To get into Dispatch, you walk though a triple airlock of massively armed and armoured doors. each strong enough to stop a rampaging elephant. They have been replaced six times in the last twenty years, due to incursions. As the entire team is present, we use the huge cargo entrance, rather than filing through two at a time through the personnel locks. There, in the center of the room, is the only wormhole transit in the entire Vatican Free State. Heavily modified of course, it can be opened in under three seconds and deliver us to within one metre of any point on the planet, instantaneously. Handy for a rapid reaction force, though sending an entire task force through in one hit strains the controllers a bit. As we have time, I cut our force into three pieces and have each group sent through separately. The happier the wormhole controllers are, the faster they do pick-up. Which means the fewer people I am likely to lose.
Protective has already gone through, hours ago. There have been the usual problems reported to me about fitting believers into squads that think religion is complete balls, but Peters is an old hand at fitting square pegs into round holes, and has an almost mystical ability to intimidate civilians into obedience. It helps that many of the squads worked with support four days ago when the Reaver first appeared. Even the most stridently materialistic person tends to moderate their disbelief after seeing an Operative blow a bullet proof demon into dust with a few words and gestures.
“Right folks. Strike force first in T minus five minutes, followed by liaison at T plus 10 seconds. Mop up at T plus 30 seconds.”
Reg, the gate controller this shift glances up from is monitors. “Cat, you want the standard 5 meter spread? Your recall beacons are set to channel fifteen, automatic pick-up on activation.”
“Better make it 10 metres, Reg, this Reaver is a big bugger. Arm span is estimated to be on the order of six metres.” He waves confirmation and goes back to his art. Half mathematics, half prayer, half intuition, he'll deliver you to any square centimetre in the solar system you care to name. And three halves actually makes sense when talking about non-dimensional geometry, so keep your sniggers to yourself.
“T minus two minutes, Cat.”
“Cheers, Reg. Saddle up, teams.” I move lazily to the staging area, whistling slightly under my breath. If I am not calm, my team is not calm, If my team is not calm, shit can go south faster than a turd in a flushing turbo toilet. “Final weapons checks.”
Check gun belts – tight and guns riding loose and easy in their holsters. Capture capsules, light grenades, hi-ex, spare ammo, all looped and in easy reach. Pain loose and oiled in her scabbard, hilt sticking up over my right shoulder, almost vibrating with eagerness to drink demon blood. And Seraphina's brooch prominent on my chest. Just in case. Wonder what the stone is – I forgot to check. Glance round. Strike team prepped, tense and ready for anything. Flash expresses her total disinterest in waiting by squatting and relieving herself on the concrete. Ahitana looks on, struggling to keep a straight face, as Hong disgustedly shakes cheetah piss off his boot. On the tick, we step through the wormhole. Laughing.
* * *
We arrived just outside the main entrance to the Convention Centre. Banners for the con festooned the front, looking forlorn with no one but us to read their garish messages. The Toronto RRF has done well. I'll not ask how they did it, but they have cleared out about two hundred thousand entitled and somewhat arrogant young Americans and Canadians in four hours. The only sound is the occasional bark from inside the Centre and the flapping of the banners in the breeze.
Still a spark of sun above the horizon. Two of the mop up crew race forward and pull open the entrance doors, securing them with wedges, then fall back. Glance around. Everyone ready. Raise my hand and gesture Ahitana forward, Flash close at his side. He does whatever it is that he does, and becomes dim to my enhanced sight as he passes through the doors. Slowly, steadily, we march into the deserted convention centre.
Two steps inside the door there is a shocking crash of gunfire and a tinkle of shattered glass hitting the floor. Without thought, Pain is suddenly in my left hand, the Magnum in my right, twitching and searching for targets. Hong and Suilien have their guns out, eyes sweeping as they cover the flanks.
Franco looks sheepish. “Sorry boss. Saw a War Lych and shot at it.”
I look over. Shredded polystyrene still falling to the floor in what is left of a display case.
“Fucking horror fans. No worries Franco. Just, be a bit more careful next time, eh? Bit of a waste of a holy water explosive round – that is coming out of your pay check.”
Tension easing back a notch again. Click as Franco pops the magazine and tops off the load. Eye sweep, everyone in position. Re-holster the Magnum, keep Pain in my hand, ready. Wave Ahitana forward and move deeper into the convention centre. Flash stops and stiffens, hackles rising. Something here. Her head turns this way and that, trying to locate whatever she has sensed. Stop trying to follow her gaze – watch my own quadrant and rely on the others to watch theirs. From behind me, a briefly muttered prayer from Hong and the pop of displaced air.
“One imp banished.”
“Still something ahe ...” A flicker of movement above me. Drop, roll and jam Pain straight into the chest of the shelob as a barbed leg the height of a man crunches into the floor where I had just been. Twist the sword, pull it out and backflip. Shear through the thing's neck as I go past. Incantations, displacing air all round me as the team clears them out. A scream from one of the mop up crew – must have been too slow. Glance, his partner has taken care of that attacker. A yowling roar from Flash as the floor in front of her bursts upwards with tremendous force. A blunt grey mass of flesh heaves into view.
“Tunneller!” Ahitana screams. I am already racing forward. This one is mine, tunnellers cannot be banished. It's head splits open like a flower, revealing the mass of tentacles coiled within. Two shots makes the thing recoil, then swing Pain in a horizontal arc, neatly trimming off all the tentacles at the roots. Swing Pain up and over and drive it straight down. Something hooks the back of my jacket, pulling me off balance. Feel a blast of displaced air and the grip is gone. A second blast behind me. Concentrate. On my knees now, driving the sword deeper into the quivering mass of demon. Pierce the brain. It gives a convulsive shiver and quits moving. Leap to my feet and spin. This battle is over.
Only two down, one moaning softly as he clutches the stump of his leg. As I see him he winks out of sight, recalled to Dispatch. The other is laying there, his head viewing the scene almost placidly, a short distance from the rest of him. Wickham picks up the head, places it tenderly on the body, and presses the recall button.
Mop up team sets up a perimeter. Luis trots over.
“Seventeen demons, Cat.” He looks almost physically sick.
“Damn. That is way too many. We still haven't seen the ghouls, the bile demon or the lyches yet.” Scrub my head – maybe friction will help me think better. No. “And what the hell is a Tunneller doing in a Reaver's entourage? They are supposed to be mortal enemies!”
“Amigo, I have a bad feeling about this.” Oh, it just gets better and better. Luis, like my mother, has a little bit of the Sight. When he gets a feeling, I am going to listen.
“What will be worse, Luis. Going back or going forward?” Force my voice to be gentle, even though I want to scream. He closes his eyes, looking distressed.
“Going back will be worse for everyone. Going forward will be worse for me.” He sags. He already knows what the answer must be. I nod and pat his shoulder.
“Form up folks, break time is over.” Glance at del Toro, flick my phone implant to private line. “Del Toro, want you to hit Luis' recall button at the first sign of serious trouble. He just had a Sight.”
Del Toro looks at me and nods once, quickly. “Will do. You are a good man, underneath your armour.”
“Nah, just terrified of his wife.” Brief flicker of a smile.
We move on, deeper into the Centre. A few minor skimishes with imps and afreets, nothing serious, but it brings the number of the Reaver's entourage to twenty eight. A ridiculous number. And still no sign of the Reaver himself, nor his bodyguards.
The Convention Centre is huge. Rebuilt and expanded after the accident of sixty-eight, the main hall alone covers an area three hundred by five hundred metres, with twelve six metre wide doorways in the shorter sides. From outside the doors, we can hear the sound of dogs and cats in a total panic. Something is certainly in there, and feeding. A slim tendril of fear runs up my spine. Glance at Suilien – she feels it too.
“You up to handling a buruburu or two?” Hong turns dead white. He has had a bad phobia about the fear spirits ever since he spent five hours trapped with one once, unable to move his arms to complete the banishment. She looks at me consideringly, then nods once. “Good. Take them out first. Franco, you cover Suilien. Hong, you are with me. Keep the Lyches and Ghouls off my back. And stay frosty, lad. I need your full attention on covering my ass.”
Turn to Ahitana. “This is as far as you go, old friend. Watch our backs. And really try to keep Flash out of this one, it is no place for her.” He nods, and unlimbers a huge pump action shotgun. Raise an eyebrow, questioning nod at the gun.
“Rock salt, lithium and blessed silver. Half charge, so your armour should protect you from stray pellets. May as well make them scream, to warn you ,of course.” His habitual impassivity is gone, hidden behind a feral smile that would make a lion slink away in abject terror. My return smile is equally predatory.
Flick a light grenade from my belt and arm it. Two of the mop up have finished laying the cutting charges around the doors and are ready to blow them on my signal. Glance around and give a quick nod to del Toro, who casually reaches forward and slaps Luis' recall button once, sharply. His look of disbelief and dawning hope as he disappears from view. At least he is safe, making me almost safe from Margareta's fury.
“Ladies, gentlemen. Shall we dance?”
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