Deathstalker Rebellion by Simon R. Green
Random smiled, entirely unmoved. "Firstly, the lack of military satellites and the disrupted weather are all that keep the Wolfes from calling in an Imperial starcruiser to selectively scorch the planet's surface down to whatever level necessary to wipe you all out. Secondly, the only reason the Wolfes haven't brought in a complete army of mercenaries to deal with you is because it would cost them more than it's worth. Start getting too successful too quickly, and they might change their minds. And thirdly, if any one of us is harmed, Golgotha will disown you and you'll never see any help from the outside. Have I missed anything?"
"Just one," said Storm. "It's only a matter of time before the Empire provides the Wolfes with new military satellites, with sensors powerful enough to punch right through the weather, to ensure uninterrupted production of the new stardrive. And that will be the end of all surface fighting, as far as you're concerned. It could also be the end of your first real chance of winning in years. Forget the screwup with the cyberats. That was a long time ago. Let us help, before your time runs out."
"And if one of you so much as even looks at us funny," said Ruby Journey, "I will personally kick that person's ass up around his ears."
Everyone paused to look at Ruby. Absolutely no one present doubted that she meant it. Random coughed politely, to bring their attention back to him.
"According to our reports, your war has been going well of late. Tell us about that."
"The size and number of our tunnels limits the ways the Wolfe security forces can attack us down here," said Ragged Tom in a high chilly voice. "And we're more adapted to the conditions than they are. They don't like coming down this deep. Too many nasty things live down here apart from us. Up on the surface, things are much the same. Our ancestors were genetically engineered to withstand the worse this planet could throw at us. The Wolfe troops don't have our advantages. Just superior numbers and better weapons. But they're only fighting to win; we're fighting to survive. Which is why the trenches are pretty much as they always have been, with neither side holding an advantage for long."
"We don't give up," said Specter Alice in a harsh cracked voice. "We're the refuse, the thrown away, the discarded. We're the Rejects, and we're proud of it. We reject the Empire and all it stands for. The Wolfes are just the latest face the enemy wears. So don't think we're so desperate we'll take your help and never ask the price. We won't swap one master for another. We'll fight and die alone, if need be. So help us or be damned. We bow to no one."
"I like her," said Ruby.
"You would," said Random.
"There's no price for our help," said Storm, smiling reassuringly around him. "All we seek are allies against the Empire, to help in the overthrow of the Iron Bitch. You need fighters, weapons, supplies. We can give you these."
"There is… a further complication," said Tall John.
"Didn't you just know he was going to say that?" murmured Ruby.
"Shut up," murmured Random.
"We're not just fighting for ourselves," said Ragged Tom. "We're also fighting to free the clones working in the factory complex. Like us, they were brought here to work until it killed them. Now they work, eat, exercise, and sleep in the complex. Like us, they rarely see the open sky. If one dies, the Wolfes just clone a replacement from the dead body. They're designed, bred, and trained specifically for the work they do here; work too dirty and too dangerous for humans. They're conditioned never to object, despite the awful conditions they work and live in. They're property. But still, sometimes they dream of freedom. A very few manage to escape. They come here to us because there's nowhere else they can go. There's always a home for them here. They are our brothers and sisters. The Wolfes know this. They've threatened to kill all the clone workers if it looks like our forces will prevent the factory from opening on time for the ceremony. They'd do it."
"Yes," said a quiet new voice. "They would."
Everyone looked around as a tall slender man wrapped in ill-fitting furs stood up in the front row of the seats. His face was drawn and gaunt, his mouth a thin line, his eyes sunk deep in their sockets. There was hardly anything to him, as though the smallest breath of wind would carry him away. His legs trembled as though they could barely sustain his small weight. But his gaze was steady, and when he spoke his quiet voice was firm and measured.
"I'm Long Lankin 32. A clone from the factory. They're working us to death, to make sure the ceremony will take place on time. The work itself is dangerous. Exposure to the forces involved eats away at our flesh and our minds. They can treat us as they wish. No one says anything. The Empress wants her new stardrive. Go ahead and attack. Let them kill us all. The hell they'd send us to can't be worse than the hell we live and work in every day. But if you could free us, we'd fight for you against the Empire to the last drop of our blood."
He sat down suddenly, as though afraid his legs would no longer support him. A loud murmur of encouragement and support ran around the watching audience. Storm nodded soberly.
"He meant it. I'm impressed. It's rare as hell for a clone to break away from his conditioning that much. If they're all like him, we'd have an army I'd back against anyone. Even trained Empire troops."
Random nodded, but said nothing. While he had no doubt Long Lankin's every word had been true and from the heart, he also knew a good publicity stunt when he saw one. The council had put him up to it, to take the edge off their further complication. The council had probably even written his little speech for him, to be sure of having the maximum effect on the audience and the newcomers. It was what Random would have done. However, Random had been a professional rebel long enough not to let his emotions sway him. His mission on Technos III was to stop stardrive production, and if that meant destroying the factory completely, along with all the clones in it, that was what he'd do. Of course, if he could work out a way to aid the Rejects in rescuing the clones first, he'd happily do that. It was, after all, why he'd become a professional rebel in the first place.
"Trench warfare's nothing new to me," he said finally. "We've put in our time in the trenches, haven't we, Alex? Of course, we were younger then. Same with fighting underground. Nothing new about tunnel rats or the blood they spill that the sun will never see. I'm not going to insult you by offering advice on how to fight. I've got a feeling you already know more about that than I'll ever know. But Alex and I have been fighting the Empire all our lives, too. We know strategies and tricks of the trade that might just give you an edge over the Wolfe security forces and the Church troops. We know how their minds work.
"I know you're disappointed that there's only the three of us. But people are flocking to the underground movement on hundreds of worlds, all spoiling for a chance to strike back against the Empire. And unfortunately, there's only so many Golgotha advisers to go around. You have Jack Random's word that you'll get everything you need, in time. But for the moment it's imperative that the Empress be denied the new stardrive the Wolfe factory is producing. With a fleet powered by the new drive, Lionstone could finally be unbeatable. That's why we're here. To help you stop production and, if possible, overthrow the Wolfes. Then it'll be up to you to hold this planet while we take on the rest of the Empire. We'll do everything we can to help you. There might only be three of us, but you'll be surprised what we can do."
"In other words," said Specter Alice, fixing him with her disturbing stare, "you want to just walk in here, take over, and run things yourself. Be the big hero one more time. Right?"
"No," said Random. "I've done that. I'm here to lead only by example. To fight beside you in the frontline. To show you what I've learned in all my years as a professional rebel. Ruby and Alex will be fighting, too, in their different ways. You asked for help; we're here. And together we'll tear that factory apart."
The four Reject leaders moved together and murmured urgently to each other. A loud growl of debate filled the chamber as the onlookers discussed what they'd heard. Random looked casually about him, but was damned if he could t
He had to admit, the Rejects hadn't seemed at all impressed by him so far. He didn't blame them—much. He was a man in his late forties who looked twenty years older, despite all the improvements the Maze had worked in him. A sudden sound caught his attention, and he looked around sharply. It was a grating, sliding sound, but he couldn't locate its source. The cavern floor began to vibrate under his feet, almost as though a train was going past. The four members of the council broke off their deliberations and looked down at the floor. Their faces hardened, and they drew their swords. People began to stand up in the ranked seating.
"What is it?" said Storm. "What's happening?"
"Crawlers," said Tall John. "Creatures from the depths. They tunnel through metal like it isn't there. Eat anything that doesn't fight back, and most that does."
Ruby Journey's hand dropped to her side where her sword should have been, and then she cursed dispassionately as she remembered she'd agreed to come unarmed. Storm looked quickly about him. Random put a comforting hand on his shoulder.
"Don't worry," said Throat-slitter Mary, hefting her sword. "We'll defend you."
And that was when the floor next to Random cracked open, and a blunt scaly head burst up out of the floor, rising up on a long undulating neck. The head was a good four feet wide, its body thick as two men. It had a wide-gaping mouth full of jagged teeth, and no eyes. There was bedlam around the walls as the people in the lower seats tried to climb away from the danger and up into the higher seats. Tall John struck at the beast's neck with his sword, and the blade just bounced away from the thick scales. The broad head swung around and slammed into him, knocking him off his feet. People were yelling for someone to bring energy guns.
Random stepped forward and hit the long undulating neck with all his strength. His fist punched clean through the scales and sank deep into the flesh within. The beast screamed, a high, harsh sound that grated on the ear. Random braced himself and pushed his hand in deeper. The beast convulsed, black blood springing from its mouth, but Random wouldn't be thrown off. His arm sank into the scaled neck up to his elbow, and then his hand found the long curving spine. It took only a moment to close his hand around the spine and snap it in one quick movement. The beast shuddered the length of its visible body, and then collapsed dead on the chamber floor.
For a moment there was utter silence, and then the chamber erupted with cheers and applause from the watching Rejects. The four council members were staring at him with open mouths, and then they put away their swords so they could applaud, too. Random grinned. It seemed he'd finally managed to impress them. Storm was shaking his head in disbelief. Random pulled his bloody arm out of the crawler's neck. Ruby handed him a handkerchief to clean himself off with and leaned in close beside him to murmur in his ear.
"Show-off."
And the war went on.
It was spring, and the temperature soared. The snow and ice melted, flooding the trenches. Life erupted everywhere, strange and deadly forms appearing out of nowhere to clog the trenches and tunnels. It was spring, and hibernation was over. They burst through the floors and the walls, aggressive and carnivorous. Hungry plants, with reaching thorns, thickly furred creatures that seemed mostly fangs and claws, small and large and everything in between, all of them determined to seize their chance at life. They fought each other for food and territory, and the winners fought the rebels for control of the blood-splashed trenches and tunnels. The rebels fought back-to-back with swords and axes and the occasional energy gun, forcing back the ravenous hordes as they had done so many times before. The Wolfe security forces fought the same battle, on the only day in the short year when the two sides didn't make war on each other. And still life exploded from every side, from acid-oozing leeches that spattered the cracking walls, to great hulking creatures that slowly dug their way up from the depths far below, old instincts driving them on and up in search of light and warmth. The waking world gave birth to bloodworms and barbed rippers and spiked golems in their own organic armor. It was spring, and the whole world was alive.
Jack Random and Ruby Journey fought side by side, their flashing blades dripping alien blood and gore. They were strong and fast, and they never grew tired. They seemed to be everywhere at once in the great maze of tunnels, helping where most needed, and nothing large or small could stand against them. And Alexander Storm, who had once fought at Random's side when he was young and in his prime and unbeatable with a sword, now worked to plot strategy and send fighters where they could do the most good. He worked all day with a small army of scouts and runners, and tried not to think of himself as old.
The pressure of exploding life slowed as the day wore on, and spring reached its halfway point. The Rejects under Random and Ruby and Storm took control of their trenches and tunnels again in record time. The Wolfe security forces weren't far behind, but then they had more energy weapons. The second day of spring dawned. The fauna and flora had been taught their place again, and the rebels and Wolfe mercenaries were able to turn their attention back to the more serious business of war.
The rain slammed down in a never-ending torrent. The trenches filled ankle-deep with icy water, the levels always rising just a little faster than it could drain away. The Rejects splashed through the water to their positions, waiting for the signal. Then the whistles blew, and both sides boiled up out of their trenches to meet in the no-man's-land between. Arrows flashed and energy guns roared, and then there was only close quarters and the harsh thudding of steel cutting into flesh and bone. Tides swept this way and that in the great milling mob as two armies became only so many individual struggles, and every man lost track of his fellows. Men and women screamed and died, and blood pooled briefly on the jagged metal floor before the driving rain washed it away.
The fighting surged back and forth, and both sides searched for an advantage they could hold and exploit. The fighters fell and the rains fell, and men and women became dim shapes in the downpour. Some went mad in the horror of the battlefield and the never-ending pressure of the rain, and struck wildly about them, never minding friend or foe. The air became so moist it was hard to breathe. The rain filled eyes and ears and mouths. And still both sides fought on. It was what they did. Random and Ruby fought back-to-back, their swords leaping and striking impossibly fast, and no one could stand against them. Rebels and mercenaries died around them but they went on, unflinching, unbeatable, until finally the whistles blew and both sides fell back, dragging the dead and the wounded with them to the safety of the trenches and tunnels. The rain fell. And that was the second day of spring.
Summer dawned. The rain stopped as though someone had turned off a tap, and the heat rose and rose until it became unbearable, and then went on rising. Water in the trenches turned to steam. The blistering air seared lungs, and every move in the awful heat became an effort. The sun was blinding in a brilliant sky. The Wolfe security forces climbed into specially designed cooling suits. The rebels didn't need them. Neither, to practically everyone's surprise, did Random and Ruby. They just adapted. And when the whistles blew, both sides came howling out of their trenches to fight again. Swords sheathed in bellies, and heads blew apart like rotten fruit as they were touched in passing by energy beams. A rebel screamed as an ax sheared through his arm, and a mercenary spluttered blood as half his face was cut away. Men and women stamped this way and that, fighting for room to swing a sword. The dead and the wounded fell to be trampled underfoot as others struggled to reach the enemy. Screams of rage and pain filled the air along with the war cries. The uneven ground was a crimson mess of blood and worse. At the end of the day the whistles blew and both sides fell back. They took the wound
Some people volunteered to fight in the night. Small patrols of men and women from both sides for whom the need for vengeance and slaughter had not been burned away during the day. They crept out onto the pitch-black battlefield to fight and die in sudden, silent encounters in the night. Back in the trenches and the tunnels, most got what sleep they could in the stifling heat. The second day of summer came, and the temperature rose still further, a killing heat for all but the strongest. And still both sides came roaring up out of their trenches when the whistles blew. There was killing to be done.
Then it was Autumn, and the temperature dropped like a stone. The whistles blew, and men and women went up and over the top to fight again. The jagged metal killing field was already dark crimson from the splashed blood and offal of the previous day's battle, baked onto the metal by the merciless summer sun. Gale force winds arose, blowing suddenly out of nowhere, strong enough to pick up a man and carry him away. Both sides wore weights on their belts and in their boots to hold them down. The winds picked up scattered metal fragments from miles around and swept them on at blinding speed. Razorstorms that could strip unprotected flesh down to the bone in seconds. Both sides wore armor, which slowed them down even more. Battles became slow, farcical affairs, but blood still spilled, and neither the wounded nor the dead saw the joke.
And finally, winter came again: snow and ice and blizzards and the killing cold. The security forces wore special thermal suits. The rebels didn't need them. Neither did Random and Ruby. They'd adapted. Both sides wore thick goggles, to keep the driving snow out of their eyes. No-man's-land became a blinding white glare of snow and ice, in which small groups of armed men and women moved slowly, silently together, straining their eyes against the storm for signs of the enemy. Blood spattered the snow, red on white, and fighters crashed to the ground and did not move again. Jack Random and Ruby Journey fought on, going out again and again, whatever the weather, or which shift it was. The Rejects roared their names as battle cries and followed them into battle whatever the odds. The cold seared their lungs and chilled the blood in their veins, but their rage was hotter than any cold the winter could throw at them. Two days passed and winter gave way to spring, and it all began again. And that was how the years passed on Technos III.