by Gareth Clegg
In the near-dark, Simmons saw a tiny glow of light from the upper floor and moved away from the main entrance. No way of knowing what nasty surprises might protect that door.
After five minutes of scouting, he located a window at ground level that gave as he pushed at it. The frame was rotten but held together as it opened. Checking inside, rows of machinery ran in parallel lines along the length of the huge room within. Though it was dark, his eye had adjusted enough to see an open space where he could step down to the floor without fear of disturbing anything.
He stalked between the silent looms, long beyond their useful lifespan. Rust clung to their sharp angles, while any sign of wool had rotted away into a dried sludge beneath them. He made slow and quiet progress towards the far side of the room where stairs led up to the next floor.
Simmons kept his weight on his rear foot as he tested the first stair. As he placed his boot on the outer edge of the step, he applied more pressure onto it, hoping for a sturdier construction and not a loose or squeaky floorboard. It accepted him without protest, and when he had transferred all his weight forward, he moved his back leg to take the next step, repeating the slow and painstaking process.
He poked his head around the top of the stairwell, finding a long corridor leading towards a series of doors, probably offices or storage areas. A pale yellow light seeped beneath the third one, and faint sounds of murmured conversation came from behind it. He approached with great care and measured steps, choosing every footfall until he was beside the doorway. He hadn’t made a sound.
From within, there were two voices. It was difficult to make out what was being said, but they sounded like they were to the right of the door which, luckily for Simmons, opened inwards.
A third voice, deeper and louder issued from inside. “I don’t care how you do it. You need more men.” Maddox.
He was somewhere to the left of the room. Damn, it would be tricky to get the drop on him. Simmons decided the best option was to be direct. Burst in, take out the two to the right with the Holland, then use the Mauser to deal with Maddox. He reached down and unclipped the holster providing easy access to the pistol, already cocked and ready to fire. He’d made sure of that on his way across the rough terrain from the station. It wasn’t something he wanted to do within earshot of his prey.
He aimed the rifle towards the right side of the room and prepared to kick the door from its hinges. He counted down, mentally. Three, Two, One.
The wood splintered around the lock and flew open. Two Black Guard officers sat at a rickety table. They lurched to their feet, knocking a wine bottle which smashed against the wall. The Holland rifle roared, blowing a great hole in the nearest one’s chest and sending him flying backwards into the other. There was a sickening crunch as the back of his head smashed into the others face, and they both fell in a bloody mess onto the floor.
Oh, Lucky Days, Simmons thought. He’d expected to have to use both shots and now had one barrel left which he whirled to bear on Maddox.
“I wouldn’t try that if I were you,” he said as his enemy reached towards a pistol on the table beside him.
“It seems you have me at a disadvantage, Simmons.” Maddox’s fingers twitched, desperate to grasp the weapon. He opened his hand, drawing it back into his lap.
“So it would seem,” Simmons replied. “You’ll pay for what you’ve done, traitor.”
“I’m no traitor. I just know when to support the winning side.”
Simmons smiled. “So this is all about money then? I will put you down like the mad dog you are.”
“That might be harder than you think.” He nodded past Simmons where the door creaked on ruptured hinges.
“You don’t expect me to fall for that, do you?”
“Your funeral,” Maddox replied, shielding his eyes.
A fizzing noise burst from the frame behind him, and Simmons ducked to his right. Light exploded, leaving just a blur of bright white etched in his vision. Then Maddox hit him at a charge, lifting him off his feet as they crashed through the splintered remains of the flimsy entrance.
Callam fought to re-establish a link to Raphael. “I don’t understand it. The power coupling is fine, and there’s plenty of juice, he’s just not functioning. Maybe you should try?”
Nathaniel shook his head. “You have far more experience. I wouldn’t know where to start.”
“Other than having seen the schematics?”
“Well, yes,” Nathaniel said. “But that’s no substitute for the practical skills you’ve gained over the last four years. I only skimmed through them, so I have an incomplete technical schema and nothing on which to relate. I’ll try to stabilise the power flows before anything fails. The others can limit any further damage.”
“Right you are,” Callam replied as Nathaniel left to face the assembled technicians with Gabriel at their head. He explained the vital functions they needed to repair and sent teams scampering off along the corridors to begin their tasks. With luck, that might be enough to save ArcNet.
Nathaniel returned to the central console with Gabriel, and after a minor change to a power dial and a few flicks of switches, the Klaxon lapsed into silence.
“Thank God for that,” Callam said. “I felt like my bloody head would explode.”
“Sorry it took so long, I should have thought of it earlier.”
Gabriel turned to Callam. “How are things going?”
“I think I’m making progress here. It looks as if Raph started the shutdown himself.”
“Why would he do that?” she replied.
“I’m not sure. Whatever the reason, he’s gone into some form of lockdown. It must have been an intentional decision, but it’s strange how he cut-off mid-sentence.”
“Can you bypass the lockdown?” Nathaniel asked.
“Well, I think I can,” Callam said. “I’m just not sure if I should.”
“Why’s that?”
“If he locked his systems down intentionally, we’ve no idea why and what we might do in unlocking them.”
Gabriel sighed. “It’s a fair call, but if we don’t get him back up and running, we’ll lose all the work you did to bypass the core. The teams are out there doing their best to protect the essentials such as air circulation and power distribution, but without Raphael controlling them, the whole place will shut down.”
“Damn it,” Nathaniel said.
Callam was silent for a few moments. “There’s no other choice, is there?”
“No,” Nathaniel replied. “I can’t see any way past this.”
The big man blew out a long breath. “Right, let’s get Raph unlocked then.”
Callam removed a metal plate on Raphael’s torso, revealing a tangled mess of wires. He placed it onto the floor at his side and pried at sections around the data feeds that plumbed Raphael into the workings of ArcNet.
Nathaniel returned his attention to the power. Two of the six dials he was most worried about had slowed in their increasing energy consumption. At last, something going right. He almost jumped when a loud buzzing sounded next to him, breaking the near silence. Gabriel reached down, flicking a switch to open the intercom connection with the communications room.
“Peterson?” she asked.
“Yes, ma’am. I thought you should know I’ve heard from the team investigating section three.”
“Good news, I hope?”
“Not sure yet. They’ve taken a railcar to investigate and should be at the halfway point shortly, where I expect another update.”
“Keep me informed.”
“There’s something else,” Peterson said.
“Go on.”
“Well, it might be nothing, but I just received a new set of movement signals from section one.”
Nathaniel’s brow creased. “Raphael mentioned that the sensors there were unstable. Haven’t there been problems over the last week?”
Peterson paused. “There have, but these are different. There seems to be something
approaching rapidly from the north. From the readings, I’d say it was a railcar.”
“How long till it arrives?” Gabriel asked.
“If it continues at its current speed, and the sensors are correct, then no more than ten minutes.”
“Thank you, Peterson,” Gabriel said, stifling a groan. “Nathaniel, get a team ready to check the northern tunnel.”
Nathaniel stood, wondering where he would find a group of technicians not already engaged in emergency repair work. Callam caught the end of the discussion and turned towards them. “Everything all right?”
“It looks like we have a railcar heading down the tracks in section one,” said Gabriel.
Callam frowned. “Could it be Lynch and Simmons.”
“I hope so, Callam,” Gabriel said. “I really do hope so.”
The air exploded from Simmons as he and Maddox hit the wall outside the room. He felt his knee connect with Maddox’s stomach as the larger man fell on top of him with a loud grunt of pain.
Simmons tried to blink his vision clear from the white afterimage which blocked his sight, damn, it was almost as bad as staring into Bazalgette’s arc-lamp. He struggled to his feet, sucking in a great lungful of air. His chest burned, and he looked about, unsure where the rifle had landed when they had burst through the rotten door.
He backed up the corridor, trying to buy himself some time but heard Maddox getting up.
“Simmons, you stupid old bastard. Why couldn’t you leave things be?”
“If you think I’d let a treacherous dog like you get away with treason—”
“Oh, who are you kidding? You had me in your sights, and now here you are. No rifle and blinded in a confined space.”
Maddox’s voice was below head height. He’s crouching, ready for another charge Simmons thought, reaching for his pistol and slipping it from the holster on his belt. Before he could aim, he heard Maddox racing across the distance between them. He managed to fire once before Maddox struck him again.
A second shot rang out as he fell backwards and there was a yell of pain, Maddox’s body rolling off him. He fought to bring the pistol round towards the blurry shape, but something hit his wrist like a hammer, sending the Mauser tumbling from his numb fingers.
“You’ll bloody pay for that,” Maddox spat between gritted teeth.
Simmons kicked out, pushing himself further away from the hulking figure. “I hope it’s nothing minor,” he said, pulling himself up on the railing by the stairs.
“I’ll live,” Maddox said.
“More’s the pity,” Simmons replied, glancing about the poorly lit passageway. His vision was a little better, but not good enough to pick up where the pistol was in the darkness. Maddox stood before him, gripping his left side with a meaty paw. He was leaning that way too, with luck the shot might have clipped his liver or broken a rib.
Maddox crept forward, using the knowledge of Simmons’ injury to blindside him, but with the goggles, he noticed the approach. However, in the dim light, he misjudged Maddox’s strike. He raised his arm to block the backhand flying towards his face, twisting his body away from the blow, so it glanced off his forearm. He didn’t notice the secondary punch that landed hard into his right leg, struck just where Bazalgette had removed the shrapnel.
White-hot knives stabbed into his brain as his knee gave way. He yelled in agony as he collapsed, grabbing at the stair rail for support. His numb fingers couldn’t arrest his momentum before he crashed through into the open space below him on the stairwell.
He bounced down the stairs, amidst splintered wood, to lie crumpled at the bottom among the shattered remains of half of the wooden spindles, head still ringing. Pain coursed through his entire body, nausea threatening to overwhelm him.
The salty iron taste of blood filled his mouth, and he spat a mouthful onto the floor. He must have bitten into his tongue on his descent too. His ribs screamed as he tried to stand, but he knew he had to move, and fast.
Gritting his teeth, he dragged himself towards the nearest aisle of rusted machinery. Through the rushing of blood in his head and his laboured breathing, he heard movement at the top of the staircase. Move it, old man. Got to get out of sight.
He clawed himself between the first two rows of looms, and gripping the rusty undersides of the machines, pulled himself under them.
Solid footsteps reached the factory floor. Simmons couldn’t see a thing in the darkness. He just lay there, trying to keep his breathing quiet and winced with pain with each ragged breath. He’d cracked at least one rib in his fall.
A few scuffs broke the silence as Maddox crunched through the splintered debris at the foot of the stairs.
“Oh, that must have hurt,” Maddox called out. “I heard a few nasty cracks on the way down, I was expecting to find your broken bones at the bottom, but this is much more fun. Now I get to break the others, one by one.”
Light filtered into the structure as dawn approached, the grey gloom becoming lighter by the minute. Luckily for Simmons, it was brightest at the other side of the room, but it wouldn’t take long for it to seep over the entire factory floor.
“The amount of shit I’ve had to endure from you so that Rosie could keep up appearances with your group. I’ve killed men for much less than that. You should think yourself lucky. But now it’s just you and me Simmons, you old goat.” Maddox continued his slow approach. He was almost at the end of the aisle. “I have the entire force of the Red Hands at my beck and call, and what do you have? Nothing.”
Simmons held his breath as Maddox stalked towards his hiding place, but the pressure in his side was unbearable. He coughed, a dribble of blood speckled his lips, and he groaned in pain.
“There you are, you slippery old bastard. Now come out from under there and let’s finish this.”
Maddox knelt and reached under the broken machinery, his fingers mere inches from Simmons’ boots.
A door crashed open, flooding the northern side of the factory with pale grey light.
“Leave him alone. Why don’t you pick on someone your own size?”
A thin figure stood silhouetted in the doorway. The thick London accent was unmistakable - Isaac.
“What the hell?” Maddox said, standing to face the visitor. “Is this some old git’s convention that nobody told me about? Go home, Isaac, you’re even more decrepit than this old bastard.”
A female voice replied. “I think you’ll find he means me.”
A tall figure pushed past Isaac. Starlight sparkled from ringed fingers catching the first glints of the morning sun, as Diamond Annie strode into the room. “Isaac told me there was a mad dog needed putting down. So here I am.”
41
“Callam, I need these doors open. Lynch has the Empress outside.”
Nathaniel waited on the northern platform. He knew Callam was doing his best, but that didn’t curb the anxiety he felt.
“That should do it,” Callam said. “I’m bringing Raph back online now.”
“No!” Raphael shouted, his crackling voice piercing through the intercom.
“What’s happening?” Nathaniel asked.
“He’s fighting it, trying to shut down again.”
“Can you stop him?”
“Gabriel bypassed the cut-out he used last time.”
“Get him to open the security gate. We need Lynch inside.”
A loud electrical hum rose, and the solid steel section clanked into movement, recessing into the thick protective walls that blocked the rail access.
“Nathaniel, he’s complying, but he’s not at all happy. There’s something seriously wrong with him.”
“Tell Gabriel. She can talk to him.”
“She’s already doing her best. Callam out.”
The opening gate spat a widening cone of light into the dark tunnel illuminating the packed railcar. Lynch sat in the driving position and disengaged the brake as soon as it was wide enough for them to pass between. The rest of her team clung to the sides o
f the makeshift vehicle. Nathaniel scanned, but found no sign of Simmons.
He pressed the close button as they passed through the massive black gates. Nothing happened. He pushed it again, clicking in response to his touch, but still, the steel slabs continued into the walls leaving a twenty-foot-wide hole into ArcNet.
Nathaniel punched the intercom. “Callam, we’ve got a problem with—”
He realised he wasn’t transmitting, the light beside the speaker flickered then cut-out. He turned to one of the three armed technicians he’d poached on the way here.
“Head back to the core. Tell Callam and Gabriel what’s happened here, that systems are failing and we have a damned huge hole in our defences. You two,” he said, pointing to the remaining techs. “Take up a position here and lock down as much as you can. Get it done quickly, it needn’t be pretty. Weld the doors, stack heavy equipment behind them, whatever works.”
The other men nodded their understanding, discussing ideas while Nathaniel moved onto the platform to meet Lynch. By the time he’d covered the distance to the railcar, Lynch’s team were lifting an unconscious young woman from the vehicle.
“Curtis, Blake,” Lynch called. “Take the Empress to secure accommodation and tell Gabriel.”
“She’s in the operations centre,” Nathaniel said, extending his hand. She took it in a firm handshake. “Major Lynch, your mission looks like it was successful.”
“Yes, Nathaniel, but what’s going on here? We encountered Black Guard forces in the east entrance and had to make our way onto a loop to get to this line.”
“Sensors identified a large group of intruders, Peterson led a force to investigate.”
“We’ll be lucky to see them alive again. These are seasoned assault troops, he won’t stand a chance.” She looked over her shoulder towards the gate. “Why is that still open?”
“We are having systems problems with Raphael. He shut down, and Callam is fighting to bring him back online. That’s why we had the delay in getting you inside. Now the mechanism seems inoperative, along with the intercom here.”