Dolphiam Sector, Agua System, Azura
Valentina carefully picked her way across the remains of a toppled building, the cracked remnants of its fa?ade crunching beneath her boots. Havermeyer followed carefully in her footsteps, stepping carefully up the rise. The collapse of this building had knocked a line of them down like dominoes. There was no going around the wreckage, not in the time they had, so they were left to climb over.
Corporal Johnston signaled for the Admiral, who had been walking alongside him, to go next. With a quick gesture of confirmation, the Admiral started up the incline, matching Havermeyer and Valentina’s path step-for-step. A hand on the Hydra’s equivalent of a shoulder joint, Johnston watched him climb, memorizing the path for his own journey across the wreckage.
Admiral Gives had kept pace so far, but Johnston could tell by his movements that his left hand was injured. Perhaps it had been injured before they’d landed on Azura, but it had been severely worsened by the mad dive he’d taken to save Havermeyer’s life. The Admiral wasn’t obviously nursing the injury, but as he climbed, wouldn’t trust his grip to his left hand alone. It slowed him, but he had uttered no complaints, not that Johnston had expected him to. Admiral Gives was usually quiet, especially off the ship. He spoke when spoken to, but didn’t initiate conversation. On the surface, he allowed the Marines to lead. Johnston held no illusions that made him better than the Admiral in any way. No, he knew for a fact the Admiral could have commanded this surface mission as well as any Marine. He simply chose not to.
Johnston had never entirely been able to make sense of that. Officers as broadly competent as the Admiral were rare. Most shoehorned themselves into situations outside their expertise under the simple justification they were in charge. But, Admiral Gives, who was unquestionably competent in surface missions, simply elected not to lead it. Perhaps it was a matter of respect not to disregard the Marines’ expertise. Or perhaps he only did it so that the chain of command on the ground was clear. Regardless, his resignation ensured that Johnston’s orders were final, and that the Admiral didn’t need to confirm them. It kept commands clear and concise, critical when every second mattered on the ground.
The chain of command would shift again slightly once they reached their destination. The Admiral would take charge to speak with the Hydra, while Johnston maintained command of security. Hours of walking through Azura’s dreary rain would culminate there, and Johnston wished he knew what to expect. What did the Hydra truly have to gain from this meeting? The return of one of their own? Everything humanity knew about the Hydrian Empire indicated its population met, and likely exceeded humanity’s. Most of its numbers would be drones like Rowin – expendable workers. He doubted this drone’s return meant that much, particularly if it had been missing as long as it claimed. Allegedly, Rowin had been held by the Crimson Heart pirate clan for nearly a decade. Likely, the drone had been assumed dead and its return would now be considered anomalous.
But those contemplations weren’t Johnston’s job. He was well aware he’d been brought on this mission to manhandle the Hydra if things got nasty. So, as the Admiral reached the top of the rise, Johnston shoved the drone forward. “Climb.”
Rowin flexed the claws on its upper limbs, issuing a strange clicking sound from deep within its throat and began to climb with astounding dexterity. Johnston could only keep pace for a moment, then had to clamp down on the Hydra’s shoulder, restraining it within his reach. The drone hissed, sounding more irritated, but did not physically fight the change in pace. Johnston moved cautiously, too aware that the Hydra had an advantage on difficult terrain. Its claws could find purchase on most surfaces. This pile of debris was easy for it to stab into, while Johnston struggled to dig the round toe of his boot into the rubble for solid purchase.
When they reached the top of the rise, Johnston saw a steep drop awaiting on the other side – the face of the building mostly intact. But beyond that, there was a flat, empty space. Distinct rectangles and squares with paths woven between them indicated this might have been a courtyard, or an artificial park built by the colonists. There, parked upon the patchwork of empty planters was a stark white shuttle. The rain ran off it in smooth uninterrupted flows to the ground, its hull so flawless, no water clung on to form irregular drips. The Warhawk the away team had arrived in looked primitive by comparison.
The Hydra in Johnston’s grip began to strain, as if pulled forward by some invisible thread, not fighting him, but as if unable to stop. Its tongues flicked into Azura’s cool, wet air, tasting the wind. The clicking sound from deep within its throat picked up in tempo, and it hissed, for once not sounding harsh, but sounding pleased. Johnston looked to the Admiral for a translation, but the ship commander indicated a negative.
There was no direct translation, but, “Pheromones,” the Admiral supplied. “It can taste them.” The drone was drawn toward the scent, biologically commanded to return home.
“Think there’s a Queen down there, suh?” Johnston asked, readjusting his grip on the Hydra’s shoulder to keep it steady.
“Unlikely,” the Admiral said. Everything the ghost had told him indicated that Hydrian Queens rarely, if ever, left their nest. It was theorized that the prime Queen, was simply be too large to be mobile, and was still housed on the Hydrian home world. “More likely, an Ambassador.” A mere drone would not be sent to negotiate. No, an elevated Hydra would be assigned that task, one that likely had recent and thorough contact with its Queen, enough to carry the pheromones but not generate them.
Johnston hadn’t concerned himself much with the Hydrian ranks. Kallahan had rushed them through training on where to stab and where to shoot, but there hadn’t been time for study on the theoretical workings of the Hydrian Empire. For an officer who’d spent his career rather infamously fighting other humans, the Admiral seemed strangely cognizant of alien politics, but Johnston rarely found the Admiral’s knowledge to be lacking. “It’s a bad position, suh,” he said, studying the ruins of the park. “We go down there, and our backs are against the wall.” This toppled building may as well have been a cliff face, trapping them between a rock and a hard place.
“That is by design,” the Admiral replied calmly. This was a challenge. The Empire thought humanity weak. “Prey flees from predators, Corporal. We are not prey.”
“But we are edible,” Cadet Frenchie added, finishing one long step onto the top of the building, the rear of the party. “And that’s a shitty position.”
“It doesn’t look like they’ve given us much choice,” Havermeyer said. “There isn’t room to circle around.” The Hydrian shuttle had parked on the edge of the colony’s surviving structure. There was nothing beyond it but the froth of the frigid ocean. The Hydra had placed themselves in a position where the only space for humans to approach from was here, with their backs to the remnants of this toppled building. If this went south, they’d be trapped. “Admiral, I must ask if this is wise.”
Wise? Probably not. Required? Unfortunately, yes. “Cadet Valentina, find me a safe descent.” They were here to negotiate, and could not squander this chance. “In this negotiation, we represent all of humanity.” The Hydra would not recognize an isolated faction, for such things were impossible within the Empire. “Any sign of weakness will be considered an invitation to invade.” Humanity could not afford to look weak in this negotiation.
“Yessir.” Valentina checked her rifle and walked along the edge of the building until she found a slope of rubble slightly steeper than what they had climbed up. She began skidding her way down, checking her surroundings periodically, as Frenchie covered her descent with his own rifle. When she reached the bottom, a wave of loose debris washing out before her feet, she signaled for the rest of the team to follow. One by one, they slid down.
The Hydra kept its balance far more easily than any of the humans. The Admiral noted it, as the Marines surely did as well. If they had to race the Hydra back up this incline of lose brick and concrete, they were going to lose.
The group continued onward, now on level ground with the stark white shuttle. It was larger than it first appeared, more than two hundred feet in length. Over a dozen Hydra could hide within it easily, but it was difficult to tell how much of the craft was engineering weight – engines, power or controls. Perhaps none, or perhaps the majority. Its exterior was far too smooth to distinguish any familiar components like weapons or thrusters.
The shuttle sat in the rain spectacularly clean, a glimmering pearl amidst the brownish-greenish algae stains that covered everything else. The Hydra moved toward it, drawn closer, as if by the physical force of a magnet. It wasn’t attempting to escape, just lured in that direction by its very biology, and Johnston was beginning to strain against it, needing to plant his feet. He was in no danger of losing it. No, Johnston was strong enough to wrestle a hostile Hydra, but it was an unnecessary distraction. “Stop,” the Admiral ordered Rowin, “Stay alongside my people.” The drone ceased pulling away, its head lowering in subordinance. Regardless of what the Hydra could smell, whatever the ghost had done to command its obedience was still in place. That spell had not broken yet.
They continued across the flat terrain, stepping carefully over the foot-tall walls that would have divided sidewalks from greenery in this park. They, created from a water-resistant brick substitute, were the last remains of the landscaping. There was no dirt and no plants left, not even husks. Everything else had been washed away in Azura’s endless rain.
At the middle point between the shuttle and the fallen building, the Admiral stopped. “This is far enough.” He would not bow to meet the Hydra at their doorstep. If he had to stand in the rain, so would they.
“Have they been watching us?” Johnston asked as the group came to rest in a tight formation.
“Likely since we hit the top of the rise,” the Admiral answered. There was no certainty in the shuttle’s capability, but it could surely track movement within line of sight. Humanity’s earliest machines had been capable of that.
Johnston made a noise of displeasure. “I don’t imagine our odds are good here, suh.”
No, “I do not imagine they are.” The probability of all-out war breaking out during this encounter was riding somewhere near 60%, near as the Admiral could figure. Those were decent odds. A 40% chance of brokering peace was not the worst challenge he had ever faced. Either he would manage, or the ensuing devastation would likely not be his problem. They, with their backs to this building and in line-of-sight of that shuttle, with at least one Hydrian battleship in orbit above… They were unlikely to survive the immediate outbreak of hostilities.
Ahead, a hairline fracture appeared the shuttle’s flawless hull, steadily widening until a part of the hull lowered away, forming a ramp to the ground. From there, bright warm light and steam spilled out, heated air colliding with Azura’s cold, damp humidity. Five Hydra descended the ramp with predatory grace. Two led, standing upright, while the other three fanned out behind, prowling in a quadrupedal stance. The three in the rear were drones, covered in waxy green hide that flexed flawlessly with their movements. The small crests on the back of their skulls were raised in a proud display, eyes slitted with the interest of spying food. The two in front were larger, frames altered and bulging with muscle below noticeably thicker armor. Their crests were larger, the barbs on their tails longer, and their eyes even more of an iridescent green. Still, one was larger than the other, its crest tinted with color, while the other was larger than average, but still not as… complete. Together they were an elevated male and an elevated drone, not quite complete in its transformation to male.
They approached without hesitation, in the way that a superior fighting force met its challenge. The larger Hydra wore a chain of bones and claws, some Hydrian, others unrecognizable. It carried a large spear in its hand, the blades atop humming with strange energy as the rain made contact. It slammed the end of its spear into the ground and hissed in Hydrian. “Who among you speaks for the Promised-Prey?”
Promised-Prey, that was humanity in the Hydrian tongue. The onset of the War, fifty years ago, had promised the Hydra generations of food and resources. Their Queens had promised humanity as food to be hunted, and been disappointed when humanity had fought back. The Admiral stepped forward, shadowed by Johnston, a step behind, still holding Rowin’s scaly shoulder. “I will speak for humanity,” he said, feeling the Hydra immediately shift its gaze.
It scoured him head to toe, noting the sword sheathed on his hip, and the environmental suit he wore. A series of clicks left the large Hydra’s throat, far deeper in the intonation of their amusement than Rowin had ever been. “You are afraid,” it said, leaning its vicious jaws ever closer. “Too afraid to even breathe this air.” All the humans wore environmental suits. None of the Hydra did, even on this cursed world. “Prey is always afraid.”
Admiral Gives was very careful to remain perfectly still, to not budge with the slightest flinch, because even that would be an admission of inferiority. “Humanity is not your prey.”
The clicking increased in tempo, something near a laugh. “Time will tell, prey. But I do not speak for the Almighty. As Chieftain, I merely feed Her.”
This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.
The Almighty. The Hydra would only speak of the Empire’s High Queen in such terms. All other Queens, Chieftains, Shipmasters, and drones bowed to her – the Queen who possessed the strongest blindsight. Rowin’s reaction suddenly seemed more relevant. It had been enthralled, not by any pheromones, but by those lingering on an elevated male Chieftain of the High Queen. And that told the Admiral everything he needed to know. To have arrived here in the given time frame, a direct representative of the High Queen had been near the Neutral Zone. That wasn’t a Hydra who should be on patrol. That was a Hydra who would lead an invasion force. The Hydrian invasion wasn’t probable. It was happening, and it was happening soon. “Who speaks for the Empire?” the Admiral asked.
“I serve as Her Majesty’s Ambassador to Promised-Prey,” the second largest Hydra spoke as the Chieftain took a step back. “Tell, why do you engage us?”
The Ambassador’s carapace was less waxy, duller in color. This Hydra was old, and that was rare. The Admiral focused upon it. “One of yours was found in human territory. His incursion appeared accidental, caused by a malfunction.” That was true. The Crimson Heart pirates had found Rowin and the scoutship adrift after a malfunction – even if they knew now, that the incursion into human territory was no accident. “One of humanity’s factions recovered the drone. It was held for several years before we recovered it.”
The Hydra ponderously swished its tail, eyes unblinking, not needing to in Azura’s constant humidity. “Human-on-human violence,” it noted. “These issues are alien to the Empire. What faction do you represent?”
“The Empire does not recognize humanity’s factions.” This old Ambassador was more understanding than most, but the faction Admiral Gives represented here did not matter. “In this matter, I represent humanity as a whole.”
“Perhaps. But,” it slipped into heavily accented Standard, “your originsss matter to the Queen.”
This was a trap question. Reveal too little, and it was an indication of dishonesty. Reveal too much and they would appear weak, eager. This negotiation had to strike a balance between cooperative and stern, proving that humanity did not anticipate malice from the Empire, but also would not be an easy target. “We are from a human ship. Military. Your drone was discovered during a police action against a dissident faction.”
The Hydra flicked its tongues, tasting for the scent of human sweat and anxiety. It found none on the wet air of Azura. “Military,” the Ambassador noted. “Your rank?”
“Lieutenant, communications specialist,” he answered with no hesitation, the lie anticipated. The environmental suit would conceal some of the most obvious tells – anxiety sweats, lack of eye contact, small movements. Of course, the Admiral knew his way around those tells. Out of necessity, he had trained to beat a polygraph, learned to control the instincts of a lie. The environmental suits would help conceal the less-practiced members of the team, who knew he was no Lieutenant. And Rowin, well, the drone’s understanding of human ranks had proven inadequate. Admiral Gives had only held authority in its eyes once the ghost had intervened.
“And what do you seek from this negotiation, Lieutenant? You have found a Hydra within your territory. The Empire comprehends this to be an act of war.”
“I intend to maintain the peace between my people and the Empire. We understand that Rowin’s presence on our side of the Neutral Zone was brought about by an accident aboard its ship, then taken advantage of by a dissident human faction.” Crimson Heart had seized an opportunity to capture and control Hydrian tech. “Any spacefarer could have suffered an accident. Humanity does not recognize that as hostile intent. We are content to return your drone to the Empire. Its presence will be overlooked so long as its capture by dissidents may also be forgiven.”
“A wise trade to maintain our accord.” The frills of colorful skin shifted on the Hydra’s neck, preening, considering. “And what will be made of Swordbreaker’s attack against your vessel?”
“Swordbreaker’s Artificial Intelligence had notable abnormalities.” Its half-human, half-Hydra avatar would be an indication of instability. “Will it be decommissioned according to the Bylaws of your Empire?”
“Yes. The Empire noted its abnormalities upon return. The High Queen has decreed it shall be wiped.”
Again, the interference of the High Queen. The Admiral had been led to believe that direct contact with her was limited for most of the Empire. For her to be involved in a decision like that, a decision with a forgone conclusion in the eyes of the Empire’s strict rules, it indicated that great attention was being paid to this situation. Something very important was being protected here – most likely the Empire’s invasion plans. There was little else the High Queen would concern herself with. Contact with humanity was a nuisance to the Empire at large, but the accumulation of humanity’s territories and resources? That was something noteworthy indeed. “The destruction of Swordbreaker’s AI is sufficient repatriation for the attack. Our ship was not critically damaged.”
“Then you seek no alteration to the accords? No re-negotiation of the treaty?”
“None.” The treaty would stand as-is, creating the Neutral Zone they now stood within. “Humanity seeks only to return this drone to the Empire and maintain peace as it has lasted since the end of the War. Do not mistake that for complacency, Ambassador. It is merely that the peace serves us as-is.” The Ambassador was still for a moment, cocking its head, as if to trying to study him beyond the visor of his environmental suit. But Admiral Gives knew that the tinted material of the helmet would make it near-impossible to show his face.
“The peace serves the Mother Nest as well,” the Hydrian Ambassador said after a moment, its tongues flickering out of its maw. “Tell us your people’s custom for returning lost drones to their side.”
It seemed a peace offering to do this the human way, but it was far from that. The reality was the Hydra had no tradition involved in returning wanders they found on their side of the Neutral Zone. There had been no prisoner exchanges in the War. A captured human would simply be eaten. “Rowin will be released to join your forces. After that, you will turn and leave. We will remain until your craft departs.” There was no sense in showing their backs to the Hydra on the ground.
“Very well,” the Ambassador clicked its approval. “You have been a most reasonable negotiator, for a prey-species.”
There was a slight taunt within that, as if antagonizing him to flinch. The Hydra were predators. They believed all flesh should tremble before them, unable to compute logical thought. The Admiral ignored it. The Ambassador had been mostly civil, a better contact than the Chieftain behind it would have been. It had to do its part to maintain the pride of the Empire, and he had to do his part to not react. The Empire wanted war. His reaction could not be what gave it to them. “Does the Empire have interest in using this negotiation for other terms?”
The Ambassador blinked slowly, one of its vertically slitted eyelids sliding closed at a time. “We are satisfied with the accord.”
“Very well,” the Admiral turned to look back at Rowin, standing a step behind him in Johnston’s iron grip. “You may return to your people.” Johnston released the Hydra’s shoulder and its hunched back immediately dropped to a quadrupedal stance. It sniffed at the air, as if to perceive a lie, and then took a tentative step forward. It paused there, both surprised that it could move, and awaiting a punishment that never came. “Go,” the Admiral instructed it. The Hydra glared at him with some sort of disdainful curiosity, but increased its pace, prowling purposefully toward the Ambassador. When it arrived in front of the Ambassador, it lowered its head, and clicked submission from the back of its throat, the difference between the drone and elevated drone more clear. The Ambassador’s crest was larger and more intricate, its colors brighter, even as the rest of its carapace had dulled with age. It made Rowin look small, but the Chieftain standing off of the Ambassador’s shoulder looked like it could have torn either of them limb from limb, its muscles pronounced, claws noticeably longer, as was the barb on its tail.
The Ambassador stared down upon Rowin for a long moment, no doubt studying the drone for signs of disease or torture. It would find none. Rowin had been questioned, yes, but the ghost’s methods didn’t leave physical marks. Eventually, the Ambassador hissed a note of acceptance, and Rowin stepped past, bowing lower to the Chieftain awaiting behind. The Chieftain studied Rowin carefully, evaluating the drone’s worthiness to survive and continue service to the hive. In the end, Rowin must have proven its worth, likely as an intelligence asset to divulge what it had seen of humanity, because the Chieftain chose not to slaughter it then and there.
The Ambassador clicked in approval and turned, beginning to stalk toward the awaiting shuttle as Rowin began to hiss urgently, the language of its people flowing quickly off its tongues. He was a step too far away for the Admiral to hear what was being said over the constant drum of Azura’s rain. He could only catch a phrase here and there, but the last he heard was, “She-Who-Sings-Death.”
The Chieftain reacted instantaneously, his crest rising like the hackles of a cat as he opened his maw and spat forth a wave of caustic acid. The Admiral had no hope of dodging, he’d been too focused on trying to listen into the Chieftain’s conversation, but Johnston was there, throwing the large riot shield he’d been carrying on his back up in front of them both. The acid splashed onto the clear plexiglass of the shield, immediately beginning a chemical reaction of sizzling and off-gassing. Against the condensed acid, the shield was a one-time use. Its frame would start falling apart within seconds, but Corporal Johnston didn’t waste any. Rearranging his grip on the bar of the shield, he flung it toward the Hydra with all his might.
Thrown with Johnston’s elevated strength, the spinning shield cut its way into Rowin’s flank, breaking past the malnourished drone’s weakened hide. The former captive went down with a hissing shriek, and the Chieftain behind it shoved it aside with ease, lunging forward to throw its spear with a rattling alien war cry.
There was no question who the attack was aimed at. The spear was targeted straight for the Admiral’s chest, but Johnston shoved him aside, yelling, “Down!” The Marine knew his duty, as did his team, for even as he called, “Cover fire!” Valentina was stepping forward, rifle in hand to let out a controlled burst. The rapid-fire crack of the rifle fired on automatic was deafening.
Three bullets hit the Chieftain’s green scales but none pierced his armored carapace, hardly even seeming to irritate him. The Chieftain shrugged it off, and lowered to four legs, intending to give chase, but the Ambassador reached out with a claw, stopping him before he could begin his hunt.
The interaction was too far away to make sense of and things were moving much too fast. Johnston capitalized on the distraction of the Ambassador had caused, calling out, “Frenchie!”
“Spicy smoke!” The mustachioed demolitions expert yanked a cannister off his bandolier of grenades, and ripped the pin out before chucking it onto the ground between his team and the Hydra.
The three drones that had flanked the Chieftain, standing still and submissive during negotiation leapt into action, emitting the synchronized hiss and click of a hunting pack. They sprinted past the Ambassador and Chieftain with a single-minded bloodthirst, and the cannister exploded in their midst, erupting with a plume of orange gas – tear gas. It spread quickly through Azura’s humidity, the cool, dense air keeping it low to the ground as it swirled in the wind. The away team, safe in their environmental suits and breathing recycled air were safe from it, but it would be hell on the sensitive scent glands of a Hydra, judging by the agitated screeches that emerged from within the smoke.
It wouldn’t stop the Hydra, but it bought them precious time. “Pull back!” Johnston commanded, keeping a large hand on the Admiral’s back, shoving him forward as the rest of the team started running.
The Admiral could have argued about that, made some performance about how he didn’t need to be escorted, but that delay was likely to get him, Johnston, or both of them killed. And that would be pointless, so he focused on his footing and did his best to keep up with Valentina, who was leading their retreat in an all-out sprint back toward the collapsed building they’d crossed over.
They were nearly there when the high-pitched wail of an atmospheric engine ripped through the rainy atmosphere, forcibly throttling for thrust. The team looked back over their shoulders to see the sleek white hull of the Hydrian shuttle shoving off the ground. It left behind the drones whose bodies could be seen thrashing amidst the quickly-dispersing cloud of tear gas. “They ain’t chasin’?” Johnston asked, taken aback. That Chieftain could have caught them by now, had that been its intention.
“No need,” the Admiral said as the shuttle ascended, rocketing toward the clouds. “They have air superiority.” At least one Hydrian battleship was in orbit around Azura.
“Beezlenac.” Johnston cursed, accent growing heavier with stress. “We’re sitting ducks.”
“They can’t fire on us. Their own people…” Havermeyer said, looking back to the drones as they began righting themselves and spitting the taste of tear gas out of their frothing mouths.
“The drones don’t matter,” Admiral Gives told him. The Empire had billions more of them if the estimates were correct. A single broodmothering Queen could produce thousands, maybe tens of thousands. “They are a distraction.” Though it was worth nothing that Rowin was gone, taken by the Chieftain and Ambassador despite injuries that ordinarily would have rendered it useless to the hive, except as good.
Above, the shuttle vanished into the gray miasma of clouds, the light of its engines burning bright as two more lights joined it, racing down from a higher altitude. Missiles. They would shed the exo-atmospheric stage that made them so visible soon and impact maybe a thirty seconds later.
“Fuck,” Valentina said.
“Get us below ground,” the Admiral ordered. The ghost had warned him not to delve into the colony’s depths, but there wasn’t much choice. It probably wouldn’t save them from a missile strike, but there was a chance. The parts of the colony that remained standing had withstood a days-long orbital bombardment from the Singularity, and the atmospheric shells fired from the Singularity’s main battery would have hit with a considerable amount more kinetic energy than a traditional missile strike. Of course, if the Hydra were reckless enough to expose a Cataclysmic graveyard to nuclear radiation, the nuke would kill them, but the Admiral was willing to bet against that. The Hydra, more than anyone, wanted Azura to remain contained. They wouldn’t chance introducing new variables to this environment.
“Aye, sir,” Valentina said, changing course to head for the most intact section of the building ahead of them. The lowest floors had remained mostly intact while the upper floors had crashed down beside it, creating a pile of rubble. The structure of the upper floors were mostly destroyed, crashing too far down to have survived, but the lower floors, where the building had been severed, had mostly survived, and a set of doors beckoned, their frames surprisingly intact.
Johnston left the Admiral when they were a few feet from the door and sprinted ahead, dropping his shoulder to charge into the rusted structure. He didn’t bother checking if they were locked, there wasn’t time. Barreling ahead at full speed, his strength and mass ripped the doors from their hinges and sent them flying into the mildewed room beyond.
Valentina didn’t miss a beat, simply ran in without pause, scanned the remains of the ground floor and spied an indicator for a stairwell. “This way!” She gestured the rest of the team onward.
From there Johnston retook point, thundering down the stairwell, Havermeyer a step behind. Frenchie had taken up position with the Admiral, not so much shoving him forward, but simply running escort beside as they ran through the building. The ground floor was a lobby of some sort, water-stained and moldy, but complete with the plain furniture that haunted all government offices, but that was all for the brief glimpse as they caught, following Valentina’s direction to the stairwell.
Johnston crashed his way through the metal doors at the bottom of the stairs with more care, not ripping them from their hinges. He stood aside and counted heads as the rest of the team sprinted by: Havermeyer, then Frenchie, the Admiral, and Valentina last. Johnston slammed the doors closed behind her, bracing them with all his strength as he heard the distant screech of the rocket motors become a roar. Out of time.
Impact came in the next instant, so sudden, so forceful that Corporal Johnston didn’t even feel it.
