The lights change and I signal the rest of the team. My part has begun, and I’m officially on distraction duty. This means that I need to do something to prevent traffic from entering that tunnel. It should be subtle enough to be insignificant to local authorities, but big enough to give us a good intercept window.
As far as distractions go, this was pretty good and easy to manage. Why, you ask?
You see, sometimes, nice big container crafts get glitchy when they’re old enough. Their calcic engine arrays freeze solid when the coolant supply overflows. They screech to a halt and maintain their hover capabilities just long enough for the built-in failsafe to ground the ship safely.
And Jean Philippe just happened to find one with a delivery route schedule that coincided with the transport convoy times.
He was very proud of this fortuitous find. This craft was the right kind of bulk container and was in perfectly good shape.
I pull up to it, grateful that it wasn’t a second too soon or too late. After hacking the container craft and triggering my glitch protocol, it sputtered and skidded, the momentum carrying it forward. Within a few seconds, it hovered at a standstill, drifting slightly in my direction.
Oh, what what was I, an innocent motorist, supposed to do if not ‘panic’?
With the force of my technologically enhanced body, I nudged the hovercraft away from me, playing the role of a startled hovercycler. An award-winning performance, I assure you,meant for the nearby surveillance recorders. They needed to see that I refused to crash into a stalled container craft.
The vehicle continues to drift sideways, eventually taking up several lanes and effectively blocking traffic.
Task done. I deserve a cookie.
I zoom ahead, entering the tunnel at just the right pace for Jean Philippe’s surveillance tech to record a clip of me. We’ll remote splice it over the surveillance footage captured by the tunnel’s security system via the counterfeit signal JP broadcasted.
When JP signals he has the footage he needs, I throttle the accelerator on my hover cycle and burn away the distance between me and the convoy.
Unbidden, I think again of Z and what his presence here could mean. Why has he shown up unannounced?
If this was a trap, it doesn’t look like it’s been sprung yet.
My thoughts sharpen back into focus when my HUD pings. It’s still playing a real time holo of the shenanigans happening up ahead, though I am close enough to see it with my own eyes.
On my HUD, Bellona marked the first of the two transport crafts green, meaning Iñigo has neutralized the passengers and assumed control of the vehicle. According to Mila, the princesses weren’t on board though. None of the heat signatures were tagged as theirs.
I keep pace behind the convoy and observe Doctor Capaldi and Leon as they breach the second transport.
My heart seizes for split second as I hear blaster fire from within. Three shots exit the rear panel and I silently beg the higher powers that Leon has shielded the girls and that the damage to the transport is something the Doctor can mend easily.
Two more shots erupt, and then, there’s silence. Only several seconds pass, but it feels like hours.
Finally, the second transport glows green on my HUD and two of the heat signatures are marked positive for the princesses. The girls are safe.
“Targets and transports secure.” Bellona sighs into the comms.
“We’ve got company though, but more on that later.” I say for the benefit of the whole crew. “How are the girls?”
“Leon’s talking to them. Telling them they’ll be safe and the usual pleasantries. Now, what’s this about company?” Doctor Capaldi asks.
“Agent Zero sighted. Trap’s coming, if it isn’t already here.” I say.
“I hate traps.” Bellona says immediately.
“Capitaine, encrypted transmission.” Jean Philippe reports before he patches it through.
“Lieutenant Hersch, this is Admiral Tarr’haz. I understand you are currently en route to the compound with the princesses?” the admiral says.
Jean Philippe has already assumed control of the transport, as well as Lieutenant Hersch’s identity. He responds with a brief affirmative.
“Change of plans, Lieutenant. Head straight for Hangar One and bring the princesses to the Conglomerate frigate on Dock Seven.” Tarr’haz commands.
“Understand that this is highly irregular, but we have instructions from the Queen herself. Any and all changes to schedule must be cleared via specific clearance codes that she personally handed to the joint heads of security. Requesting clearance code for compliance, Admiral.” Jean Philippe says, smooth as silk. The faint hesitation and feigned confidence are a beautiful touch. After all, he is speaking to a superior and requesting protocol be satisfied before his compliance.
“You’re a credit to your unit, soldier. Transmitting clearance codes now.” The admiral responds.
I see the codes clear on my HUD. Jean Philippe shows the Admiral his best obedient soldier face. What the Admiral doesn’t see is that he has the real Lieutenant Hersch’s finger pressed to the code receiver panel.
I usually have a no kill policy if it can be helped. Though I end up regretting that at times, I certainly am glad for it now. Either way, there’s merit to keeping officers alive in case what you need should ever involve their live biometrics.
“I trust all is well, Lieutenant Hersch? I will be sending an armed escort to intercept you en route to Hangar One. Confirm your change in destination and chosen route so we can converge.” The admiral continues.
“Bellona, given these new parameters, can you compute for which of our scenarios covers a modified escape and extraction route?” I ask. “Identify the plan with highest survivability rate."
“Plan Epsilon has the closest approximate outcome if we choose Hangar One as the extraction and exit point. It also has the highest survivability rate.” Bellona supplies a beat later.
“Confirm the new route, Jean Philippe.” I command.
“Affirmative, Admiral. Transmitting route changes and all possible convergence points.” Jean Philippe says for the admiral to hear.
“Excellent, Lieutenant. The Queen will be most pleased. If you are fortunate, and if she is in the mood, she may thank you personally.” the admiral replies.
Jean Philippe signs off. We now have approximately three minutes before the escort intercepts our route at the first convergence point.
“Well kids, this is it. I’ll double back for the gear since we won’t be able to pick it up.” I say. “You be good at school and play nice until mommy can circle back.”
I hate leaving them like this. It's not that they can’t defend themselves. Even reduced to their core structures, which would roughly be the size of a young child, they are formidable on their own, even more so together. But this mission demanded some stealth, with the option of donning full gear only as the absolute last resort.
On pretty much every op, we tell ourselves that we can do away with our omega options. Well, this time, we can’t afford to gamble since it looks like we’re heading straight into the endgame. We may not even need the option if we work fast enough, I muse, throttling my hovercycle and taking the next exit off the concourse.
Which means I’d have to blitz if I want to be in the Hangar One area before they get there.
I exit the tunnel and take the road that leads to where we stashed our gear. I hit an intersection and slow down to a halt. A hovercraft pulls up next to me, and my heart skips a few beats when I see who’s driving it.
The look in Captain Zavus’ eyes communicates a familiar urgency. It crosses my mind to do a quick check, just to make sure it’s actually him.
“Day’s pretty long.” I say. Our code phrase.
“Hope the nights are pleasant at least.” He replies. Our counter signal.
I have a split second to decide whether to tell him he’s good to follow me or to buzz off. We have too many unexpected variables already
. And this, this could almost be a social call. A sentiment my brain immediately and violently shuts down because there’s no way he’d risk blowing his cover to say hi… right? But then again, there was that one time almost a year back…. No. Focus. Just be glad it isn’t Jaeger in that craft. Oh boy, why am I thinking about him?
The light turns green. I shoot from the hip (or the heart, who knows anymore these days) and zoom off while sending coordinates to his hovercraft. His receiver’s personal network is named “GunZlinger” and I hate myself for thinking that’s cute.
Doing my best to refrain from further inner judgment with regards to my taste in captains, I instead opt to be glad that he chose to label his signal receiver with something directly related to our coded exchange protocols.
Soon, we are alone in the back alley where the substitute transports are cloaked. The plan was to switch transports here and retrieve the extra firepower we had stashed, before picking Bellona up on the way to the government compound. But that plan already feels like it was made three hundred years ago.
He exits his hovercraft with urgency. I am glad to see this all from my rearview monitors, because my heart is skipping beats at the sight.
I take off my helmet. I allow myself the small pleasure of feeling air on my scalp as my hair is freed from its protective prison.
“Yuki.” Zavus says. It takes everything in me just to keep breathing.
“Z.” I reply, playing it cool.
I push everything I feel in this moment down. Deep, deep, deep down. Easy to do for a myriad of reasons, the most obvious being that we had an op to complete. The op had to be the first on my list of immediate priorities.
The less obvious reason, however, was the short but extremely colorful history we shared. I mean… I was the one who turned him.
Or at least that’s what I like to think.
Thanks to me and some carefully presented evidence, he had gotten a clear glimpse into the Queen’s corrupt agenda and alliances. He’d seen what was done to me and the truth behind Leghrelnis. He even found all the other black sites. He’d broken free of his Conglomerate poster boy indoctrination after that.
The fact that he prized justice more than loyalty was something I could respect. Alright, fine, like. Really like.
I had a feeling that I wouldn’t like the reason he was here right now nearly as much. I'd wager not at all. Nothing good had brought him here, and the look on his face was a dead giveaway.
“She’s here. The frigate in Hangar One is hers. This entire thing was a ruse to get you and your crew back. We all played right into her hands.” He states without flinching.
It’s a good thing I kept my holovisor on. This way, he won’t see the nanites coursing through my scars as they work double-time to scan him for lies.
I find none.
“The Queen is here." I say slowly, before adding, "How?”
“The mirror. It’s been tracking you this entire time. Your crew is heading right into a trap. They’ve been tracking your neuroweave signals ever since you entered the system.” He explains.
“And she's not tracking you?” I ask.
“She is. My cover’s blown and it’s only a matter of time before the mirror burns through all the false IDs I’ve piled one on top of the other. I've got an hour left at best, minutes at worst.” He says. “It’s already suspicious that you’ve been in contact with a civilian and are conversing in a back alley. They’ll at least think I’m an Alliance operative. I wouldn’t put it past the Queen to have triangulated this exact location already.”
My mind races at the implications. All our Omega plans involved some kind of shoot out and mad escape. Only a handful of them involved the Queen. And an even smaller set of plans involved the Queen springing the trap herself.
None of them involved us being made out by the Magic Mirror. If I wasn’t so pale already, I’m sure any color I had left would have drained from my face completely.
My concentration shatters when Bellona yells over comms. “On your six! Missiles inbound! Thirty seconds! Yuki, my position is compromised. Awaiting orders.”
Icy terror floods my veins at the exponential drop in our survivability.
I take a deep breath before I look Z in the eyes. Why, oh why do they have to be so blue? Focus, Yuki, focus. “Trap. Okay, well, we’re gonna work with that. Now, promise me that whatever happens, you will get the girls out.”
“Twenty seconds! They’ll be on me in ten!” Bellona yells.
“Promise me, Z.” I plead.
“I promise.” He says solemnly. “But how…?”
I smile. Z is predictable when it comes to his sense of justice and innate kindness. It’s easy to figure out what he’ll do in most situations.
In an odd moment of clarity (which always seem to come right when my life is at stake), I realize why I have the warm fuzzies for him. In a world of chaos, he’s the one thing you can actually count on to be who he says he is, and do what he says he’ll do. He promised me, and that means he won’t let what happened to me happen to these girls.
“Plan Omega in effect. Execution code: Hide and Seek.” I say into the comms, before I reach out to touch Z's cheek. He grabs my hand, sending a shockwave of… well… everything up and down the length of my arm.
I see seven confirmations blink green in affirmative on my visor. “Let’s all play.” I whisper to them, while drawing two hand blasters from my hovercycle’s compartments.
I turn and nail the first missile at a hundred yards, but I am slower to aim and fire at the second one. It hits the pavement near us, and the shockwave takes me and Z off our feet.
Somehow I find my bearings, just barely managing to tuck and roll. Mercifully I get back up in seconds. I point my blasters at the second wave of incoming missiles, but one of them nails Z’s hovercraft and the cloaked transport closest to it.
“Take the bike! Head to those coordinates! Now!” I yell at Z, while shooting at the rest of the missiles.
The sentry bots start to arrive. The first one lands on the pavement with a loud, violent crunch.
“You promised!” I yell over the noise. “They want me, and you haven’t been made out yet. Go!”
I start shooting again, seeing Z climb onto the hovercycle in my peripheral vision. He'll survive this. He has to.
I need to get to the second transport in the alley. Fast.
I activate my nanites, revving up my internal processors to ensure this fight ends as quickly as possible. My neurons explode like a fireworks display, and the world slows just a little.
Two sentry bots start shooting at me, and I run right at them. I can see the trajectory of each energy bolt they fire, and it makes it easy to duck and weave to avoid getting hit.
I empty my first blaster into the nearest sentry not, successfully disabling it. I grab it to use as a makeshift shield and battering ram against its surviving companion.
I scream as I charge, activating my personal shield.
The shield flares a bright blue, absorbing the offensive fire directed at me. I close the gap and unload my other blaster into the second sentry at point blank range.
Soon, both sentries lie in smoking heaps at my feet.
The sound of the other sentries landing in the alleyway makes me instinctively reach for the immobilizers I carry on my belt. I tug three of them free and toss them at the group of sentries that touch down in front of me, four in all with more on the way. Electrical arcs shoot out, trapping the bots in a high-intensity net of charged energy.
Cold Snap Page 4