Gildron moaned. We were scanning the walls and ceiling. Scrapper and Twister unlinked the Systie's armor. The chestplate fell noisily to the floor.
"Merlin, wreck those controls," Snow Leopard said. "I want those doors sealed. Nobody gets in."
"Tenners." Merlin raised his E. My heart was hammering. Nobody gets in—wonderful. But nobody gets out, either. Snow Leopard was truly terrifying, if you really thought about it. The controls glowed and spat sparks as Merlin melted them with the laser. We lock the door behind us—permanently. Now it's simple—victory or death. Snow Leopard didn't have to say a word. We all understood. I looked over at Tara. I could see into her faceplate. She was faintly smiling, her E raised and ready to fire. It was the smile of a saint. And I understood—we were on holy ground. Satan was up ahead, writhing in the shadows. And we were going to kill him, or die trying.
"Talk, Systie," Snow Leopard said. "Where are the V? We're after the V."
"It must be insane," the Systie responded slowly, looking around at us each in turn. "Legion must all be insane. It's after the V? The V will kill it all!"
"Answer or you die." Snow Leopard raised his E and pointed it right at the Systie's chest. The Systie was out of his armor now, sweating, still on his knees, clad only in a dirty litesuit.
"We'll show it the V," the Systie said. "We'll show it our world. We call it the Kingdom—the Kingdom of the Doomed. It's the V's world. We're just the caretakers. But we're just as doomed as the others."
"Reception, Reception, Processing, come in. Report! What happened?" It was a tinny voice, coming from a handcom on the deck. The Systie reached down for it but One's booted heel pinned his hand to the floor.
"Who's that, Systie?"
"It's the rest of our guys—Processing. They're on duty inside. This is Reception and H.Q. It's not much of an office but it's all we've got."
One eased his foot off the Systie's hand. "Tell them there's been an accident. One of the civilians grabbed an SG—no friendlies hurt. Tell them to come and assist."
The Systie picked up the instrument. "Processing, it's Transport. We're back—there's been an accident. One of the packs grabbed an SG and we had to take it out. Nobody hurt. Can it help us clean up the mess?"
"We're on the way, Transport."
"Move it, Systie!" Snow Leopard barked. "Lead the way. We meet them—now!"
Another massive cenite door slid open, the screech of metal on metal. A darkened corridor, sweating icy metal walls, the Systie's breath frosty in the air.
"Processing is to the right," he said. We followed, our E's raised, every sense alert. This was the domain of the O's—a narrow corridor, a high ceiling hidden in the dark. The creatures were here, somewhere, waiting to lash out at us.
"I want stunstar, Five," Snow Leopard ordered. The Systies were on my tacmap now, coming out of a corridor door up ahead. Psycho pushed forward past Snow Leopard and fired. A blinding flash and a titanic bang, the shockwave rocking us back on our heels and knocking our Systie off his feet.
"Recover prisoners! Medic up!" The corridor was smoking. Three Systies sprawled on the deck, out cold, clad in litesuits and coldcoats, armed with SG's. Priestess was on them in an instant, checking the life signs.
"Snow Leopard!" Tara looked around us uneasily, one hand out as if testing the air. The psybloc units on our helmets activated simultaneously, popping to life, then crackling like novas, filling the corridor with glaring light and dark leaping shadows.
"Psybloc grenades," Snow Leopard said calmly. "Ahead and behind." He tossed one up the corridor and Valkyrie lobbed one back to cover our rear. They ignited, double explosions, white-hot stars spitting sparks, and we scanned the walls and ceilings as ice-cold sweat trickled down my temples.
"Secure those Systies, Nine," Snow Leopard ordered. "Then follow us. Get the weapons, guys." I picked up another SG. We were bristling with weapons by now. Priestess and Merlin slipped restraints over the unconscious Systies' wrists. The Systies had come out of another autosealing door, leading into the interior of the Mound.
"Get that door open, Systie." Our Systie was still with us, right by One's side. He reached out to a black panel and the door began sliding open. I hurled in a psybloc grenade and it exploded inside, popping and glaring, lighting up the interior.
Another large room, dominated by a great cylindrical column riddled with vertical slits, oozing sticky liquid, merging with the ceiling. Systie dropboxes and ration packs littered the deck.
"What's that, Systie?" Snow Leopard illuminated the column with the light from his E.
"Don't know," the Systie responded. "It's never done anything. Processing is topside. This way." We eased past the structure, E's up and scanning. The psybloc grenade bathed the room with harsh light. Our helmet units continued to function. The door slammed shut behind us.
"It's an elevator," the Systie said, "this whole section of floor."
"I've got movement," Sweety whispered in my ears. "Upstairs. Hundreds of targets—human, unarmed." Our psybloc units suddenly shut off. The grenade continued to flare. We looked up to the ceiling. Even with the darksight, it was a confusing mess.
"Why would they stop probing?"
"To get us off guard. Let's get up there. Stay alert!" We moved onto the platform and the Systie touched a guardrail and we shot up to the ceiling and the ceiling snapped open and suddenly we were in Processing.
I clutched a psybloc grenade, but there was no sign of O's. We were in another large, darkened room, a forest of strange devices hanging down from the ceiling. The floor was covered with rags—no, people. The rags moved, fluttering. Someone coughed. Faces, pale pinched faces, blue from the cold. Dull glazed eyes. Civilians, huddled under thin blankets and dirty coldcoats, exhausted.
We walked through the room warily, eying the mysterious structures dangling from the ceiling. The deck was gritty, covered with trash. The civilians watched us silently. I could see in their eyes that they knew they were dead, and I wondered if they could see the same in ours.
"How many more of your guys here, Systie? Why haven't they responded?"
"They're up ahead—in Separation and Holding. Sounds don't carry in here. They probably don't know there's anything wrong."
"More unarmored, unarmed humans in the corridor outside," Sweety informed me.
"No psyprobe," Tara added. "But I don't like it here. There's something…wrong. Something oppressive."
"Tell me about it," Valkyrie said. The ceiling glittered with ice.
"You stay with me, Systie." Snow Leopard had him by his tunic, propelling him toward the exit. Another door, another corridor, this one inhabited by ghosts. They huddled against the walls, standing, squatting, collapsed on the deck, shivering in the cold, too tired to move.
"They're all psyched," Tara informed us. "They're barely functioning."
"These are all females," Snow Leopard said, "young females. Explain, Systie." Snow Leopard was right—I could see no males.
"Ahh…this is Separation. The V make us divide the people into groups. The old, adult males and females, children…"
I glanced at the tacmap. This corridor was roughly circular, but it was closer to the center of the Mound than the corridor below.
Someone screamed, up ahead. One pushed the Systie to one side and moved up the corridor. I followed.
They were in a doorless alcove just off to one side, two of them, DefCorps Systies in litesuits. They had a naked girl with them. She was very pretty and very young. They did not even see us as we approached—they were busy. One of them raised a hand and slapped the girl in the face, hard. The screaming stopped. A few other girls watched from the corridor with glazed eyes and expressionless faces. One of the Systies held the girl down over a dropbox while the other one raped her, thrusting deeply into her, his pants around his knees. There was a lot of blood—he was not being gentle.