Crisis Memes - 3 - Tue 05 Aug 2256 08:45

With their hands firmly tied and all of them strung together with a long length of electrical cable, the group from sector 15-D-11 were dragged along the deserted corridors by their daunting captors.

In the glow of a red emergency light Bruce saw Megan just behind him and caught a glimpse of Ben further back, noting that his brother was bleeding from a cut lip. So Ben had put up a struggle! Impressive - even though it hadn’t been the best tactic.

The scuffle with the massive Taurs had been brief. Bruce had recognised the futility of trying to fight so many of them at once and had forced himself to acquiesce and preserve his energy. As they were herded along, he now tried to recall what he knew of these creatures, looking for any advantage or leverage that might be gained.

Illegal genetic modifications some fifty years ago had created this crude, oversized branch of humanity. Some said they were close to Neanderthals, their DNA being distilled from the traces still found in modern humans. Physically strong, they were reputed to be of low intelligence, and have a high tolerance to pain. In the lawless places of Earth they had been used like fighting dogs in secret arenas, and the bloody contests, often fought to the death, were broadcast across unregulated comms channels. For a while the industry had flourished, but after two decades a decline in public interest brought about its demise as a popular entertainment.

Released by their breeders into the outside world, the more violent Taurs were hunted down and killed. Others were interred without trial, which had caused an enormous human rights debate across the globe. Later these captives had been sterilised and released. Nevertheless, a few fertile Taurs had remained at large in the world and today there were substantial communities of them thriving on the darker edges of society.

They had their uses. With encouragement and supervision, they could be made into reliable workers in occupations where physical strength was a requirement, but they were easily angered, and could be dangerously violent when provoked. Many had drifted away from Earth. The even-tempered ones made useful maintenance staff on star ships, whilst the hardier ones often became Terraformers - the resilient and self-reliant gangs who converted raw planets into suitable habitats for human colonists.

As Bruce tried to formulate a plan, the captives were led through an entrance onto the upper galleries of the empty, echoing Congregational Assembly building in sector 15-D-12. The dim emergency lighting made little impression on the immense volume of darkness in here, but the Taurs flashlights provided shadowy glimpses of the rows of stone-textured arches that rose up through three decks in the open centre of the building.

Bruce could just make out the Taur leader ahead, his brown overalls confirming him as member of the Planetary Terraform Corps. The words ‘Hashnak’ and ‘Glasgow’ were written in a Gothic style font across his back.

“Hey, big man!” he called, recalling the old Scottish accent he had learned on the Ethnic Regression programme. “Hashnak! I see you’re from Glasgow, pal. We’re good Scottish folk too, by the way.”

The Taur leader looked over his shoulder.

“Hah! Scottish! Just our damn luck! Very stringy. Not half as tasty as a well boiled Italian. Better than a Swede though - speaking of which, save your squeaky breath, because I’m not going to fall for the old Stockholm Syndrome ploy.”

Hashnak suddenly halted the group and sniffed the air. “Lights out, boys. I smell trouble!”

His men switched off their hand torches. Fifty yards ahead, figures with lights could be seen coming in through the shattered doors of the walkways that overlooked 17-12 Street. With a grunted signal, Hashnak sent one his men forward to investigate. The prisoners were pushed into an alcove and made to sit down on the plaz-wood pews.

“Now then, my wee tartan buddies,” Hashnak said in a low voice, “This is a fine place for your prayers to be answered eh? You’ll be thinking that you’re about to be rescued, or maybe there’ll be a fight and you’ll be able to escape in the confusion? Ha-freaking-ha! Why is that not going to happen? Because the Goddess is a personal friend of mine, and she knows that I have need of you.”

He called back to his men. “Shugan! Marfu! Come up here you dumb swine! Take this lot back to base through the sewage system – and don’t be pulling those faces – you both smell like arses anyway.” He turned his attention back to the captives.

“One wrong move, and my lads will crack your heads open straight away and carry you off to where we can eat you in peace. That just means you won’t be very fresh after a few days, but it’ll do for us. Now off you go, double quick!”

The first of the Taurs, Shugan, grabbed Bruce’s shirt and dragged him back along the way they had just come. The second followed at the rear after the line of prisoners had straightened out and started to move.

They were led out of the Congregational building back onto the corridors of the accommodation sector and then into one of the communal toilet areas. Shugan shone his torch around until he found an access hatch on the floor. The stench as he pulled it open made the whole group gag and retch. Revealed below was a damp tunnel that was big enough to crawl through.

“Rocks and ashes!” moaned Shugan. “All the way down to deck 22 through here? The boss has got to be bloody joking, Marfu.” He looked up and realised that his comrade had not followed them inside. “Marfu! Where the hell are you?” He went back out into the corridor dragging the prisoners behind him.

Seizing the opportunity, Bruce jumped forward, dragging Megan along with him.

“Everyone, bring him down!” he shouted.

Throwing the electrical wire over the big brute's head, Bruce pulled with all his strength. Ben tried to come between Megan and the Taur but she was caught by a flailing elbow and went limp, which only added to the strain on Shugan’s windpipe. Turning wildly now, he was knocking people aside with kicks and punches but was only succeeding in becoming more entangled with wire and bodies. The torch clattered to the floor and went out, adding a new dimension to the horror.

Suddenly Bruce heard a dull thud, and the Taur’s muscles stiffened. He seemed to totter for a moment and then crashed to the ground, taking most of the prisoners down with him.

“Good Scottish folks!” said a voice in the dark. “All of you to take one of him, and you were still struggling. I downed his mate on my own. You're nothing but a bunch of tartan shortcake tin Jimmy's”

A small light flicked on, illuminating an unconscious Taur in the middle of a tangle of wires and prisoners. In the doorway behind the torch, Bruce could discern a large figure. He held up his hand, covering the torchlight, and was able to make out a big curvaceous woman with a shock of red hair.

“He won't stay down for long," she said. "Check his pockets. These boys have usually got a set of tools on them; there’ll be wire-cutters or something. Cut yourselves free. Be quick now, if his friends come back this way, then most likely they’ll be looking for an escape route down the stinking pipe there.”

She stepped into the room, and Bruce could now see she wore the blue uniform of the ships maintenance crew, the majority of whom he knew to be Taurs. But though her mop of bristly ginger hair fitted that profile, she was neither wide enough nor ugly enough to be purely of that decent.

Searching the fallen Terraformer, Bruce quickly found a pouch attached to his belt, retrieved a set of pliers and began cutting the tangle of wires. After releasing himself he cut Ben and Megan free. She opened her eyes and groaned, and Ben helped her to her feet whilst the remaining people were released.

“Who are you?” Megan asked, looking the strange woman.

“The name’s Morrigan.”

From the direction of the Congregational building they could hear shouting, and then a burst of gunfire and the distinctive whine of projectiles ricocheting against the plaz-steel walls of the ship.

“Come on, come on!” Morrigan said as Megan wobbled and held on to Ben’s arm. “Here man, hold this torch,” she told Bruce, and then lifted Megan onto her shoulder.

Battered and bruised, they followed Morrigan out of the toilet and along the corridor, away from the sounds of fighting. Bruce ran alongside her shining the light ahead of them. They passed through a shattered blast door into the next section. On their right, more broken doors revealed a dimly lit and obviously looted supermarket.

“In here!" Morrigan hissed. "Hide yourselves!”

Bruce turned off the torch and backed in an alcove near the entrance. Shouting and sporadic gunshots could still be heard along the corridor; it drew nearer; then died away, and finally faded into silence. He took a breath and stepped forward to assess the situation. Then he froze. A small bright red light spot had appeared on his chest. He was smart enough to realise that he was caught in the laser sights of a weapon.

A voice came out of the blackness. Not the harsh growling of a Taur, but precise English accent.

“Ok, everyone stay calm. We can see enough of you to know that there are nineteen warm bodies in there. Whatever you are armed with is no match for what we have out here, so I strongly suggest that you come out slowly, with your hands on your heads.”

“He means it, folks,” called Bruce. “Do as he says. It’s either the Marines, or some guys who’ve beaten the Marines and taken their weapons.”

A figure stepped forward.

“No-one beats the Royal Space Marines, sir,” Lieutenant Chiton said.