Chapter Thirty-Nine - Interrupt

"We are the Sisters of the Holy Extermination.

Our creed and duty is to remove that which is impure from the cities in which we live. Foul xenos, rats, insects, and squatters, all will be judged by fire.

It is the only way to be certain.”

-The Sisters of Holy Extermination Manifesto, 2045

***

“This way,” Gomorrah muttered as she started down another tunnel. This, at least, was a bit wider than the last.

The water sloshing by our feet made it hard to move forwards, but we were pushing through it. I was just glad that my boots were waterproof, otherwise the trek was going to get real unpleasant real fast.

The worse thing was that my armour let me feel just how lukewarm the water was, which was just... super unpleasant.

As we started down the tunnel, the water grew cooler, and it was clear that it was flowing back into the big room we’d come from. Had Gomorrah burned that much water out?

“Can you hear anything?” Gomorrah asked.

“Hmm? Oh, let me listen,” I said. I focused on my hearing for a bit, then snapped my fingers a few times. It created something like an echo, and I could ‘see’ ahead of us for a little ways, though the water was making it weird. “Uh, right up ahead, then left. No beasties that I can see.”

We came onto a corner that turned right, and then it immediately turned right again.

“Okay, so right-right, not right-left,” I muttered.

“Maybe I shouldn’t have bothered asking,” Gomorrah said. She raised her flamethrower, the pilot light at the very tip of it providing most of the light we had, that and my glowing shotgun.

I rolled my eyes, but continued to listen ahead. “Wait,” I muttered.

Gomorrah and I both stopped, the water around us wavered and bobbed. Still, I could hear something ahead. Sloshing and the tip-tap of something clicking against tin. “What is it?” Gomorrah whispered.

“Aliens, I think,” I said. “There’s a room ahead, right? I think our friends are waiting for us.”

“Alright. Do we move in, or do we toss them a surprise?”

“What are you thinking?” I asked.

Gomorrah gestured ahead with a little thrust of her flamethrower. “You toss in something to flush them out. I burn any that come this way. Then we sweep the room.”

I thought for a second. Resonators would act weird with the water. Anything explosive was out. Nano-stuff might have trouble with the water too... I grinned. “I have just the thing.” Stepping up next to Gomorrah, shut off our comms to speak with Myalis. “Need some B.E.E.S.. Can you make any that are on fire?”

Of course. Though that will make the manufacturing process somewhat more complex. Expect fewer B.E.E.S. and for them to have a much shorter lifespan overall. Only one to two minutes. Their lethality also won’t be significantly greater.

“Yeah, that makes sense. But they’ll be on fire, right?”

Yes.

“Perfect. Get me a jar-full, Myalis!”

A container of B.E.E.S. appeared by my side and splashed down into the water. I could feel Gomorrah’s interest, especially as the little bugs within blurred around their transparent enclosure. “What is that?” she asked.

“You’ll love it,” I said. I opened the top cover, then grinned as the tiny robots swarmed out of the container and lit up with a hundred little hisses. A shower of burning sparks raced around us, then shot off down the passage and into the room ahead. “Let’s move,” I said.

Gomorrah jogged up to the entrance, and for a moment both of us stared as the bees slammed into every alien in the room. They were clearly not hurting them much, but what they were doing, and very well, was showing us where the aliens were hidden.

“Burning,” Gomorrah announced a moment before she stepped into the room with a splash. She hosed the aliens down. I saw the burning forms of model fours writhing as they melted and model threes darted out from cover, hounded by burning motes until Gomorrah’s fire swept over them.

The water steamed, the aliens cooked, and Gomorrah started to chuckle in a way that had every hair on the back of my neck standing on end. She was having a bit too much fun, I think.

When she stopped, there were only husks of fleshy, charred meat left. The water in the room swirled around our legs, and steam flirted around us until the air cleared.

“That should do it,” Gomorrah said. She sounded satisfied with herself, like someone congratulating themselves on a job-well-done.

“You’re scary, you know that?” I said.

“Why thank you,” she said. “Onwards?”

I gestured ahead, and she took the invitation by stepping into the room. It was hard to see the entirety of it. There was a large machine in the centre, made of thick old steel and (until very recently) covered in ancient grease and oil. The metal was a bit glowy in some bits, but for the most part it had weathered Gomorrah’s affections better than most things would. I wouldn’t go and touch it for a few hours though.

Gomorrah checked the next corridor, and the few remaining flaming B.E.E.S. darted into it to look for trouble.

I wasn’t expecting it, when something grabbed my ankle. For the first half-second, I thought I’d gotten caught on some old scrap, unseen under the brackish water. Then the thing tightened its grip.

“Oh shit-fuck,” I screeched before I was ripped sideways and into the water.

I splashed, arms flailing for a bit before I realised two things.

First, I couldn’t drown. Not in water this shallow, and not without anything grabbing my upper body and holding me down.

Second, some fuck was still grabbing my leg and it was pulling me under the big metal boiler.

I half-turned, the motion made awkward by the constant pull, then I aimed down the length of my body before hesitating. Could my own rounds go through my armour? How badly did I want a prosthetic foot?

A short jet of flame burst out from above me and burned through the grasping tentacle. It flopped through the air, pissing black-green gunk from its seared end before it retreated back under the boiler.

“Oh no you don’t,” I swore as I spun myself around. I aimed my Bullcat into the recess below the machine and fired. The muzzle flash lit up the squeezed-in form of a model four. I fired into it three more times, just to be sure. Then a fourth and fifth time as a final fuck-you.

“You okay?” Gomorrah asked.

“Yeah, I’m fine,” I said. My heart was trying to beat out of my throat, but I’d live. I accepted Gomorrah’s hand to get me back onto my feet. “Damned thing caught me off-guard.”

“We should have done a better job of scouting the room,” Gomorrah said. “Imagine if we destroyed the hive and that one remained. It might be enough to start a whole new hive.”

I felt myself blanching. “Damn. We’re going to need to go over the area with a comb.”

“I don’t know if we have the time for that.”

“I really hope those idiots upstairs are packing their shit then,” I said. “Or if not, then I hope they’re a lot braver than they look. Maybe they can clear the area out themselves.”

“Until the next wave sweeps by,” Gomorrah said.

We didn’t speak on it anymore. I brushed off some of the gunk from my jacket, which fortunately was made of something slick enough that crap didn’t stick to it, and then we continued on at a slower, more deliberate pace.

I jumped when an alert popped up before me, and judging by the way Gomorrah froze, she got the same thing too.

There’s an urgent, high-priority message from the Family to all vanguard in the New Montreal area.

“What is it?” I asked. I wasn’t too worried. The aliens hadn’t gathered enough momentum to hit the city itself yet.

Wave incoming. The Family suspects that the risk-level of the next wave will be high enough that they want to recall all vanguard outside of the city.

“What?” Gomorrah muttered.

“You got the same message?” I asked.

“Laserjack wants us to head back,” she said. “He’s making it sound urgent.”

“Myalis, can you show me the message itself?”

The message, as it turned out, was a short video. Laserjack, obviously standing on one of those bunkers atop the newly built wall, talking into some sort of camera. “Pardon the intrusion, everyone, but we have a situation developing and we need assistance for it right now. The xenos have caught us with our guard down. We have a medium-large wave, maybe sixty-thousand models, moving in towards the north-eastern end of the city. The walls there aren’t completed, and won’t be for another twelve to sixteen hours. We don’t have the defences in place to keep the wave at bay. We need you.”

The message ended, but there was a lot of information attached to it. Movement plots, predicted numbers, satellite images. The works.

“What do we do?” I asked.

“We go,” Gomorrah said. She turned and started heading back.

I stared at her, then the darkness beyond, entirely uncertain about what to do next.

***