Wrath of the Lemming-men Read Online Free PDF Page B

ruthless, vicious sociopath, willing to sacrifice his minions in the name of efficiency and entirely unencumbered by conscience, sanity or remorse . Quite a reference.’
    ‘Thank you,’ said 462.
    ‘I take it 157 was reluctant to part company with you, then?’
    ‘Indeed. But then nobody enjoys being sent to the Morlock Front, especially by their own adjutant.’
    ‘No doubt. I’m interested in having you in my legion, 462. I appreciate that you had problems on Urn, but they were vitiated by your recruitment of the Yull. Even now our degenerate, disposable allies are doing excellent work in depleting Earth’s supply of ammunition.’ He paused.
    ‘You know a lot about humans, don’t you? Humans took your eye, didn’t they? And gave you that limp and the scars. Or perhaps I should say. . . one human in particular.’
    462’s scarred lip rose into a snarl. ‘Isambard Smith. That Earthlander scum-pig dogs my every move! I can hardly annex anything without seeing his stupid moustache in front of me!’ He shook his fist, a gesture he had picked up from Number One. ‘He must be utterly destroyed!’
    ‘Quite. If you work for me, 462, I guarantee you’ll have the opportunity to dispose of him in whatever unpleasant manner you choose.’
    ‘Truly? What must I do, mighty Eight?’
    ‘What I have to tell you is classified. It may strike you as. . . unconventional. But I can assure you that it is in the interest of the Ghast Empire.’
    462 nodded. Whatever was said, he would be taking it in carefully. If it was useful, it could further his career. If it was subversive, he could shop Eight to the authorities and it would still further his career. Sometimes the Ghast Empire was an excellent employer.
    There was a large portrait of Number One behind Eight’s desk. The Great One was in mid rant, arms flailing as if about to topple off a cliff. Eight stood up and turned the picture to the wall, disconnecting a listening device fastened to the back. He sat down again. ‘I have important information on the human race,’ he said. He pressed a button beside the desk, and the vidscreen flicked back into life. A planet appeared on it, three quarters blue and a quarter green: a fat, weak, juicy world, plump with resources, tasty with citizens.
    ‘Earth,’ said Number Eight. He pointed with one of his pincers. ‘Do you recognise that landmass there?’
    462’s antennae twitched. ‘Europe, seat of the Franco- German Alliance.’
    ‘And this set of islands?’
    ‘Britain. Isambard Smith was created there in some sort of slackly-run breeding programme.’
    ‘Correct.’ Eight reclined in his biochair, and it crawled back from the desk. ‘It is no surprise to me that you have found Isambard Smith such a difficult opponent. He is the culmination of two thousand years of military training and pig-headed arrogance. While we dismissed them as weaklings, the humans hid their greatest military secret under a veil of soggy mediocrity. But my superior mind has uncovered the truth – the island we dismissed as a rainy little pisshole is in fact an ancient offshore facility for the breeding and indoctrination of humanity’s shock troops!’
    If he had wanted a reaction, he hardly got one. 462 nodded. ‘I am not surprised,’ he said. ‘We need more soldiers.’
    ‘No. We need better soldiers.’
    ‘Well, we could shoot some officers. That tends to encourage them. Until you run out of officers,’ 462 added, recalling a nasty incident where he had nearly encouraged his troops by ordering them to make an example of himself. He had promoted a minion to lieutenant just in time.
    The worst of it was that it really had perked his soldiers up.
    ‘No!’ Eight slapped the desk, sending a little trophy rocking. ‘Not that! I am suggesting an overhaul of the praetorian DNA structure.’
    ‘But their DNA is perfect. They are custom-engineered for fighting humanity. There’s no more DNA we could splice. . . none except the