Tunnels 03, Freefall Read Free

of the Deeps for the last renegades, ain't yer?"
    'Every last one, using the information you gave us," the old Styx said, then shot him a knowing look. "Anyway, Cox, why do you ask?"
    "No reason," the shapeless lump replied, quick as a flash.
    "Oh, I think there is... you're worried because Drake has so far eluded us. And you know that sooner or later he'll come after you, to settle the score."
    "'E will, and I'll be ready for 'im," Cox proclaimed confidently, but a snaking blue vein throbbing under one of his eyes told otherwise. "Drake could throw a spanner--"
    The old Styx held up a hand to silence him as his young assistant double-timed it back with three Limiters in tow. The trio of soldiers formed a row and stood rigidly to attention, their eyes set straight before them and their long rifles at their sides. Two of them were youthful subalterns while one was an officer, a grizzled veteran of many years' service.
    His fists clenched, the old Styx walked slowly down the row, stopping as he came to the last man, who happened to be the veteran. He turned fully to him, and with their faces separated by mere centimeters, the old Styx held the position for several seconds before dropping his eyes to the man's battle tunic. Three short cotton threads of different colors protruded from the material just above the veteran's breast pocket. These bright threads were decorations for acts of bravery -- the Styx equivalent to Topsoiler medals. The old Styx closed his gloved fingers on them, tearing them out and then flinging them in the veteran's face. The veteran didn't blink or show the slightest reaction to this.
    The old Styx stepped back, then gestured towards the Pore as casually as if he was waving away a bothersome fly. The three soldiers broke from formation. They leant their rifles against each other in a pyramid. Then they unbuckled their bulky belt kits and deposited them in a neat pile before the rifles. With no further command from the old Styx, they trooped in single file to the edge of the Pore and, one after another, stepped straight into it. None of them gave as much as a cry. And none of their comrades in the area stopped what they were doing to watch as the three soldiers hurtled down into the abyss.
    "Rough justice," Cox said.
    "We demand nothing less than excellence," the old Styx replied. "They failed. They were no use to us any longer."
    "You know, the girls might just 'ave survived," Cox ventured.
    The old Styx turned to give Cox his full attention. "That's right -- your people really believe a man fell down there and lived, don't they?"
    "They're not my people," Cox grumbled uncomfortably.
    "Some myth about a glorious Garden of Eden waiting at the bottom," the old Styx said playfully.
    "Load of guff," Cox mumbled, and began to cough.
    "You've never thought of giving it a try yourself?" The old Styx didn't wait for an answer, clapping his gloved hands together as he swung around to his young assistant. "Send a detachment to the Bunker to extract samples of the Dominion virus from the corpses there. If we can re-culture it, we can keep the plan on track." He cocked his head and smiled evilly at Cox. "Wouldn't want the Topsoilers to miss their day of reckoning, now, would we?"
    At his Cox exploded with a cackling laugh, spraying milky spittle into the air.

    * * * * *

    Chester refused to allow himself even a second's rest. Whatever it was that had him in its grip, it felt oily next to his skin, and as he continued to struggle he became even more certain it was the source of the foul stench. While he was straining to get his second arm out, his other shoulder came free, and then, all of a sudden, the top half of his torso was clear. He roared in triumph as he sat up with a loud sucking sound.
    He quickly felt around in the pitch black. He was completely hemmed in by the rubbery substance, and he found he could just reach the very top, where it seemed to level off. He tore off small strips from the sides around him