A squad of enthralled foot soldiers stood further back at the edge of the platform, watching the prophet as he presumably listened to the Voice in his head. They were meant to be guarding the entrance to the central chamber, but were standing in visible awe of the spectacle before them.
Derelict in their sentry duty as they were, none of them noticed as the four remaining commandoes appeared from one of the sub-chambers and executed them from behind. Their comparatively weak shielding failed to deflect, or even stop, the commandoes’ bullets, and they crumpled to the floor, their faces blown out by the exit wounds.
The gunfire alerted the honour guard of scarecrows. They turned around and stared at the squad, their cybernetic eyes glowing electric blue, highlighting the congealed blood stains on their cheeks. Without any signal from the prophet, they howled like rabid attack dogs and charged, pouncing forward on limbs enhanced with synthetic muscle tissue.
The squad switched to concussive shots and fired at the charging scarecrows. The creatures’ surgically implanted shield emitters rippled and flashed as most of the pellets were deflected. Some made it through the scarecrows’ shields, punching through their cybernetically enhanced flesh but barely slowing them down.
Bale tossed a frazzler grenade into the path of the charging scarecrows. Detonating in mid-air, the device emitted a powerful repulsive field similar to the shielding of its targets. The resulting interaction of discordant energy fields produced a violent and instantaneous feedback loop. The pack of scarecrows was sent flying like a collection of ragdolls in a windstorm, their shields frazzled out by the explosion.
The squad switched back to automatic fire and executed the scarecrows with precision bursts before they could get up again, aiming for their torsos and heads. The creatures screamed in fury – they probably couldn’t feel pain – as the hail of bullets riddled their bodies, punching through vital organs, or fracturing as they penetrated bionic components.
Coloured liquid leaked from the scarecrows’ wounds – a mixture of red blood and clear mechanical fluid – and their muscles twitched and spasmed as they died. It was a nastier way to go than the other four, but no one doubted that they were better off dead.
“Your blasphemous schemes are transparent to me, even without the Voice’s guidance.” the prophet’s voice boomed through a vocal enhancer.
The prophet turned around to face the squad. He was still dressed in his makeshift priestly robes made out of a hazmat overcoat covered in bloody symbols and glyphs. The micro-emitters in his skin glowed faintly, ready to swat aside any incoming projectiles, but the look of zealous superiority on his face was crinkled with frustration.
“So what do you think our plans are, then?” Gabriel asked, hoping to keep the prophet talking until the Swarm arrived.
“You have successfully reactivated the prison in which the Swarm was held.” The prophet replied, “No doubt with the assistance of the entity which inhabits the Temple, seeking to prevent others from partaking of the knowledge that the Voice of the Swarm imparts.”
“Entity?” Gabriel opted to feign ignorance, “what entity?”
“The lying voice that speaks from within the walls of the Temple, enticing you to reactivate the containment field in order to re-entrap the Swarm and its anointed host!” The prophet bellowed with righteous anger, “The entity which has attempted to thwart the Faithful by erecting barriers and tossing machinery to and fro like toys! You have ignorantly chosen to whore yourselves out to its blasphemous schemes!”
“If we noticed, I guess they would too.” Bale mused.
“It is an evil spirit making craven and desperate attempts to thwart the re-ascendance of a power far greater than itself!” the prophet thundered away, “The Swarm is a power which it can merely observe, but not confine; one which has granted unto me, and unto my Faithful, secrets unfathomable to the narrow minds of the greedy and wretched corporates or the evil, fricking government!”
“You’re out-n-out brain-fricked.” Viker retorted in Undercity dialect.
“Am I?” the prophet asked rhetorically, “or is it really your superiors at the Directorate of Naval Intelligence who have been deluding you all this time, sending you into the carnivore’s den to protect Humanity from the supposed threat of xenotech research whilst secretly pilfering the fruits of that research for themselves?”
The squad collectively blinked.
“Do you believe that to be mere supposition?” the prophet asked.
“No, we think it’s a bollocks conspiracy theory.” Bale retorted.
“Of course you do.” The prophet sneered, “Why would slaves be curious about their masters’ plans? I certainly wasn’t, harvesting all the data that Dani could gather and sending it back to my false masters.”
The squad blinked again.
“Has it dawned on you at all?” the prophet continued, “how could the DNI possibly be so ignorant of the existence of such a vast and illegal research facility a few hours spaceflight journey away from a major hub world for so many years?”
The squad blinked a third time as the pieces of the puzzle assembled in their minds.
“Jupiter Engineering thought they had pulled the wool over the eyes of the DNI.” The prophet continued, “Hah! The DNI sees and hears everything that happens within Human space, and far beyond it too! They let it happen so long as they could steal for themselves whatever discoveries J.E. Co. made. That was my assignment.”
There was a fourth collective blink of disbelief.
“Lawrence Kane?” Gabriel asked incredulously.
“The one and only!” The Prophet Lawrence Kane declared.
“But you’re dead!”
“Do I look dead to you?”
“But we found the body in the medical bay!” Viker exclaimed.
“You found a body,” Kane pointed out, “no doubt with the ID tag still attached to the corpse. If the DNI’s dogs are this easy to throw off the scent, perhaps I needn’t have worried.”
The squad blinked again, but this time at their own sloppiness. It had never occurred to them to scan the corpse’s DNA and make sure it really was Lawrence Kane.
Their motion trackers flashed red.
“I would tell you more,” the prophet said with a grin, “but it seems you are out of time.”
The prophet’s eyes and head rolled back as he entered some kind of trance, and the squad turned their guns around to face the threat.
In fact, the threat was all around; they were pouring in from every entrance, and spreading across the walls of the enormous spherical chamber. Enthralled foot soldiers were joined by jumpers with their jetpacks and shotguns, and scattered amongst them were more black widows in their lithe, black body armour. All of the Faithful’s remaining manpower had converged on the central chamber for the final showdown.
“One way or another,” Gabriel said to everyone, scanning the assembled horde for the Swarm-possessed Ogilvy, “this bomb will go off.”
“Yeah, we don’t need to be Masterminds to remember that, colonel,” Viker replied sarcastically, tracking targets in his HUD, “We can all see the countdown.”
“That's not what I mean,” Gabriel said grimly, “I mean that my death will kill us all.”
* * *
The penthouse never felt as homely as it did when coming back from doing one’s own dirty work. Madam Jezebel entered the palatial living room and settled into a couch, heaving a sigh of partial relief at being home. The two androids who had accompanied her stood to attention, waiting for further instructions.