“I only accept praise from my mwadim,” Czyz said. “However, I recognize your approval of my achievement.”
“Happy to hear that. First squad, deploy wing assist and proceed along vector path bearing 280º. Activate chameleon mode. Confirm.”
Both fire teams acknowledged the heading and adjusted course. Magnus activated the wing assist feature, which deployed a carbon fiber fabric that spanned between arm and body, and between his knees. The new control surfaces gave him more stability as well as more maneuverability, allowing him to redirect along the west-bound flight path.
The squad soared out over the blackness of the Midnoric Ocean and then began a wide bank that brought them around to bear on the largest island. Buildings loomed ahead like a field of shiny opal columns reaching toward the stars. Magnus’s glide path traversed the western beach and brought him into the city under the tallest buildings.
Magnus flared to bleed off a little speed and lowered the automation’s assistance as he preferred to fly this route himself. Below him, hover cars and delivery transports went about their business, completely unaware of the eleven flying bodies overhead. To his left and right, he caught subtle flashes of camouflaged bodies as they whizzed across the skyscraper faces.
“900 meters to LZ,” Magnus said. “Prepare for landing.”
The overlaid flight path descended slowly as it headed toward a skyscraper that bordered a large clearing in the city’s center. The medium height tower had a flat roof clear of obstructions, which made it a safe landing site for space divers. If its designers only knew that it also made a perfect urban landing site, Magnus thought to himself.
“Five hundred,” he called out, and then began to flare. The wind buffeted his body, trying to throw him off course, but he managed to maintain proper trajectory with quick compensation movements. As he slowed, however, his flight stability lessened, and he risked losing lift altogether, which would cause him to tumble out of the sky.
Magnus and his teammates needed to stall directly over the LZ. Without AI assistance, such a feat would be almost impossible. Only the very best—or the luckiest—could pull it off without meeting a catastrophic end, either plastered against the side of the building or falling to the streets below. But with step-by-step guidance and full auto-assist for the least competent fliers, the difficulty was reduced significantly.
At 150 meters, Magnus sank below the building’s top, flared, and then rose back up and over the summit just as his velocity dropped to under five meters per second. His boots touched down, and the suit’s servos absorbed the majority of the kinetic energy. He still needed to take several steps across the gravel-covered rooftop before he came to a stop.
Magnus felt the carbon fiber control surfaces retract, and he turned around to watch the remainder of his teammates land. One by one, each gladia touched down on the rooftop—some skidding, others running. But only one made a perfect landing, sticking her feet to the roof on the first try.
“Seems you’re a natural,” Magnus said to Awen. “But I’m pretty sure you cheated.”
“Me? Cheat?” Awen said, stepping forward with the poise of a princess. “I’m afraid you have mistaken me for someone else.”
“Sure, I did.” Magnus pointed to the rooftop’s far side. “Bimby, Silk, set up the shot. Titus and Dutch, you’re managing clip-ins and safety checks. Rohoar, you’re first over, and I’m pulling up the rear. Cyril’s tech shadow should keep us hidden from non-visual surveillance, but the closer we get to our target, the more suspicious we become, so keep your wits about you. Questions?” No one said a thing. “Let’s do this, people.”
Abimbola pulled an A-frame support rig off his back, spread the legs, and extended the feet. He placed it on the ground and then removed a bolt gun from the small of his back, firing anchors into both feet to secure the frame to the rooftop. He fired a third bolt into a winch plate, which he placed three meters behind the A-frame, and then tossed the small gun away.
Silk stood beside Abimbola, taking an SMMWS from Rohoar and hoisting it to her shoulder. Rohoar helped her charge the weapon as she aimed across the open expanse to the east. The shoulder-mounted multi-weapons system was Azelon’s variation of the Repub SMDL—shoulder-mounted detonator launcher. But instead of only firing detonators, the SMMWS, or SMS for short, could fire an array of ordnance, including the explosive-tipped grappling anchor and zip cable that Rohoar had loaded from his hardshell backpack. Normally, Rohoar would operate his SMS as Alpha Teams heavy ordnance expert, but not at this range. This was a sniper’s job, and he seemed only too happy to let the baldheaded, tattoo-covered former Marauder take the shot.
While Silk lined up, Abimbola motioned to Czyz and withdrew two planks from the Jujari’s back. Abimbola unfolded each one to reveal a metal frame with a semi-translucent fabric in the middle. Quick button presses released spring-loaded support stands, and Abimbola set the screens on both sides of Silk.
“Might wanna stand clear, Nídira,” Silk said, looking over her shoulder. The mystic stood directly behind Silk, apparently curious about the weapon and the screens. As a Luma, Nídira probably hadn’t seen a whole lot of firearms, so this novelty must have seemed even more outlandish than standard blasters.
“Right,” Nídira said. “Sorry.” She stepped away as Silk resumed her firing posture. “But what are those?”
“Sonic disruptors,” Magnus replied. “That SMS packs a mean bark, enough to draw more attention than we want. But the panels will help disorient sensors enough that they won’t be able to pinpoint the source.”
“Clever,” Nídira said. “But why didn’t you just ask one of us to help with that?”
Magnus looked from Nídira to Awen. “Well, because…”
“Would you like it to be fired in silence, Magnus?” Awen asked with a certain level of playfulness to her voice.
Abimbola and Silk both looked at Magnus before he replied, “Uh, that’d be great.”
Awen nodded at Nídira, and then the two women produced a barely visible dome around Silk.
“Don’t contain the blast,” Silk said. “Just the sound, right?”
Magnus nodded at Awen. “If you contain it all, you’ll rupture all Silk’s soft tissue.”
“Just the sound energy,” Awen said. “We got it.”
“Cool,” Silk said, nodding slowly. “I’m down with this.” Then she spread her legs, bent her knees, and lined up her shot. “Keep your panties on, everyone. Fire in the hole.”
The SMS coughed flames out the front and back as the grappling anchor leaped from the tube and shot across the expanse. The only audio Magnus’s helmet registered was a soft whump under his feet. Cable whipped out of the pile on the roof as the projectile streaked through the night and then slammed into the west side of Proconsul Tower. When the anchor struck, a small explosion emitted from the hole as the grapple’s claws shot into the surrounding material.
Silk gave Abimbola a nod, and the Miblimbian yanked on the cable, pulling up the slack. Then he heaved the line over the A-frame, carried it to the rear anchor plate, and activated the small winch that pulled the cable through until it was taught.
“150th floor,” Silk said to Magnus. “As ordered. You’re all set, LT.”
Magnus tipped his head toward her in thanks and then looked at Rohoar. “You’re up.”
“But Rohoar is going down,” the Jujari replied, speaking of himself in the same weird way that Ezo did.
“Yes, but you’ re—just get on the mysticsdamned cable and go cut the windowplex, would you?”
“You do not need to be snippy with Rohoar, scrumruk graulap.” The Jujari approached the cable and raised a hand to it. Titus held Rohoar’s wrist against the line while Dutch instructed Rohoar to activate his suit’s traveler. A small gimbal mechanism protruded from Rohoar’s wrist. Then a gate about the same size as the line snapped open. Titus pulled Rohoar’s wrist in and the mechanism clamped down on the cable, giving a small chime and illuminating a green LED. Titu
s looked to Dutch, who then asked Rohoar to test his weight against the line. The Jujari pulled his knees up and began sliding.
“Whoa, whoa, big guy,” Dutch said as she and Titus leaned in to stop the hyena-like beast from hurtling off the side. “Just a little test.”
“Jujari do not test. We do, or we do not.”
“Yeah?” Dutch said. “Well, not testing stuff gets you killed. And we like you too much for that.”
Rohoar gave a low growl. “Is Rohoar ready to slide?”
Dutch nodded at Titus. “You’re ready,” Titus replied. “Happy trails.”
“I see no trail, nor does it have feelings that would seem to indicate—” Rohoar was cut short as both Titus and Dutch sent him sailing over the edge. The Jujari howled so loudly that Magnus had to lower his interface volume. Rohoar’s body sped along the cable, traversing the western quad of the Forum Republica campus far below.
Even from this height, Magnus could make out some of the ornate buildings, meandering garden pathways, and lit skywalks that composed the upper levels of the capital complex. It would still be two hours before the first staff populated the common spaces.
Magnus watched as Rohoar’s now tiny body slid under the shadow of the docking platforms, some of which hosted government and civilian vessels. In another few seconds, Rohoar activated the brake in his wrist coupler and slowed until his body came to rest against the building.
With his HUD and bioteknia eyes working in tandem, Magnus zoomed in to see Rohoar remove his left gauntlet, maglock it to his thigh, and then stretch his left paw. He extended a single clawed digit and began scraping it across the windowplex in a full circle, large enough for his body to fit through. Rohoar traced the path twice more with his claw and then replaced his gauntlet. Then he pushed away from the building, out over the campus far below, and swung his whole weight at the freshly cut circle shape.
His boots struck the side, and, at first, nothing happened. Rohoar gave out an irritated snarl over comms and then pushed himself away again. His boots slammed into the windowplex a second time, but still, nothing happened. Another growl and Rohoar pushed off. This time, when he lunged forward, the Jujari disconnected his arm from the cable. Magnus was about to protest, but there wasn’t time. Rohoar flew through the air and struck the circle hard enough that it gave way. Then the Jujari and the windowplex disk disappeared inside the tower.
“You crazy ass son of a bitch,” Magnus said.
“No,” the Jujari said. “Rohoar’s ass is not crazy, nor is his mother a breeding hound used solely for producing progeny. Instead, she is a beautiful—”
“Don’t finish that,” Magnus said. “And let’s just assume I believe you. Good job out there, Scruffy.”
“Scruffy?”
Ignoring the question, Magnus turned to the rest of the gladias. “Who’s next?”
One at a time, Titus and Dutch helped each person to the cable, attached their wrist-coupler, and then sent them across the expanse toward Rohoar’s outstretched arms. After everyone had traversed the zip line, Magnus attached his coupler, stood with his toes over the edge, and then pushed off.
Magnus felt his body’s weight yank on his arm as he flew out over the campus that lay nearly 400 meters below. He picked out a small stream that flowed around a seating area with soft, tree-mounted lighting. He also saw several small outbuildings that doubled as elevator terminals to speed people around the complex in the modular transport system.
Magnus picked up speed, listening to the sound of the cable whizzing through the coupler. He relaxed his body and let the active gimbal keep him aimed toward the hole in the building. Ahead, Magnus saw Rohoar’s armored form waiting to receive him. Higher up, Magnus noted just how many transport shuttles slept against their docking platforms. Proconsul Tower not only served as the meeting place for the most important intergalactic dignitaries but offered easy access for their arrival by shuttle as well.
The wrist coupler started to brake, slowing Magnus as he neared the cable’s end. Rohoar reached out and took hold of Magnus’s free arm just as his feet touched the rounded windowplex edge.
“Rohoar has you,” the Jujari said, pulling Magnus in as the wrist coupler released his other arm from the cable.
“Thanks,” Magnus replied. “And what’s with all this Rohoar business?”
The Jujari tilted his head. “Business?”
“Never mind.” Magnus looked around and saw his two fire teams in an ample office, complete with an ornate wooden desk, brightly colored paintings, and opulent, low-slung guest seating. Abimbola had already made himself comfortable on one of the leather couches, putting his feet on the glass coffee table. “Bimby, I hate to cramp your style, but I need that line cut.”
“On it,” the Miblimbian said, sitting up and moving toward the hole.
Next, Magnus pulled up a building schematic in his HUD. The three-dimensional layout turned in his vision until an icon indicated the teams’ position on the 150th floor. Magnus accessed the next waypoint, and it brought up a multi-point path that extended across their current floor, down an elevator shaft to sub-level twenty, and then into some sort of entrance hall. He populated the team’s chat window with a link to the route and then moved toward the office door.
“We’ll cross to the main elevator terminal on this floor,” Magnus said, highlighting the route. “Then it’s a straight shot 170 floors down. Keep chameleon mode active, and keep noise to a minimum. We should be able to spoof the low-grade office sensors, no problem. Weapons ready?”
Everyone nodded and brought their NOV1s to low ready position.
“Let’s move.”
4
Zoll’s target building was two blocks inland from the midpoint of Dalton Beach, which ran along the length of Terin Island’s western shore. The long sandy strand made for a far easier landing than the one Magnus would have atop Centennial Tower. But that didn’t mean a beach landing didn’t come with its inherent risks—namely, people.
Despite the human’s daily need for sleep, not everyone in the species chose to engage in it, especially star-crossed lovers on blankets or drug-saturated dimwits around campfires. Civilians were sometimes the most effective surveillance of all because unless you were going to detain them, or worse, kill them, they could raise the alarm just as effectively as automated sensors.
The upside of landing where civilians might be was that traditional surveillance was usually minimized. Wandering people not only set off automated systems, making their maintenance a nuisance, but acted as a form of passive security to deter would-be trespassers.
Of course, if you had invisible suits of armor, the very latest in stealth and mapping technology, and a little bit of luck, you could avoid the human and traditional surveillance altogether.
Zoll flared his suit just above a clear stretch of beach then let his boots dig furrows through the sand as he came to a halt. His fabric wings retracted, and he turned to see the others make landfall. To the naked eye, it would have looked as though small sand spouts had erupted across the beach. Zoll imagined some giant arachnids dancing around, making divots as they ambled above the surf.
“Dude, what the hell?” said a lazy voice. “You catch that?”
Zoll spun around to see two figures sitting in the sand about ten paces away. Somehow, he’d missed them when he scanned the strand. Dammit.
“Mystic spirits, bro,” exclaimed the other, batting at his friend’s shoulder and making a cigarette fall from his lips. “I told you the astrals were real. I told you!”
The first rip-smoker took a deep drag on his cigarette and then followed the movement in the sand as his eyes grew wide. “Splick, one’s coming toward us, bro. It’s coming toward us!”
The second junkie backed away at Zoll’s advance. “They’re gonna suck out our souls, bro! Run!”
The two hallucinating bums tried to scramble out of the sand but only made it a few paces before they ran into the invisible form of a Jujari warrior. The first
man bounced off the armor and fell flat on his back. The second struck it and started screaming, arms flailing. Grahban ended the noise with a fist to the top of the man’s head, sending him to the ground in a heap. The second tried backing away, crab style, but Grahban grabbed him by the ankle and hoisted him into the air. The victim writhed like he was about to be eaten by some invisible monster. Then the Jujari clocked the man on the side of the head and tossed his body away like a rag doll.
Zoll stared at Grahban for a second.
“What?” the Jujari asked. “They were annoying me.”
“I can see that. You didn’t need to kill them.”
“Not dead, just sleeping for a long time. By the time they wake up, they will have good stories, and perhaps one more reason to become sober of mind.”
Zoll chuckled. “That’s one rehab program that may actually work.”
“Thank you.” Then Grahban hesitated. “What is this rehab program?”
“Don’t worry about it,” Zoll replied. Then, turning to the rest of his teams, he said, “Fall in.”
The map for this portion of the city showed the research lab about 600 meters from their current location. They’d need to cross a boardwalk and then move east down a side street. Zoll talked his team through the approach.
“We’ll use the loading dock in the back as infill. It will have the least sensors, and probably a security guard or two. Non-lethal force wherever possible.”
“My rehab program?” Grahban asked.
“Yes, your rehab program. Rix, Dozer, we might need some explosives on the main door. But if we can get in without drawing too much attention to ourselves, that’s the priority. Wish, Telwin, Finderminth, see what your Unity powers can do for us.”
The three mystics nodded. “We will,” Wish replied.
Zoll brought up the building’s schematic and made sure everyone had it in their HUDs. “Once we’re in, we need to find out where they’re keeping the assets. My guess is they’ve got them in a secured residence of some sort. But we won’t know that without tapping a data node, located here. Cyril, that’s you.”
Ruins of the Galaxy Box Set: Books 1-6 Page 169