Pain bringer the constan.., p.44
Pain Bringer (The Constant War Book 2), page 44
The tongue crushed the Painbringer’s midsection, continuing to reel her in. She grasped at flesh, lips, mouth, shaking against the pressure, reaching for anything that would slow her down. Her left hand gave up its fight with the fleshy cord wrapped around her waist, joined the right hand, and pushed at flaky, cracking lips. She dug her heels in; non-skid tread slid across the creature’s mouth.
The tongue wrapped the Painbringer’s left arm, pinning it to the mecha’s side, stripping away needed support. Slimy flesh slipped through mecha fingers.
This isn’t good, her last coherent thought. It happened so fast that everything became electrical sensation. The Painbringer blasted her synapses with pleasure-pain. The tongue pulled the mecha through curtains of phlegm hanging down from the roof of its mouth, a saliva autowash.
As she stared into the gaping maw, the euphoric pleasure-pain rush flowed, time slowed, and she became serene.
The hell? Seconds before she was to be eaten by an alien squid mother—of all the things to feel?
Maybe this was what Sindarhe madness was? How the squiddies always felt. Staring at rows of clacking, snapping beak teeth, she knew one thing was certain—this was going to be an entirely new sensation, one no one had invented the words to describe.
Mostly because they hadn’t survived the experience.
The tension in its tongue went slack, followed by the crackling of splitting atoms. The lights in the Painbringer blinked out, as the strain in her back dissipated.
The Painbringer recoiled like a rubber band stretched beyond its limit. The world outside the cockpit spiraled. Reams of coordinates streamed across the canopy, as the Painbringer fed her, quickly changing telemetry. She jarred, swinging in her harness, as the Painbringer came to an abrupt stop.
Through the canopy, she saw Wilkins’ stupid grin.
His Tigerclaw.
Its stubby arm turrets, and the Painbringer cradled across them like a bride carried through the threshold of a new home. Gently, he lowered the Painbringer, placing it upright in midair. It stumbled slightly, like a newborn fawn finding its footing, until boot thrusters kicked in, supporting its weight.
Wilkins had cut the tether, freeing her.
“Took you long enough,” said Char.
“Yeah, well, had to deliver a baby, ya know.” Wilkins shimmied in the cockpit, peacocking. “I’m a father now.”
“Right, that is how that works.”
“It is.”
“That’s great. I’m really happy for you. Where’s Melody?”
“Uh, I did mention that whole baby thing.”
“Dammit. We could really use the extra firepower.”
“Why are you trying so hard to rain on my parade when I just saved you?”
“What is it with you dudes always wanting to talk about yourselves at the most inappropriate times?”
“Sorry, it’s just—”
The behemother swatted its flipper appendage at them, punctuating the attack with a gurgling roar. Wilkins yanked the steering yoke to his chest and twisted. His Tigerclaw practically somersaulted out of the way. In his rush to Char’s aid, he hadn’t bothered taking in the full scope of the creature. The Painbringer was being swallowed by a giant alien. That was enough for him to act, but now that the alien turned its attention toward him, he had a bit more motivation to take appraisal of the enemy. “What in the name of gravy is that?!”
“I’ve been calling it the behemother.”
“The what?”
“You know, like behemoth and mother as one word.”
Wilkins paused for a second. The giant squid mother flapped its stubby tentacle pubes in their direction, patting its bloated scrotal sacks overflowing with squiddie eggs. “That’s actually clever.”
“I know, right?” Enthusiasm replaced Char’s cynical tone.
Instead of finding cover or gaining tactical advantage in the fleeting moments trying to introduce them to brand new near death experiences (or full death experiences, for that matter), Char and Wilkins squandered precious seconds congratulating each other on a well-crafted portmanteau.
The behemother didn’t find the wordplay as amusing. Nor did it hesitate to retaliate at those trying to rob her and her brood of their next meal.
It surged forward on its belly. The Painbringer dodged right, but the Tigerclaw, still recovering from the previous swipe, nearly ran headlong into it. A quick slap of the throttle and Wilkins rolled left. A slip-and-slide snail trail of slime was left in its wake. Pebbles glinted with sunlight, wet and slick, in the depression created as it moved. No, not pebbles. Eggs, semi-translucent, a dark haze outlining the creature inside, poking through mud and shattered concrete.
Ew.
Having jogged back to a not-quite-safe distance, the Tigerclaw chugged particle blasts into the behemother.
“For what it’s worth,” said Char, firing a volley of red particle energy into the beast. “I’m glad Fairhaven let you off your leash.”
“Hey now, I’m my own man. I don’t need her permission.”
“You just keep telling yourself that.” In a mocking tone, Char said, “One day, you will be a real boy.”
“I—” Wilkins started, but the behemother snapped its head at his Tigerclaw. Short tentacles lashed out like a cat-o-million tails. Several raked the hull, carving metal canyons, leaving acid slime drooling in the scars.
“Might want to watch yourself there, old man.”
“You distracted me.”
“Excuses, excuses. You gonna help me kill this thing, or what?”
“Like you need to ask.”
“With all the chitty chat, apparently, I do.”
Wilkins grumbled high-pitched gibberish over the comm.
“Is that squawking supposed to be me?” asked Char.
“Yes.”
Char paused, granting necessary seconds to separate her thoughts from the Painbringer, then nodded. “Not bad.”
“Yeah, I’ve had lots of time to practice.” The Tigerclaw flew over the behmother’s flipper, circling in front of the beast.
“Do you hear that?” asked Wilkins.
“The Painbringer hears a lot. Gonna have to be more specific than that.”
“It’s like underneath everything. A faint whisper.”
“Oh-em-gee, Wilkins! Don’t be pulling that shit on me now!”
They were fighting a squid monster in Sindarhe’s shadow. Reality was surreal enough. Wilkins hearing voices, suckered in by madness was the last thing she needed. The mere thought of Sindarhe madness made her question her own senses. If Wilkins was affected so close to Sindarhe, then she was equally as vulnerable.
Her thoughts raced. The Painbringer brought up diagnostic reports. She was hoping on normal, but the readouts were far from it. Low battery cell. Holes in mecha exoskeleton structure. Physical damage. Things she could see and quantify. What she really wanted to know was about the stuff in her head. That was where Sindarhe attacked. Her head tingled with electricity. Scans. Of her brain. A-okay, the Painbringer told her. Well, not told her-told her, but it confirmed that it was blocking out the special kind of madness privy to Sindarhe, keeping her focus and sanity, and perhaps inserting a bit of its own cybernetic madness.
But Wilkins didn’t have a Painbringer.
“You don’t think it’s, ya know?” Wilkins yanked back on the steering yoke, and the Tigerclaw pointed straight up at Sindarhe.
Yes, I do, Char thought. But she said, “It’s probably indigestion.”
“Indigestion? Wouldn’t be my first guess.”
“Yeah, well, I saw its last meal.”
“You—what does that thing eat?”
“Who do you think?”
As the Tigerclaw circled, the behemother roared, showing off its massive jaw lined with beaked teeth. Its tongue flicked out, snapping like a whip.
“Dr. Scott?! That thing ate him?!”
“Yeah, it’s a long story. The TLDR is: Human sacrifice. Martyrdom of the galaxy’s biggest mama’s boy. No real loss.”
“He did it on purpose?”
“Yeah, on purpose, but mostly to be an asshole.”
“Language.”
“And also to get me eaten by that thing. But still, mostly to be an asshole.”
The Painbringer snapped into attack position. Engines ignited, tossing Char back in her harness. The thundercrack of shattered sound barrier echoed off the mesa, sending ripples across the harbor.
“Char! What do you think you’re doing?”
“Getting some payback.”
The behemother turned toward her, tracking her movement as she closed the distance. It raised several flipper appendages, protecting its head and mouth from sporadic particle blasts. Char dove beneath a counterattack, going after the scrotal sacks hanging from its hips and between its legs like saddlebags. She rained gatling energy pulses. The sacks exploded, raining yellow pus and translucent jelly everywhere.
That seemed to really piss it off.
As the Painbringer maneuvered for another attack, alarms blarted. Char had been overzealous. The behemother backhanded the Painbringer, sending it spinning.
“Char?! Are you okay?”
“I’m fine.”
A piece of armor plating fell off the Painbringer.
“Uh, you sure?”
Char ignored him.
Her reaction times were slowing. The Painbringer’s damaged state not only took its toll on the mecha, but on her as well. Her fiery need and endless desire for payback and dishing out ass kickings couldn’t escape fatigue, nor the physical state of her mecha. Her skin crawled from the Painbringer doing its best impression of Swiss cheese. Her energy was as depleted as her fuel cells. Fleeting remnants of adrenaline coursed through her, struggling to keep her sharp, a faint reminder to the limits of the meatbag she called her body.
An irate behemother nipped at her heel. Apparently, it didn’t appreciate her free vasectomy services.
The engines whined at a low decibel, struggling to maintain speed. The behemother closed in, lashing out with an appendage. Hundreds of tentacles reached for the Painbringer.
Char thought, Hard right.
But the Painbringer maintained a straight trajectory.
Shit.
In a panic, she thought harder. Right! Right! Right! but the Painbringer failed to respond. Left! Anything! Get the fuck outta the way!
Char braced herself.
This was gonna hurt.
In the middle of the attack, the behemother paused. Its body rumbled. Every opening, tentacle, and orifice contracted pucker-tight.
First things first, Char got clear of the thing, then reached into the Painbringer’s sensors, but it provided no answers. “Uh…what was that?”
“I think it hiccupped,” said Wilkins.
“Really?!”
“I mean, that’s what it looked like from here.”
“See! I told you. It’s not crazy alien voices whispering sweet nothings into your ear-holes. Just indigestion.”
Again, the behemother lurched forward, raising a flipper, then suddenly stopped. Its body vibrated, eyes closed, holes clenched. Char prepared for another foul-smelling belch. Instead of an earth-shaking rumble complete with visible stink lines, a pure white beam of energy burst from the behemother’s mouth.
“Good gravy!”
The beam sliced ozone. Bittersweet chlorine stench punched Char’s nose. The Painbringer dove away from the blast’s epicenter.
“Holy hell!” Char yelled, righting the Painbringer. “They belch energy beams now?!”
“New plan,” said Wilkins. The Tigerclaw rocketed upwards, gaining altitude. “Stay clear of its mouth.”
“Uh, yeah, no doi.” Still at its eye-level, Char circled, blasting its hindquarters. The behemother spun like a puppy chasing its tail, jaws smacking thin air. Char leaned with the Painbringer, keeping constant pace with the spinning squid monster, sticking to its backside.
Laughter burst over the comm. “This is kinda fun.”
Char felt a sudden sensation, the sensation of a cool breeze on her arms, wind whipping the Painbringer’s armor plating. The behemother reversed direction.
A mere thought, and the Painbringer changed trajectory, moving out of the path of the giant snapping jaw.
“Nice try, Mama. Maybe next time.”
Then a high pitched inhalation squeaked from the beast.
Char went wide-eyed. “Uh oh…”
The Painbringer was dead center, at the precipice of its mouth, as a surge of pure white energy expanded.
There was no dodging it.
The Painbringer was bathed in pure white energy.
Armor melted. Char felt the attack like her skin was being boiled. The Painbringer screamed, a metallic glitch screech-hiss distortion shredding her eardrums, louder than her own thoughts. Sensory overload bombarded her. Her synapses snapped, crackled, and popped. The pleasure-pain connection was now just pain.
Her body went slack. Weightless. Floating up in her harness.
Then there was darkness.
Endless black.
A mecha turret tapped the canopy glass, bringing her back to consciousness. “You okay in there?” asked Wilkins.
Apparently, his Tigerclaw caught her. Again. The Painbringer in its arms. Again. He had saved her. Again. She would never live this down.
But she’d live. Maybe.
Char groaned. “Never better, why do you ask?”
Her body was slumped, full weight hanging in the harness. She played it tough, but even she could hear exhaustion in her voice. She wiped sweat out of her eyes, sweeping a strand of hair behind an ear. “Is my hair okay?”
“How do we deal with that thing when we can’t get near it?”
“I don’t know. We don’t?”
“And just let it rampage down there? Doesn’t sound like a plan to me.”
Char shrugged. “I’m open to suggestions.”
Wilkins was silent for a minute.
“That’s your cue to say something, big guy.”
“There’s that sound again.”
Char leaned forward, straining. Under the thrashing undulation of slick limbs, barely audible in the gurgling space-cephalopod’s roar, was distinct murmuring.
Distant mumbling.
“Oh yeah, I hear it,” said Char. “Man, thank Heaven. I thought you were, well, ya know, going crazeballs. Wait, if I hear it too, does this mean—no, wait, I’m in the Painbringer. I’m totally fine.”
“Char—” Wilkins interrupted. “What is it?”
“How would I—Oh my god.”
Char didn’t know. But the Painbringer did.
“Want to fill me in?” Wilkins circled, rotating with the Painbringer in its arms. “I don’t see what you’re—”
Then the behemother opened its mouth. Lodged in the back of its throat, dangling from its uvula, was a steel ring. In its center, a humanoid figure shouted long strings of barely audible expletives.
Wilkins squinted at the readout flashing across his canopy HUD. “Is that?”
“Dr. Scott, yes,” said Char, her tone incredulous. Couldn’t she just be rid of him already?
The Tigerclaw drifted in the midst of action. “We’ve seen some strange, haven’t we?”
“Tomato, potato.”
The Tigerclaw hovered, its thrusters nudging it toward the behemother. “Ya know, just for my own sanity, can we acknowledge that this is weird?”
Char shrugged. So did the Painbringer. “Hard to say anymore. But hold that noise, good news. You see what I see?”
“A man hanging from the uvula of a cosmic Lovecraftian horror that’s belching energy beams at us?”
“Well, yeah that, but on his belt.”
Wilkins zoomed his camera into the behemother’s maw, deep into its throat, a closeup view of Dr. Scott, and an even more extreme closeup of his belt.
And the device hanging from it.
“Is that the remote control?”
“A-yup. Give the man a prize.”
“You’ve got to be kidding me.”
Rousseau blurted over the comm, “You need to recover that remote, now!”
Char and Wilkins exchanged glances across fifty meters of Southern California sky. Sindarhe was so close that it practically obscured the view between them. The fact that Rousseau had been monitoring audio frequencies might have slipped their minds, but the remote control and the impending collision certainly hadn’t.
“Thank you, Fleet Admiral Obvious,” said Char. “Would have completely forgotten if you hadn’t mentioned it.”
“Char, I am serious. We do not have time—”
“Nope, we don’t.” She cut off his comm.
“Um, he wants us to retrieve the remote control from the back of that thing’s throat?” asked Wilkins.
“Pretty sure that’s what it means,” said Char.
Chapter Forty-Six
“Motherfuckingcocksuckingpieceofshitasshole…” said Dr. Scott. Or something like that. There was so much phlegm, slime, and whipping alien flesh between Char and Dr. Scott that making out exact verbiage was only a best guess. But from Dr. Scott’s tone, Char figured her interpretation was pretty close.
His squawking made the behemother appear like an oversized squid ventriloquist.
Gather round for the three-ring spectacle. Watch an Old God spout endless strings of expletives between holy blasts of pure energy while downing a cool glass of Painbringer, pulverizing the human pilot inside without missing a syllable.
Char shrugged. She’d probably buy tickets to something like that.
From her vantage, Dr. Scott was a sweaty, disgusting mess, complete with slicked alien features. He dangled from the Old God’s uvula. She knew of her ancestors’ practice of piercing tongues, but this was a whole ’nother kind of weird oral accessory. She didn’t think it would catch on. At least not in human circles.
“Keep her distracted.” Char leaned forward in her harness. The Painbringer went into a dive. “I’m going in!”
Wilkins swung his Tigerclaw around in front of the behemother. “And just how do you expect me to do that?”
“Don’t care, dealer’s choice.”
