Page 111 of Shielded Heart 1
He moved just beyond Sekk’thi and Urgand’s positions, allowing them to duck behind his shield. Both the ilthurii and the vorgal were clad only in what appeared to be undergarments; they had likely been sleeping between shifts in their quarters when the alarm had sounded. They fired around the edges of the shield, taking down another attacker.
“At least we’re all dressed for the occasion,” Arcanthus said without humor as they retreated down the hallway backward.
“Where’s everyone else?” Urgand asked.
“Scattered. They hit us from all sides, and we were spread too thin,” Arcanthus replied.
The energy he was expending to maintain the shield was creating a build-up of heat in his right arm; it wouldn’t be long before that heat reached a critical level and caused internal damage to the prosthesis. But cutting off the flow meant the shield would collapse within seconds—the enemy’s fire was too concentrated and unrelenting.
There was undisguised concern in Sekk’thi’s voice when she asked, “And Samantha?”
“With Drakkal. They’re fighting their way to the workshop.”
They turned at the next intersection. Arcanthus slammed the shield into the floor and released its tether, blocking the entrance of the corridor. He and his companions spun around and ran. Arc’s right arm hissed as its heat vents opened to expel scorching steam and draw cooler air over its power cells.
They encountered another group of Syndicate attackers in the next hall, igniting a frantic exchange of fire that filled the passage with so much plasma the air wavered with heat. Despite the superior fire rates of the Syndicate’s auto-blasters, Arcanthus and his companions managed to put their foes on the defensive; two more invaders fell before the rest took cover. Arcanthus followed Sekk’thi’s lead through a staggered retreat—he, Urgand, and Sekk’thi moved from doorway to doorway, two maintaining suppressive fire as the third fell back to the next bit of shelter, constantly alternating roles.
Arcanthus quashed his urge to check the surveillance feeds again and find Samantha; he couldn’t afford a distraction that would slow him down. He’d have trouble getting to Samantha if he was shot.
He and his companions continued toward the workshop, harassed at every step by aggressive and plentiful attackers,who seemed to swarm the halls like fast-multiplying vermin—sewer skrudges equipped with auto-blasters and low-grade combat armor. For every enemy who fell to the trio’s blaster fire, two more seemed to appear.
When the gauge on his arm indicated the hardlight shield had failed, Arcanthus growled; it meant even more invaders would be rushing toward them. He summoned a new shield, but because the overburdened power cells hadn’t fully recovered, he couldn’t expand the barrier beyond its default one-meter diameter circle, and it wouldn’t survive much punishment.
His intensifying rage demanded he shift the battle to his terms, that he charge his enemies and get close enough to put his real skills to good use, close enough to feel their blood splatter his skin as he sliced them to pieces with his sword and crushed their bones with fists and feet. But his judgment was not so clouded as to succumb to that wild, primal urge.
At least not yet.
They encountered a few more members of the security team as they retreated, doubling the size of their party, but there were distressingly few people about; many of the personnel under his employment served as guards for the alley accesses that led to the compound’s numerous entrances, and thus had likely been killed in the initial surprise attack. The new additions to the group were better equipped, if nothing else, wearing combat armor and carrying auto-blasters.
Still, the battle raged without cease throughout their journey. What should’ve taken a few minutes felt like days, and Arcanthus’s worry for Samantha only grew more pronounced. He continued firing, continued killing, but the stream of enemies was endless. He felt impotent, ineffective,useless, as his security crew rallied around him and defended his body with theirs.
When a plasma bolt pierced Sekk’thi’s right arm, and her blaster fell, she growled in pain, crouched to retrieve her weapon with her left hand, and resumed firing. Flecks of molten metal sprayed from the wall as it was torn apart by plasma bolts, splashing on Urgand’s face to sizzle tiny portions of his flesh, but the vorgal didn’t even flinch.
Arcanthus’s small group turned, finally, into a short corridor that ended at one of the workshop’s concealed rear entries. Once everyone was in the passage, Arcanthus sealed the opening—from the other side it would look like a section of the hallway wall, indistinguishable from the rest. Their pursuers would’ve seen the open passage, meaning they’d eventually find a way through, but every extra second Arc could claim to help his people escape was worth it.
Arcanthus opened the workshop door, and his group rushed inside. They were greeted by a few more members of the security team, some of whom already looked bedraggled and battered.
But there was no Drakkal. No Samantha.
“Cover the other entrances,” Arcanthus said as he hurried to his desk to pull up the surveillance feeds.
“You there, Arc?” asked Drakkal over the holocom.
“Where are you?” Arcanthus spread out the surveillance screens and expanded them.
“Almost at the big door. Coming in hot. Have it ready.”
“Is Samantha—”
“She’s okay.”
The immense pressure that had strained Arc’s breathing eased a bit. A moment later, he found them on one of the feeds; Samantha was running in front of Drakkal, who kept his body between her and the invaders giving chase. Dead Syndicate gunmen littered the hallway, but there were more advancing. A mere ten or fifteen meters separated Arc’speople from the Syndicate—and at the enemy’s rear was a faceless specter, calm and controlled amidst the chaos.
Arcanthus opened the huge blast door at the far end of the chamber, halting it about a meter high; that was enough to allow the others to slide beneath without exposing everyone inside the workshop to hostile fire. Then he opened the hidden escape hatch on the platform behind him.
An explosion sounded in one of the corridors outside, and the corresponding camera feed went out. The Syndicate was blasting their way into the workshop.
Arc turned to look toward the door through which he’d just entered. How long before the invaders breached it? He had to assume they had adequate equipment to penetrate the defenses—this attack was meant to erase Arcanthus from existence, and Vaund was the sort who would’ve equipped his men with excessive firepower to ensure the job was done.
