoulder joint. Might take a bit to fix."

Carver shrugged. "That's okay, where we're going we won't need to fight." I doubted that, but he could believe what he wished.

Chen looked around, saw what was left of our 'expedition' and whistled. "So much for backup."

I growled, punching the wall none too gently. "I just recruited those idiots! Damn it."

Carver rested a hand on my shoulder. "Look, I don't know how much you know, but I don't know a whole lot more. I do know we're on the clock. Sefira said that the last time she was here there was nothing but dust and now there are—"

"Back the fuck up. 'Sefira said'?"

"She pulled me off the street to pick my brain, yeah."

"As opposed to what, just asking for a meeting like a civilised human being?"

"Yeah, I guess. Look, not important. What is important is that the Vitaru's leader is here. He's awake and definitely already knows about us."

"And just how does she know that? Can we even trust that she's telling the truth?"

"I have no idea, but it tracks. These things read as designed to me, not a natural evolution. That means at some point someone controlled them, or pointed them in the right direction. It's not a stretch to say that someone is still controlling them, is it?"

It wasn't impossible, but until I saw solid evidence, I wasn't sure I bought his theory.

"Okay, we'll keep an eye out for a bug man, and his bug friends, got it. Now, just where the hell have you been? We were supposed to go and question Sefira, not make friends with her. You got Stockholme syndrome?"

"I've been around," he said.

"Doing what?" I pressed.

"So, you remember how I disappeared?"

We all nodded and Carver gestured for us to follow him, walking down the tunnel and stepping over alien remains.

Did you know this story is from Royal Road? Read the official version for free and support the author.

"Turns out, Sefira's really not so bad once you get to know her. She gave me a wealth of intel and sent me on my way."

"Excuse me, what? She's that mass-murderer evil scientist bitch, right? You sound nuts." Larsen rounded on him, but he sidestepped her and kept moving.

"A lot of what we think we know about her is inaccurate."

"Oh so she's not a mass-murderer?"

"Oh, she's killed plenty of people, but she doesn't go around killing civilians for no good reason, either."

"Okay, fine, let's say that's true." I said. "Do you trust her?"

"Obviously not, but I do think that she's been misrepresented. It's not her fault if she happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time and had her reputation ruined for life."

"You sound like a barracks lawyer. Get to the point?"

Carver nodded, stopping by a door at the end of the passage we were in. My threat scan still showed clear and there was nothing on my more primitive sensors, no sound to mark enemy movement or anything like that.

"This room is a test, according to Sefira. The first time she went in, it ended up leading her to the sword, but it rejected her. According to her, it''ll test us and let us through if it finds us compatible. After that, we hope to find this thing and go from there."

"Compatible?"

"Philosophically, I think."

"You think?" Larsen demanded.

"It's not like she has any more information than me, really. It's fuzzy for her past this point."

"Fuzzy?"

"The sword screwed with her memories, or so she thinks."

"It can do that?" Chen asked.

"Enough chit chat. Our objective is unchanged, but if you happen to have any more brilliant insights, Carver, do share with the class?"

"Nothing of tactical importance."

"Great. Anyone have any ideas for getting this thing open that doesn't…"

I trailed off.

"Edward?" Larsen murmured, rifle coming up to her shoulder.

My eyes raked over the walls around us, the floor, ceiling, each of our suits, the door.

The door.

Something in my unconscious mind stuttered until I took notice. I stiffened, and barked a short order. "Defensive positions!"

"Look." I sent out an image across our suit network. It had two words written in plain English, like someone had scratched it out with a knife. Or a claw. A cold chill gripped me, cutting through the sweat and adrenaline.

I glared at the words, then gave Chen a determined look. "Breach this fucking thing, right now."

I glared at Chen. "Breach this fucking thing, right now."

He nodded, then backed up a few metres down the hall. It wasn't standard procedure, but usually doors weren't built like brick walls. With a flying leap, Chen collided with the stone door and went right through it into the room beyond.

In the blink of an eye the rest of us made entry and cleared the room. Far from an ambush or an evil lab, it was just a simple, empty room—except for the chair. Despite being large enough to house upwards of fifty men, it contained only a chair in the centre of the room with nothing else of any value whatsoever.

"We're clear." I called.

"That's it?" Chen exclaimed.

"What?"

"I was expecting a puzzle, or a coffin or something, some kind of great mystery! Not… a chair." Chen's equal parts puzzled and disappointed expression would've made me crack a smile, but I wasn't in a joking mood anymore.

I held out a hand as he approached the only thing in the room. "Hold on there, this is no normal chair. It's got... living bits. Might be trapped or something."

I didn't touch it, I just examined the room around it as everyone stared in silence for a moment. My eyes committed every detail to memory, the smooth, organic texture, the rigid, but pliable look of it. It looked like a comfortable armchair, if someone had modelled it with an eldritch god's toolkit instead of fabric and wood. The whole room was covered in… not tentacles, but tendrils of flesh and meat. The chair was built similarly, if it had been built. It looked like it had been grown, if anything.

"Do we sit in it?" Chen asked.

"Why the hell would we do that?" Larsen asked.

"It's a chair, for sitting in. That's what it's for."

"This thing dangerous?" I asked, an open question really.

"I don't think so." Carver shrugged. My scan had come up blank, so barring some sneaky toxin or magic, it was probably not going to kill us immediately. Though, that had probably been more than a few Marines' famous last words.

I considered it for a moment longer. "Chen, go ahead and plant your backside on this thing, if you really want. Just don't come crying to me if it stabs you in the ass."

"Hello?" A voice called out from behind us, down the hall. We all snapped our weapons round to point at the door. I stepped out slowly towards it.

"Who's that?"

"Leyndal. I need… I need some help!"

My suit sensors highlighted him a moment after, and Leyndal was not in great shape. I was surprised he had enough strength to shout after cracking three ribs.

"Shit. Nanite shot, now!" I held my hand out and Carver shoved a syringe into my hand.

I rushed out into the corridor, someone else coming out with me to cover me as I worked.

"So much for…"

"Don't speak." I told him, pressing the tube to his arm. He was a mess, and not just because he was missing an arm. His leather armour was torn and bloodied and he looked like he'd gone three rounds with a bear and lost. In a way, I suppose he had.

After getting Leyndal properly treated, we concluded that he wasn't going to be combat effective anytime soon, but we also couldn't just abandon him so he took up the rear of our little formation.

We all filed into the small room as Chen sat in the chair. It actually shivered when he sat down.

"That's fucking disgusting." Larsen shuddered, taking an involuntary step back.

"You feel anything yet?" I asked.

"Not really, no. I feel sore, that's about it?"

"We all do." I said, walking up to the chair. "Scoot."

He got up and I took a seat. After waiting a few moments, again nothing.

"What, are we going to play musical chairs?" I muttered, gesturing Larsen to give it a try.

I moved over to check on Leyndal's wounds. He'd be fine in a few hours, but he needed several hours of uninterrupted rest, not combat for a few hours. Somehow, I didn't think the day was going to go his way.

I'd just finished patching Leyndal up—apart from the arm, blunt trauma, bruises and a few pressure cuts, nothing that some rest in a real bed couldn't fix—when I heard the sound.

It wasn't a scream, wasn't even a yell, just a dry, rattling gasp, like someone trying to suck air through a clogged exhaust port. I turned and there she was—choking inside her sealed suit.

"Shit," I muttered. "Chen! She's choking! Your codes—unlock her armor!"

"Already on it!" Chen shouted. "Sending override now!"

I fired off my own codes in tandem. I counted every half-second like it owed me rent.

A solid, hollow thunk. The suit's many locks released, sounding just like an engine disassembling in real-time. Plates and armour sections detached and fell away with dull, echoing thuds.

I ripped her from the chair. She was flailing now—hesitantly, restrained, as if somewhere in the back of her mind she was aware that her strength was still augmented. I got behind her, jammed my fists just above her now unarmoured abdomen, and heaved.

One. Two. Three. My arms didn't protest, adrenaline and conditioning suppressing any potential fatigue. Four. Five. Six. Then, a retching sound as she expelled whatever was stuck in her throat.

Larsen collapsed like a dropped sandbag, sprawling onto the hard earthy floor in a tangle of limbs and sweat-slick undersuit. Breathing. Just barely. She pulled her helmet off with weak and shaky limbs.

And then I saw it.

It was lying there between us. Small. Wet. Ugly. Like a caltrop someone had grown in a petri dish full of mold and nightmares. Thorny, mottled brown and green, slick with spit, and buzzing with a kind of wrongness that made my guts squirm.

It didn't move, didn't do any fancy magic or weird shit. It didn't need to. It had somehow gotten into Larsen's throat—through sealed armour no less—just by coming into contact with her suit. That was enough on its own.

I stared at it, my voice low. "Looks like something crawled out of a meat grinder and decided to get artistic."

"Jesus," Chen muttered. "What the hell is that?"

I raised my railgun, paused. Lowered it again. To be honest, I would've shot it out of spite—and just to be safe—but the overpressure would've killed Leyndal, and it wouldn't have treated Larsen any better. The thing just sat there, radiating quiet malevolence like it was a physical manifestation of evil.

"Whatever it is," I said, "it just tried to kill Larsen from the inside out. I don't think it's done yet."

And I didn't like the way it looked at me—without eyes.

"What do you mean you don't think it's done yet?" Chen demanded.

"I mean, would you try to kill your enemy with a choking hazard? Would you leave it to chance?"

In hindsight, I probably should've just shut my big mouth and focused on making sure Larsen was alright. As you can imagine, Hindsight is a cold, cast-iron bitch, and this time was no exception.