Bedlam Read Free Page B

warfare. Devilishly clever.It gives the infected hosts all kinds of memories that aren’t really theirs. Makes you think you’re actually one of them:
     a human, from Gaia, or as they call it, Earth. It uploads all kinds of vivid memories covering right up until what seems like
     last night or even this morning. Like, for instance, that you’re a scientist from, where was it?’
    ‘Stirling,’ Ross said, his voice all but failing him.
    ‘See? It’s really detailed. Convinces you that you just arrived here, plucked from another life on
their
planet. But don’t worry, it wears off. It’s full of holes, so it breaks down: I mean, hell of a coincidence they all speak
     the same language as us and even sound like us, eh? The virus auto-translates what they’re saying. Don’t worry, you’ll be
     right as rain soon enough. We find that shooting a few of the bastards helps blow away the mist. So how about you catch up
     to your unit and help them spread the spank?’
    Ross … was his name even Ross? He now knew officially nothing for sure.
    This couldn’t be true. These memories were his. They weren’t just vivid and detailed, they were the only ones he had. Surely
     there would be some conflict going on in there if what Kamnor was saying was right. Yet as he stood before this terrifyingly
     powerful mechanised warrior, it occurred to him to wonder why the lieutenant would be so patient and understanding even as
     war raged on the other side of the hyper-reinforced window. Furthermore, there was that disarming sense of the familiar, even
     of positive associations, ever-present since he’d arrived here. For the moment, he’d just have to run with it, see if the
     mists really did blow away.
    ‘I don’t know what unit I’m with, lieutenant sir,’ he admitted.
    Kamnor reached out a huge, steel-fingered hand and tapped the metal cladding that Ross used to think of as his upper arm.
     There was a symbol etched there, a long thin sword.
    ‘You’re with Rapier squad. Mopping-up detail, under Sergeant Gortoss.’ He gestured along the corridor in the opposite direction
     from where Ross had just come.
    ‘Turn left at the first pile of flaming debris and look for the most homicidally deranged bastard you can find. Ordinarily
     he’d be in a maximum-security prison, but when there’s a waron, he’s just the kind of chap you want inside the tent pissing out.’
    ‘Yes sir,’ said Ross, by which he meant: ‘Holy mother of fuck.’
    ‘You remember how to fire a weapon, don’t you?’
    ‘I’m sure it’ll come back,’ he replied, making to leave.
    Kamnor stopped him again.
    ‘Well, before you go I would suggest you take a quick refresher on how to salute a superior officer.’
    Kamnor saluted by way of example, sending his arm out straight, angled up thirty degrees from the horizontal, his metal fist
     clenched tight.
    Ross was inundated with unaccustomed feelings of gratitude, loyalty and pride, driving a determination to serve and please
     this man. He had read about leaders whom soldiers would follow into battle, kill for, even die for, but never understood such
     emotions until now.
    He sent out his right arm as shown, his shoulder barely level with Kamnor’s breastplate, clenching his fist once it was fully
     extended. As he brought his fingers tightly together, a long metal spike emerged at high speed from somewhere above his wrist,
     shooting up into Kamnor’s mouth, through his palate and into his brain.
    It was a tight call as to who was the more shocked, but Kamnor probably edged it, aided by the visual impact of blood and
     an unidentified yellow-green fluid spurting in pulsatile gushes from his mouth. He bucked and squirmed but was too paralysed
     to do anything else in response.
    ‘Oh Christ, I’m so sorry,’ Ross spluttered, trying to work out how to withdraw the spike back into his wrist. ‘I didn’t mean
     it, I just …’
    But Kamnor was way past listening. He fell to the floor, pulling