Hellsky (Hunter-Killer #3)

Chapter 10 - Barriers

The Scraegan Alpha was a monstrous thing, no matter how you looked at it.

When they'd killed the Crawler queen, the old Alpha that Ryke knew – or maybe 'recognised' would be a better word – had died. Although both were fearsome in their own right, his new Scraegan filled him with an altogether difference kind of dread.

Half again as tall as a regular Scraegan warrior, the thing stood almost twenty-five feet, with fur coloured in a blend of coal black and iron grey. Massive barbed plates of armour sheathed its colossal frame, save for its head which remained bare. Given how thick this monster's skull probably was, Ryke didn't imagine it really needed a helmet.

Dark, inscrutable eyes stared out at the human delegation as they crossed the invisible demarcation between the two sides of the liaison post. Ryke tried to get used to walking side-by-side with the Scraegan Beta, but right now it still felt very odd.

Although not particularly large by Scraegan standards, this warrior still towered over him, a little larger than a Riot-Pattern Hunter-Killer. It stumped along, its strides short enough that it didn't pull away from the human line, occasionally glancing down at his diminutive form and snorting something in the Scraegan language before continuing on. They hadn't exactly been able to reminisce, but Ryke could sense – feel – the mutual respect there.

It was strange to admit, but when the Crawlers had emerged as a threat, this Scraegan had actually saved his life, dragging his mech from a collapsed tunnel. At the height of the battle against the Crawlers, the Scraegans had need the humans – or more precisely, needed their atomic mines – to destroy the nests.

He wondered if this beast felt the way he did – an unwilling ambassador, trained to fight but forced into diplomacy.

To his left several Blackwater officers and a pair of technicians walked, and in the middle of the line a crisply uniformed Commissariat Minister stood out like a sore thumb. A middle-aged woman, she had a short crop of dark hair dusted with grey, and weathered skin. Ryke didn't know her, but he'd been briefed.

Interior Defence Commissar Bressant, the woman in charge of the outpost. The woman with the unenviable task of pushing forward diplomacy with the Scraegans.

The Beta snorted at them, tossing its head and slowly extending the long-handled war hammer it carried to bar his path. Ryke halted immediately, shooting a glance down the line.

"Stop," he said, his voice firm but calm.

The others obeyed. He might just have been a sergeant, but they knew why he was here. Even the two Hunter-Killers of Preese and Scantlin crunching along behind them halted, their weapons staying cold. Between the two sides two lines of equipment stood dormant – a range of screens and audio equipment for the humans, and several of the tall, stone tablets that the Scraegans utilised, their cores fizzing with heat.

Satisfied, the Beta dipped its head to him and stomped out across the short stretch of open ground towards the Alpha. Several armed warriors flanked it, furnace-cannons dormant for now, but carrying plenty of other brutish implements of war. Heavy clubs, saw-toothed swords of black metal, mallets, maces and axes, each on as long as Ryke was tall.

Their big heads swung suspiciously towards the human delegation and back again as the Beta approached.

It dipped its head to the Alpha and a rattle of gruff Scraegan language shot back and forth. The Alpha's gaze didn't leave the humans. One vast paw clutched a barbed whip which could easily tear an unprotected human apart with a single swipe. The whip writhed under tiny, instinctive movements of the beast's wrist.