John didn’t get a response from Mihran.
The Lutamek are free, he thought-cast again. Commander?
He couldn’t explain it but it felt different now. Maybe the gas mask was interfering with his message? He tried someone else. Lavalle, have you seen Mihran? The Lutamek are free.
No response.
Crossley?
Anyone?
He was just saying the words in his mind now, he realised, as normal thoughts.
He stumbled forward. All he could see through his gas mask and the yellow mist were silhouettes and the tops of the fort towers. Shapes came and went in the deadly fog and John heard muffled screams and explosions. A gust of wind cleared the view and he saw three swordsmen he didn’t recognise fighting a heavily armoured Brakari. Then the mist moved to reveal Olan in his gleaming, golden chest plate. Was that Panzicosta he was fighting? John’s gun-arm clicked and he formed thick, armour-piercing bullets. Olan was swinging his axe low and aiming for the legs, but the gas drifted back.
John ran forward, jumping over a dying Brakari, and nodded up and down to see through the mask’s glass eye holes. There! The gas thinned and Olan came back into view but now he was fighting Crossley.
Olan, John thought-cast, then shouted, ‘Olan! What are you doing?’
The large Viking was too busy charging at Crossley, who was far quicker than John had given him credit for. The mist drifted in and, when the view came back again, Olan was fighting Mihran. A thin cloud of yellow passed between them and Olan was fighting John. He stopped and watched in confusion. There he was: dressed in khaki; his machine gun stuck on his arm; both legs back to normal.
Then it made sense: Olan was fighting the Draytor.
A large shadow to John’s right made him turn as a Lutamek stepped out of the gas and said, ‘Come with me, human.’
‘But what about–’ John pointed at Olan.
‘You are needed elsewhere, the battle is over,’ the Lutamek replied.
John saw the yellow mist drawing into vents on the robot’s legs.
‘If you’re sure,’ John said and followed it across the scarred grassland with the gas thinning about them. Slowly, the battlefield was coming back into view and he saw more Lutamek silhouettes, gathered in a circle.
‘Here he is.’
A thin robot, a shade shorter than the rest and covered in red stripes, stepped forward. ‘John Greene, I am Nine-five, the original Lutamek leader. I believe you have our Lombetulat unit?’
John looked from side to side, unsure how to reply. ‘Is it safe to take off my mask now?’
‘Yes,’ Nine-five replied, ‘we have neutralised the chemicals.’
John pulled the canvas bag off his head and felt the breeze cool his sweaty forehead. ‘That’s better. So, this combobulater?’
‘The cube, John Greene, please hand me the cube you retrieved from Abzicrutia.’
‘Oh, yes.’ John swung his satchel round and pulled out the cube. ‘They’re all red now.’ He pointed at the panel as he placed it in Nine-five’s enormous metal hand.
‘Thank you.’
John felt his cheeks redden. ‘I’m glad you’re free.’
The gas had dissipated now and, apart from a distant melee, the fighting had stopped.
‘What now?’ John asked.
Nine-five gestured to a patch of ground near the ruined fort and John felt rumbling through his good foot. He stared as the ground rose and cracked, sending clods of soil rolling away from its epicentre. Then the white obelisk John and his companions had longed to see pushed up through the earth like a new tooth. John was drawn to it along with scores of other soldiers, including Crossley, who had managed to pilfer a cigarette and was coughing between puffs.
‘Hi,’ John said but Crossley held up a hand as he produced another round of rapid, gurgling coughs.
He left the American to his own amusement and read the black words on the pristine white stone:
Here the allied forces of the humans , Sorean and Lutamek defeated the Brakari and Comglo pact.
‘So those red worms were the Comglo?’ Crossley said when he stopped coughing.
‘I guess so,’ John replied.
Crossley looked over to where the titans and their drivers lay dead under the weight of their catapults. ‘Bad choice, Comglo!’
John looked around, taking it all in. ‘So that’s it then? The fighting’s over?’
Other soldiers had been drawn to the obelisk, reminding John of what they had looked like when they first arrived: battle-weary and wearing confused looks. Delta-Six was among them, scanning the obelisk, just as he had done with the first.
‘There are still a few mean-looking Brakari out there,’ Crossley pointed to where a platoon of the blue-shelled arthropods had regrouped, ‘but the Lutamek will take care of them.’
Nine-five and his band of emancipated soldiers were fanning out to create a barrier across the burnt battlefield between the Brakari and the humans and Sorean. The other slave soldiers had abandoned the field, fleeing across the prairie or taking shelter in the ruined fort.
‘Who did we lose?’ John asked.
Crossley’s shoulders dropped as he listed the names. ‘Li, Tode, Sakarbaal…’
John raised his eyebrows but didn’t say anything.
‘…and Kastor.’
‘And Mihran?’ John asked, feeling he knew the answer already.
Crossley nodded. ‘His tocka led Lavalle to his body.’ He nodded towards the fort. ‘Some big Brakari bastard killed him apparently.’
John pictured Panzicosta and forced the thought away – it could have been any Brakari.
‘We should pay our respects.’
Crossley looked John in the eye but said nothing.
‘He gave us our victory and–’ John said.
‘I know,’ Crossley cut him off. ‘I just want to check a few things here first.’
‘Okay, but keep an eye out for Euryleia – you have to see what happened to her.’
John patted Crossley on the shoulder and headed for the fort. He could hear Crossley coughing for several steps before his thoughts took him away. Who would be in charge now? One of the captains, John guessed. Samas probably. Bowman was too new to the post. Lavalle? The Black Sword had redeemed himself and the army’s opinion of him must have changed. And what about Gal-qadan? Did his soldiers still follow him? They made up a good proportion of the survivors. John shook his head and peered up at the green clouds: there was plenty of light left but they were tired. Better to rest during the night and walk the following day, he thought.
‘John Greene.’ A deep voice made John jump and his head shot up from his daydreaming.
‘Panzicosta?’ John stumbled back.
He looked around for help but he’d wandered far from his army.
‘You recognise me?’ Panzicosta’s voice was as demonic as John remembered. ‘I worried you would forget me and we would have to be reacquainted.’
The large Brakari stalked slowly forward.
John backed up towards his army. There was no way he could outrun such a large beast and his bullets wouldn’t stop Panzicosta if he charged. Still, he spun a few bullets in his gun-arm’s chamber just in case.
‘You know, I could bring those memories back for you.’ Panzicosta was walking at an angle, trying to guide John into the shadows of the fort beyond.
‘I remember enough.’ John tried to hide his nervousness and anger.
‘The memories Krotank and Millok took from you?’ Panzicosta replied. ‘Such cherished memories…’
John held his tongue. There was no point talking to this mad creature who was only here to feed his bloodthirst. Any sign of weakness or defiance fuelled his fun.
‘I remember it all,’ Panzicosta continued and John carried on stepping backwards. ‘How easily your leg detached at the knee… once I stemmed the blood flow, it was only a matter of a few snips and it came away easily.’
John fought the urge to look at his metal leg. He could feel the anger burning in his stomach again – the need for vengeance for being taken from Joe and for his injuries. But he knew when he was outgunned.
‘I could show you again, would you like that?’ Panzicosta stopped walking.
John saw tocka swinging over from the right. Were they looking for Mihran’s body? Bowman was there, with Lavalle and Euryleia. Would they see him in time?
A sharp snapping sound made John turn as Panzicosta clacked his shells.
‘Answer me, human!’ He lunged forward and swiped at John, who fell back and rolled over.
John scrambled away, keeping his eyes on the Brakari.
‘I could make your death quick – like I did with your commander.’
‘You killed Mihran?’
Saying it out loud made it real. Another reason for vengeance.
Panzicosta advanced. ‘He put up a good fight.’ He raised a blue arm stump where one of his main claws had once snapped menacingly. ‘This will grow back. Your commander will not.’
John saw the tocka approaching behind Panzicosta, suggesting they had seen him. If he could keep Panzicosta talking, he would be in with a chance.
‘You’ve lost!’ John shouted. ‘So just give up… leave me alone.’
‘Why?’ Panzicosta’s head twisted at an odd angle. ‘We were having such fun before, and our time is limited. I need something to take the pain away – the pain of loss.’
‘The pain of loss?’ John shouted and couldn’t control his emotions any more. ‘I’ll tell you about loss – losing my wife, losing my son, my friends and my whole bloody world!’
‘I don’t give a Vaalorian shit about your losses, you little soft-bellied worm.’ Panzicosta’s mouth-pieces sharpened against each other and two of his smaller bladed arms unfurled. ‘This is war! Fight me if you want, but either way you are going to die!’ He flew forward and slashed at John, who ducked and rolled. A blade scraped against John’s back and he fired his gun as soon as he saw the black mass above him, then scrambled away as a club-claw came crashing down.
As quickly as he could, John was on his feet and running towards the tocka. Panzicosta gave a howling roar and John did not dare look back.
‘Bowman!’ John shouted. ‘Three! Use three!’
It was useless, they couldn’t hear him.
Feeling the ground shake behind him, John dropped and rolled into a small pit. Black blades and claws came crashing down around him, but John had escaped. He crawled away, avoiding another swipe, and ran as fast as he could. He looked back to see Panzicosta hadn’t followed him. He had seen that the incoming tocka had turned to face them: twenty of them bearing down on him.
‘Bowman!’ John shouted. ‘Use number three!’ He held up three fingers.
Panzicosta stretched tall on his legs and was making an odd, low sound. Then segments of his shell fell off. Was he dying? No, it had to be the enhancement Millok had mentioned – something Panzicosta didn’t want to use. Lumps of dark shell fell away, revealing a pure white body beneath with tiny electric-blue ripples running over it. Then, out of his back plates, four large wings unfolded and pumped full of blood.
The tocka were still out of firing range but closing by the second.
‘Bowman!’ John held up three fingers. ‘Three!’
Panzicosta’s transformation had been quick and he stood like a huge brilliant-white dragonfly. With little effort, Panzicosta’s wings flapped and he lifted off the ground. He opened his jaws and spat electric-blue fireballs at the tocka, sending riders spinning into the grass and setting the tocka ablaze.
John snapped into action and fired his gun. Long, thin bullets ripped through the air and tore into Panzicosta’s tail and wings. Panzicosta spun around in response and released a fireball at John. It exploded near his feet, sending John stumbling backwards.
Panzicosta opened his mouth to fire again but paused mid-air as a bright burst of light shot from the tocka. The energy bolt hit Panzicosta in the back and he spent a motionless second in the air before crashing to the ground like a stone.
John scrambled to his feet and ran to get to Panzicosta before the tocka tore him apart. He held his arm up at the riders. ‘That’s enough! You’ve got him!’ He waved Lavalle’s cavalry down.
‘Setting three?’ Bowman asked, as he pulled up to John.
‘It’s the one Li used on Millok. It froze him.’ John was still catching his breath. ‘When it wears off he won’t be able to walk for hours.’
Lavalle and the other tocka pulled up alongside Bowman.
‘You want to kill him yourself?’ Lavalle asked, with a sideways glance at Euryleia.
John looked at Panzicosta. His mouthparts were the same, if frozen, but his body was the opposite of before: white and soft. John placed the barrel of his gun-arm on the centre of Panzicosta’s forehead. He remembered letting the Draytor go and remembered the carnage it had caused on the battlefield. Doing something or doing nothing seemed to have an effect later on, so what should he do now? The battle was won. John had his victory, so he could leave through the silver gates, wherever they led. That was the only reason he had fought, so would killing Panzicosta make a difference?
Joe was dead and there was no going home.
John formed a long, spiked bullet and stared into Panzicosta’s numerous eyes. Panzicosta’s face twitched and, for a second, John felt sorry for him. He knew he could still see and hear him, just as John had when he’d been tortured, and John felt a wave of power. One bullet and Panzicosta was gone, forever. No more threat. The memory and the fear would disappear and John would be one step closer to getting revenge on those who had brought him here.
Or would he?
Panzicosta had been brought here too, against his will.
John took his gun-arm off and spoke to Panzicosta. ‘You’re not my real enemy.’
‘Good choice, John,’ Euryleia said.
John looked to Lavalle. ‘If we move fast we can get to the silver gates before sundown.’
‘Are you our new leader now?’ Crossley stepped forward and put an arm around him, ‘’cos God knows we need one,’ he cast a glance at Lavalle, ‘and I’m not sure who can fill Mihran’s shoes.’
‘Samas will lead us,’ Lavalle replied to Crossley’s barbed comment. ‘He will lead us to the silver gates and complete our journey.’
The alliance of humans, Sorean and Lutamek wound its way off the battlefield, bound for the silver gates, led by Samas, who talked with Nine-five and Jakan-tar. Lutamek scouts were chasing the surviving Brakari back to Abzicrutia, giving the army a clear path ahead, while other Lutamek had constructed carts to transport the entire army to the gates before sundown. Althorn lay prostrate on a cart next to a burnt-out tree stump, which John assumed was Mata, Dakaniha was on a tocka with Gal-qadan’s cavalry, which he kept separate from Lavalle’s, and Osayimwese was walking with Olan.
Delta-Six walked with them and soon picked John out. ‘John Greene!’ he said and joined him.
The athletic man looked different; his skin had a metallic shine and he seemed more relaxed.
‘Delta-Six,’ John replied and put his good hand in his pocket. It was the electric shock that had caused his arm to melt into his gun after all.
Delta-Six pointed at his gun-arm. ‘I’m told it works?’
John nodded. ‘It can do some damage,’ he said. ‘How about your changes?’
‘Let’s just say they’re interesting…’ Delta-Six smiled.
It was the first time John had seen him smile and he relaxed a little. ‘You must be looking forward to getting back to your war now?’
Delta-Six stared at John for a second, as though holding something back, then said, ‘Actually, no. I’m not sure where I want to go now.’
‘But you wanted to fight.’
‘I was needed and I had a duty but…’ Delta-Six shook his head.
‘We all had to fight in the end,’ John said. ‘This land made soldiers of us.’
‘Made?’ Delta-Six asked. ‘I was born to be a soldier.’ John could see pain in his eyes. ‘If we weren’t born to fight, why are there so many warriors here? It must be in our nature.’
‘But that means we don’t have a choice,’ John replied. ‘That we have to fight… but we always have a choice.’
Delta-Six nodded.
‘Delta-Six!’ Samas shouted. ‘There’s someone here you need to meet.’
‘It was good to talk,’ Delta-Six said.
‘Yeah, bye,’ John said, and watched him join Samas and the Lutamek.
John scanned the rest of the army. There were some faces he didn’t recognise: two enormous, brown-scaled creatures and an Asian swordsman.
‘Who’s that?’ John caught up with Crossley and asked him.
‘Oh, that’s Isao.’
John didn’t recognise the name.
‘The samurai,’ Crossley explained. ‘He was one of the spirit warriors Dakaniha told me about.’
‘Oh.’ John remembered seeing the ghostly swordsmen through his gas mask. ‘And the two big brown…?’
‘Armadillos?’ Crossley laughed and shook his head. ‘Dunno, Althorn brought them along. Hey, did you hear about what that swindler Gal-qadan did?’
John shook his head.
‘He gave me a duff weapon and kept the real thing, you know, the one he found. Then five minutes ago I saw him giving it to that one-eyed giant.’
‘Peronicus-Rax?’ John asked. ‘He’s here too?’
‘Yeah, the watcher. So I just walked over, cool as anything, and gave him the dud weapon too. Even Gal-qadan couldn’t…’
Crossley’s words faded as John watched the people walking with them, sharing stories and showing off trophies, talking of lost comrades and heroic events. They passed three Lutamek pulling a cart loaded with large metal eggs, each one nearly as big as him.
By the time the silver gates came into view, some hours later, the green clouds were tinged peach as the sun started to set. They descended a long hill past a squalid encampment teeming with more bizarre alien soldiers, surrounded by a wall of mist. In the distance, John saw the shadow of Abzicrutia and realised how close he’d been to the gates.
‘Jeez, look at that!’ Crossley pointed to where a wind had pulled back the mist to reveal the gleaming silver gates.
John had never seen anything so large or beautiful.
‘They’re set in glass walls,’ Crossley said, when the cart slowed down.
John peered up at the walls, which disappeared into the clouds above and the mist, which ran as far as he could see on either side. ‘Will they open?’ he asked, as they joined the queue Lavalle was organising.
Crossley shrugged. ‘Who knows.’
‘Stop!’ A shout rang out, followed by a wild roar of a hundred warriors baying for blood.
‘Oh, hell.’ Crossley peered past the Lutamek. ‘Looks like we’ve got trouble.’
John squinted. Ahead of the line, Samas talked to a small army carrying an array of lethal-looking alien weaponry.
‘I will deal with them.’ Peronicus-Rax lumbered past with his cascade of weapons clattering with each step.
Crossley gave John a look. ‘He’s probably in cahoots with them, you know, wants to take a cut of whatever we pay.’
John shook his head. ‘No, he may be selfish but he wouldn’t do that.’
‘Really?’ Crossley raised his eyebrows.
‘Look.’ John pointed to where Peronicus-Rax stood with the aggressors. He unclipped one of the long, silver weapons and handed it over.
‘He’s done that before.’ Crossley stood with his hands on his hips.
‘Who cares?’ Lavalle had overheard. ‘He’s bought us safe passage.’
‘Whatever,’ Crossley replied, and the army walked past the grinning alien soldiers, tinkering with their new toy. Crossley turned to John. ‘That was my weapon – he sold them a dud,’ he chuckled, but the sound of power coursing through the glinting rifle made Crossley frown. ‘Ah, goddamit.’
‘Don’t worry,’ John said. ‘We’re leaving now.’ He pointed at the enormous silver gates. ‘You won’t need it anyway.’
‘Why? What do you think’s through there? The land of milk and honey?’
‘No, I…’ John had suppressed his true wishes since Li had told him about Joe’s full life. There was no way of going home, but there was always a chance, wasn’t there? ‘I don’t know.’
‘I don’t either but it won’t be pretty.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘Well, Althorn said his mates, the two huge armadillos, come in and out when they feel like a fight,’ Crossley said.
‘They come back in?’ John didn’t understand. ‘Why would they want to come back into this hellhole?’
‘Exactly!’ Crossley replied.
John saw the two huge brothers at the front of the file. They were enormous, even bigger than the Lutamek.
‘Do you think they have to win a battle every time they want to leave?’ John asked.
‘Maybe,’ Crossley replied. ‘I haven’t seen Peronicus-Rax doing much fighting though and it looks like he’s joining us.’
A motley group of malnourished soldiers of various shapes and forms watched on with envy as the victory parade passed through the encampment.
‘Poor bastards,’ Crossley said.
These were the losers, John thought, and tried in vain to remember some of the names of the armies who had lost. Some were lone warriors, others huddled with their comrades. Was this what would become of the Brakari? John wondered. And Panzicosta?
An explosion made him turn to see a cloud of smoke where the guerrillas had been standing. Bodies lay in piles around a small crater and the nearest alien soldiers were rushing in to pilfer from the dead gangster clan.
‘Hurry up!’ Lavalle beckoned them over and John and Crossley jogged through the camp to where their leaders stood at the seam of the two silver gates.
‘Their prices were getting too high,’ John overheard Peronicus-Rax explaining to Nine-five.
‘So, what now?’ Crossley shouted.
‘Now we pass through.’ Peronicus-Rax gestured to Samas, Jakan-tar and Nine-five, who pressed their hands against the metal of the seam.
A low rumble shook the air and John took a step back as a dark line ran down the seam and released steam. Beside John, Crossley was coughing. Deep clicks resonated from the wall above as the two enormous doors slid apart, sweeping up into the walls on either side. John craned his neck, trying to get a view through, but all he could see was mist. He gave up and ran his metal toes through the ash on the ground, which reminded him of the soldier with the red armband Delta-Six had zapped on the first day.
‘And now we walk through,’ Peronicus-Rax said and the three leaders walked with him into the mist.
The nearest soldiers followed and the host of Lutamek, Sorean and humans slowly disappeared.
John cast a glance back at the land that had been their home for the last fourteen days. The green clouds turned a shade of purple and Abzicrutia shimmered orange in the distance.
‘Here goes then.’ Crossley gave John a wink and they stepped through together.
The mist was cool and refreshing. John turned to Crossley but couldn’t see him. Was this it? Am I going home now? he thought. Will I walk through the mist and find myself back in Flanders? Back to the mud, the rats and the bombs? John’s gun-arm clicked.
You are strong, he told himself. You’re ready for anything now.
Five steps later, a new world opened up before John. He blinked and cupped his eyes with his good hand. The light was intense after so many days under a clouded sky and, after a few more steps, the immense landscape became clear. On the horizon a blood-red sun set the sky aflame with vibrant oranges and pinks.
‘Jeez!’ Crossley was next to him. ‘I need my shades.’
John rubbed the tears from his eyes. Silhouettes of the leaders and other soldiers were ahead of him and the vast landscape took shape as his eyes grew accustomed to the light. It was larger than any view he’d ever seen and seemed to go on forever. Hills and ravines flowed away from their position. Everything was blurred in the distance and the colour of the setting sun, which sat minutes from the horizon, didn’t help, turning everything orange.
John walked to where the leaders talked with Peronicus-Rax.
‘…only as far as the second ridge. At least three days to that point.’
‘And the domes?’ Lavalle asked.
‘What domes?’ John focused on the distant hills. They were symmetrical and glowed as though reflecting the sun’s rays. Were they domes?
‘They look like huge greenhouses if you ask me,’ Crossley said, shading his eyes like John was.
‘As far as I can tell they’re the same size as our dome,’ Peronicus-Rax said, ‘but I’ve never ventured that far.’
‘Our dome?’ John asked.
He felt his neck crawl. Slowly, he turned back to look at the silver gates, which were hard to see through the mist, but the surrounding walls were clear: curving away to the left, the right and straight up.
They had just walked out of an immense dome.
A blue bolt of electricity caught John’s eye as it leapt out of the left gate and turned a silhouette into a pile of ash.
‘Coward,’ a voice said.
John looked up to see one of Althorn’s giant armadillo allies. ‘He didn’t fight,’ he explained.
John nodded.
Crossley said, ‘So the rules about the land were true? Fight or die.’
‘And all of that land was inside a huge dome?’ John asked, and shook his head.
‘Looks like it.’ Crossley was staring up, open-mouthed. ‘I’d guessed something was up from what I saw underground, but I never expected it to be this big. Jeez!’
John’s eyes followed the glass wall up and, scattered across the dusky sky, he saw what looked like dozens of small moons. ‘What is this place?’ he asked nobody.
A hissing sound signalled the closing of the silver gates and John turned back to the long view. He could see everything clearly now. The distant horizon was an undulating line of curved domes. Too many to count.
Nine-five’s voice caught John’s attention. ‘You’re saying the entire planet is covered with these domes and the orbiting spheres could be related?’
‘Yes, it’s possible,’ Peronicus-Rax said, and pointed at one of the nearest domes. ‘Look – another species is coming in.’
A dark shape descended from the orange sky. If the size of the dome was anything to go by, this aircraft was immense. The whole army watched as it gently landed on a flat landing platform on top of a distant dome.
‘That’s all we’ll be able to see from here,’ Peronicus-Rax said. ‘Everything else happens inside.’
Questions were coming thick and fast from everyone now, but the leaders had priority. What happened now? Why were there no obelisks? Where should they go? How could they get food? Were they allowed back into the dome?
Peronicus-Rax and the armadillo brothers answered where they could.
‘Stop!’ Peronicus-Rax eventually yelled, and held up his huge hands. ‘All I know is we were brought here to fight.’
‘But we’ve fought already and won!’ Samas said. ‘Who brought us here and what do they plan for us next?’
‘I don’t have all the answers,’ Peronicus-Rax replied. ‘Everyone brought here is of a warrior-class species and has to fight. However, I have heard of the Ascent.’
‘The Ascent?’ John repeated. ‘Is that who brought us here?’
Peronicus-Rax blinked his solitary eye. ‘I don’t know.’
‘So this place was just some bloody gladiator’s arena?’ Crossley asked, pointing at the dome.
Nobody replied. The truth was sinking in for everyone. They were soldiers. They had to fight.
Just like when they had crowded around the first obelisk, Althorn stepped forward, now wearing a cloth eye patch. ‘I believe everything within the dome – our enhancements, our battles, our alliance – has simply been our training.’
‘Our training?’ Crossley almost screeched.
‘Training for what?’ John asked.
‘To get used to your new abilities,’ Peronicus-Rax replied.
John squinted at the gigantic domes beyond. ‘And to get ready for the next battle.’
Read on for an exclusive extract of the next book
in the Origin Trilogy, Survival.