Mike Stackpole - Ghost Book Two - The Death Machines

“All right, we’ll do it the hard way then. Ghost, can you get a peek through that door?”

“Can you cover me?”

“Will do,” called Vargas. “On your count.”

I opened my mouth to shout, then realized the Guardians would be listening too. Time for a little syncopation.

“One… two…” I popped my head up and saw a handful of Guardians hiding behind bits of heavy furniture, guns at the ready. They were positioned to give themselves overlapping fields of fire. They saw me and unleashed, but I was already ducking back and thinking fast.

“Three!”

The hammering of their automatic weapons gave way to the rising whine of laser rifles as Angie and Vargas fired blind around the corner. The sound died out.

“Five of ‘em,” I called out. “Entrenched. But I’ve got an idea.”

“Well, keep it to yourself,” said Vargas. “They might be listening.”

“Oh, they are,” I said. “Believe me. Just keep ‘em in there. I’ll be ready in a minute. And hey, Hell Razor, I need your rope!”

“Hang on.”

I slapped a full charge into the meson cannon and few seconds later a neatly coiled length of line arced over the railings and dropped onto the steps beside me. I quickly undid it, then tied one end around the butt stock of the meson cannon. Next came the crazy part. I pulled my kerchief from my pocket and threaded it through the cannon’s trigger guard, then pointed the gun straight up the stairs and tied the kerchief tight around its body so that it depressed the trigger. The purple death light streamed from the muzzle, eating the edges of the marble steps and burning into the ceiling above the open golden doors.

“Jesus, Ghost!” came Angie’s voice. “What the fuck are you doing?”

“Get back from the doors!” I shouted. “Far as you can!”

“You crazy bastard!” called Vargas.

I heard them scrambling back as I heaved the big gun up the stairs so it landed at the top. It bounced as it hit, sending the thick purple beam zigzagging around. Inside the vault, Guardians were screaming and thrashing.

I waggled my end of the rope and the gun swished back and forth on the slick marble like a snake on a leash, sloshing violet death into the vault in lazy arcs.

“Now get ‘em!” I shouted. “While they’re pinned.”

“Tighten up your goddamn fire first!” shouted Angie.

I eased up on the waggling, which I admit had gotten a little wild and was melting the marble on either side of the door. It narrowed to a gentle s–curve.

“Okay, now!”

The others ran back to the edges of the door and leaned in left and right, picking off the last few Guardians as they cowered from the purple snake that had cut their companions off at the knees — literally.

“Clear!” shouted Hell Razor. “Now kill that fucking death ray!”

I crawled up the stairs, pinned the gun with one hand and cut the kerchief free of the trigger. The violet light and the high pitched whine died and everyone breathed a sigh of relief. Then we entered the vault.

And stared.

It made no sense, and I could see the same surprised expression on everybody else’s face that I was sure was on my own. The five dead Guardians lay scattered among five hollow glass pillars — with five suits of pristine unused power armor inside of them!

We moved closer. This stuff was the real deal, a giant step up from the pseudo–chitin armor we were wearing. It wasn’t made out of ceramic and kevlar, but from invulnerable plastics and metals I didn’t even know existed. And the proof that they were invulnerable was that, while all our wild fire with our laser rifles and the meson cannon had turned the guardians into so much meat, and had melted through the glass of the display pillars like it was sugar, the armor didn’t have a scratch on it. Not even a smudge. We were in awe. Like our laser rifles and the meson cannon, this was secret stuff from before the bombs fell — from a future our ancestors had never been told had arrived.

I laid a hand on one glass pillar. It slowly rose into the ceiling, freeing the armor. I walked around it, touching it, checking out the way it fit together, as the others did the same at the other pillars. Stuck to the back of the armor with a piece of orange tape was a clear plastic envelope with papers inside. The envelope was labeled INSTRUCTIONS in big bold letters. It had never been opened.

I turned toward the others, dumbfounded. “They never even looked at the manual! If they had been wearing this stuff, they’d be alive and we’d be dead. Is this more of their “Too holy” crap?”

“Yeah,” said Vargas. “I don’t think they thought they were worthy.”

“How do you mean?” I asked.

He frowned, like he was putting it together in his head as he went. “Haven’t you noticed? The whole place is like that. They collect all this crap, but they don’t use any of it. We think of them selfish hoarders who don’t share the tech they use themselves, but that’s not the way it is, is it? They live like cave men in here while all around them is every labor–saving device the ancients ever devised. And why don’t they use it? I think it’s because they believe it’s meant for someone else — for their savior or messiah, or the ancients probably. They’ve spent all this time thinking it was their duty — Ha! Their honor — to keep it all safe until the actual owners came back.”

He looked around at the dead bodies and shook his head. “I’m sure these guys all worked hard to earn the right to protect this armor. And I’m sure they died believing that if they touched it, God would punish them.”

“Then we got here just in time,” said Ace.

“Why’s that?” asked Vargas.

“Because if what that Guardian lady was shouting at us about from the walls is true, then they’ve started believing their messiah is the Base Cochise AI, and it woulda only been a matter of time before the AI told them to put all this stuff on and start using all the big weapons.”

That sobered us up, and we all suddenly looked around like we thought some giant computer was going to jump out at us from behind a dust mote.

Then a noise from somewhere nearby brought our heads around.

“Sounds like there’s still more of ‘em out there,” said Vargas, then nodded toward the power armor suits. “Let’s get our party dresses on. It’s time to finish this.”

It wasn’t until then that we realized there were five suits and six of us. Vargas started to say something about drawing straws but I waved him down.

“Save it,” I said. “I like this fightin’ chitin just fine. I’ll just guard the door while you all get—”

I was cut off by a deep electrical throb from somewhere deep within the base. I felt it in my feet, and so did the others. We all stopped and listened. The throb quickly faded to a background hum, but another sound was growing louder, echoing up the marble steps from the grand hall — a low rumble with high pitched creaks and squeals on top of it.

“Oh, what the fuck now?” groaned Vargas.

“It’s the elevator,” I said. “It wasn’t broken after all.”

I ran down the marble steps to see what was coming, then ran right back up again, twice as quick.

“They must have a big–ass basement in this place,” I said as I stumbled back into the armor vault. “Because there’s another fifty or so Guardians coming our way.” I turned to Ace. “And remember how you said just now that they were gonna start using the ancients’ armor and the weapons any minute now? Well they heard you. They’re all tooled up — pseudo–chitin armor, energy weapons, the works.”

“Fuck!” said Vargas. “We better get this gear on, fast!”