The blare of the emergency klaxons down the central access hall shifted from an intermittent amber pulse to a solid, screaming crimson alert. Heavy blast shutters slammed down across the upper watching galleries of Sector 5, sealing off the air-flow shafts and trapping the sky fumes of the vivisection hall.
Through the double-heavy blast doors at the far end of the chamber, the rhythmic, timed together thud of mechanized infantry boots shook the floor plates.
“High Guard incoming!” Corporal Miller shouted from the outer edge barricade, racking the bolt of his squad automatic rifle. “Heat signed names show twenty... No, twenty-four bipedal contacts, heavy armor, high aetheric thickness!”
Arthur didn’t turn around right away. He knelt calmly beside a wounded Vanguard scout whose forearm had been scored by a stray shard of Rask’s exploding air-powered line. With steady fingers, Arthur retrieved a tube of bio-active skin sealant from his field trauma kit, applying a clean layer over the torn muscle tissue. The sealant bubbled, polymerizing on contact with the scout’s blood to form an airtight man-made skin that fully halted the heavy bleeding.
“Drink your electrolyte ration, soldier,” Arthur ordered quietly. “Keep your firing line tight. Titus will absorb the moving blast waves. Focus your fire on their high-pressure knee actuators.”
