Chapter Fifty-Two – Contact

Chapter Fifty-Two – Contact

“The very first–or the one who was the first reported, at least–samurai, was forty-two year old Alfred Prickleback.

He handed himself in to the authorities afterwards, claiming to have suffered a psychotic break because he kept hearing voices in his head.”

–Vanguards, a history, 2034

***

“Contact,” Emoscythe drawled.

Usually, when someone spotted a massive group of aliens they put a bit of oomph into their words, maybe a bit of excitement. Emoscythe said “contact” with all of the enthusiasm that I’d expect from a secretary saying “next.”

The street below was filled to the brim with aliens. Surprisingly though, they weren’t charging around like mad dogs in a kibble factory. I moved closer to the edge of the roof, stealth systems on so that I’d be just a little harder to notice. Emoscythe was still a few steps back, but I guessed she had some way of seeing over the edge.

“That’s a lot of them,” I said. I squinted at the crowded street. Lots of model threes, some model ones resting here and there. The usual mix of fours and fives, because everyone needed tentacles and tanks in their lives.

What concerned me more was what I couldn’t see. The aliens were crowding around the opening to a parking garage. This wasn’t so much a street as it was a cul-de-sac with access to a couple of parking spaces for land-bound vehicles. One of the buildings across from us was a twenty-floor parking space, for hovercars and normal cars.

“Why aren’t they moving?” I asked.

“They’re protecting something,” she said. “You’ll see this kind of behaviour sometimes, next to a hive.”

“You think they have a hive down there?” I asked.

“Right now? No, it’s a little too early for that. I think we’d have noticed a hive if it was here before this wave started up. The buildings around here are pretty tall, few street-facing stores, so not many cameras, and the road is narrow. I think this might be a spot where the antithesis are setting up a fresh hive.”

“Oh, great,” I said. “So, bomb the entire street until there’s nothing left but ashes, and then salt the earth behind us?”

“That’s an option,” she said. “I have the impression that there might be something else going on here. They’re too docile for being so close to so much action. At the very least they should be scavenging for biomass.”

I pulled back from the edge. “Then what?” I asked.

“I’ll go down and check,” she said. “We can continue talking after that.”

“I’m not letting you go down there on your own,” I said. “That’d be irresponsible.”

She shrugged. “It’s fine either way. I mostly fight close to whatever I’m killing. Can you do overwatch? Snipe them from afar?”

“I… can’t, no,” I admitted. “My aim’s kind of trash.”

“You know, there are things you can do to fix that. Practice, for one. But there are brain mods and body mods to help with your accuracy.” She grabbed her two kama, the blades snapping back into the sticks, and pressed the bases of them together to form a longer stick. Something clicked within, and a three-foot-long blade snicked out of the end. It now looked like she had a sword with a really long handle.

“I know,” I said. “I’m not sure if I really want more shit jammed into my head.”

Emoscythe shrugged. “That’s fair. And entirely up to you. Your meatsack, your choice. But if you can’t do something well, then I’d suggest working hard to find a way around that. I imagine that’s why you use bombs over bullets?”

“Bombs don’t need to be aimed,” I said.

She nodded. Then she walked off the side of the roof.

I gasped and threw myself forwards to catch her, but she was long gone by the time my hand reached out and caught air.

I saw her falling, arms out and legs together. Her clothes flapped in the wind in the three or so long seconds it took for her to reach the ground.

Then she landed goth-boots first on the head of a model five.

The big tanky alien exploded as both feet rammed its skull into the ground. Boots and ground proved tougher than skull, and bits of alien brain-goop poured out across the ground.

The other aliens, of course, noticed.

Emoscythe stepped forwards as if she hadn’t just gone from terminal velocity to no velocity in a blink. One hand swiped to the side with her long-handled sword, a couple of model threes slumping back with bisected spines, while her other hand reached to the small of her back and pulled out an object that writhed and snapped, reconfiguring itself into a handgun. Or maybe it would have been more appropriate to call it a hand cannon, it was nearly as big as my Bullcat, but clearly meant to be held in one hand.

The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation.

The gun fired, and with that, Emoscythe was sent flying through the air by the recoil.