“What do you here? Answer!” came the breathless glottal sound of a Chatt. “You block way.”
“Us?” he heard Hobson’s voice respond. “We’re just taking food to the prisoners.”
“Prihz nuhz.”
Everson braced himself. Judging by their use of language, these Chatts knew just enough to deal with Urmen on a basic level.
“You not Khungarrii.”
“We most certainly are.”
“Scent no.”
Well, that answered that question.
“You no Khungarrii.” There was an inhuman scream and a muttered interjection of “Oh, hell,” followed by the sound of a club smashed into something brittle and wet. Hard on its heels came a hissing and a pained yelp mixed with an electric crackle. A bluish white light flared briefly, illuminating the shaft.
“Damn!” said Everson, relaxing his body and allowing himself to slip from the vent.
He landed heavily on his feet, revolver ready, but the immediate problem had been dealt with. Two broad-headed Chatts, one with an electric lance, lay on the floor. One had its head staved in. The other had been stabbed through the chest. Private Blood was wiping his bayonet blade and Sergeant Hobson was hefting ‘Little Bertha’. Corporal Ketch was clutching his arm.
“Damn thing spat acid at me,” he coughed. “It’s gone right through me bleedin’ stripes!”
“Reckon someone’s trying to tell you something, Ketch,” sniped Evans. Ketch glared back at him.
Everson didn’t need this right now. He needed them to be operating as a unit. He stepped in between the two soldiers.
“You all right, Corporal?” he said.
“I’ll live,” replied Ketch from between gritted teeth.
“Right. I don’t need anyone blinded by this acid spray. So let’s not take any chances. Gas helmets on.”
“Looks like our smell-o-flage has worn off, then sir,” said Hopkiss in a chirpy assessment of the situation, rummaging in his canvas bag for the gas hood.
“So it would seem, Hopkiss.”
“We must move,” urged Poilus. “They will have sent out an alarm scent warning the rest of the colony. More scentirrii will be here soon.”
“We’ve lost the element of surprise, then,” said Everson.
It was bound to happen. Their luck wouldn’t hold forever. Mind you, they’d got further than he’d thought. Knowing they didn’t have long before more Chatts turned up he wanted to push on as quickly as possible.
“This is it,” he said. “Everybody ready?” There were grunts of assent from under the gas hoods as the men moved off. Everson rolled his gas hood down over his face, tucked it into his shirt collar, replaced his cap and took a place at the front with Poilus, behind Hobson and Atkins as Gordon sniffed out the way. Blood and Ketch followed pulling the weapons sleds while Evans, Nicholls, and their Flammenwerfer brought up the rear with Otterthwaite, Jellicoe and Hopkiss.
They pushed on up the gently spiralling passage. They’d only just managed to build up a head of steam when the first soldier Chatts appeared from a side passage to the left. Evans nodded and Half Pint opened the valve. A brief spurt of fire sprayed out of the Flammerwerfer’s nozzle, like Satan’s own piss. The Chatts began to squeal and thrash about, fire leaping high and blackening the tunnel walls. There was a sickening heavy smell like burnt hair.
“Passage,” shouted Sergeant Hobson, indicating with his right arm as they advanced past the dark open maw of a side tunnel.
Blood, pulling a sled, pulled the pin on a Mills bomb, counted to three and tossed it into the shadows. There was a brief rattle of metal on clay then the tunnel shook and bloomed with a fiery light as the explosion spat hot shrapnel through the enclosed space, eliciting startled inhuman shrieks.
Everson heard the stutter of rapid fire as Hopkiss fired back down the tunnel. He glanced back to see a squad of Chatt soldiers retreating round the curve of the passageway. Jellicoe pulled the pin from a grenade and rolled it, clattering, down the passage. It exploded round the corner bringing baked earth crashing down.
The Chatts’ weapons — spears, some form of swords, their acid sprays and electric lances — were all close range. If they could keep the damned things at bay, they may just have a chance. With all their firepower though, Everson briefly wondered if they’d gone over the top.
JEFFRIES GAZED AT the sigils on the parchment as one might at the photograph of a far away sweetheart.
“You recognise something?” asked Chandar.
“Hmm?” said Jeffries. He had to remember that this was a creature that had spent a good deal of time around Urmen. More so than its companions. It had learnt to mimic behaviour and gestures to gain confidences. He had done such things himself. It was trying to ingratiate itself. “What? No,” he added almost absent-mindedly. This was important, but he didn’t want Chandar to know how important.
The room shook. Dust showered gently from the domed ceiling.
“What was that?” asked Jeffries.
“A tremor. Continue.”
But Jeffries was distracted now. He made out the faint faraway report of rifle fire.
Damn. Not now, bloody idiots. They’ll ruin everything. That damn boy-scout, Everson!
The door shrivelled back and Rhengar and two of its scentirrii entered the chamber, pointing their electric lances at Jeffries and herding him against the wall, from where he could now only eye the map covetously.
Their commander hissed and chattered frantically at Chandar, its mouthparts and mandibles moving rapidly. Chandar took whatever comments the soldier was spewing at him, and then turned to Jeffries.
“Your herd has invaded the colony,” said Chandar. “Rhengar thinks you have broken your agreement.”
“No!” said Jeffries emphatically, shaking his head, arms wide. “This is not my doing.”
Chandar turned back to Rhengar, slipping into its own language of hisses and clicks as a heated exchange developed. Eventually, Rhengar rounded on Chandar, emitting a long hiss with open mandibles and rose up on its powerful legs even as Chandar assumed a position of submission. Whatever argument Chandar was trying to put forward, it had just lost. Jeffries cursed silently.
“You must go with them,” said Chandar.
“If you attempt to escape we will hurt you,” Rhengar made sure to say in English.
Jeffries got the message. Rhengar strode off, its scentirrii, shepherding him along, their lances never wavering from his body.
As he was led away, Jeffries turned and called back to Chandar who stood in the entrance to the artefact chamber.
“It’s a mistake. Let me talk to my men, Chandar. I can get them to stop the attack. It’s all an awful mistake. Believe me!”
But Chandar didn’t move and Jeffries lost sight of the creature as the guards urged him relentlessly on.
His mind raced. If Everson’s damn fool rescue failed then there was no doubt that Sirigar creature would have them all culled. If the rescue did succeed, then he lost access to the map and those artefacts. He felt the stolen pistol in his waistband, but with electrical lances against his back, he doubted he could reach it in time. He needed that map. He felt sure it was the answer to all, well, many of his questions.
If they were stuck here on this world with no way home then he didn’t need to be hampered with several hundred stranded soldiers. He could abandon them to their fate. They had served their purpose and delivered him this far. It was clear now that his destiny lay in a different direction, and that pointed to Croatoan once more.