Crossing Rubicon

by A J Blanc

  “It wasn’t,” Alena interjected, tired of being left out of the conversation. She was shorter than the two men, but lithe and had the hard look of someone who had given and received difficult orders in her thirty-something years. “Raymus was here on my request to infiltrate Rosen, which he successfully accomplished early this morning. I also advised against attempting to contact Hyde as to avoid potentially giving away his position, as well as telegraphing his intentions.”

  Milo was confused again. “So… Watson worked for you? Were you his handler, or whatever you call it?” He asked with a surly grin toward Hal.

  “Not exactly. Er, not at all for the first part. When DIA asked me to look into Corrections’ contracts with Rosen, it didn’t take me long to see something was fishy; only a few hours really. I then hacked into their meager, yet still impressive, messaging network because all other ways in were too well protected. From there I was able to glean a reasonably clear picture of the extent of their field operatives’ configuration.”

  “And that means what to us, exactly?” Milo asked somewhat loudly. “This pseudo-spy stuff is not as charming as you might think. It’s been quite a few years since someone has died right in front of me. So you’ll excuse me if I strongly encourage you two to cut to the chase.”

  “Message received,” Alena responded while holding her hands up, acquiescing. “I figured out Rosen wanted people with ASIs, either as hunters or prey. They tried to recruit Watson while on assignment in Belarus, but because he didn’t commit to them right away they moved to discredit and frame him so he could get arrested, taking the choice away from him altogether. I warned him it would happen after their first meeting. He didn’t trust me then, but his experiences following that so-called escape gave him a different perspective.”

  “Which led to his brain exploding. What I’m interested in is what he… now you, have on Rosen, aside from a few confidential sponsors, that would cause them to make a call like that? To allegedly kill a man in public, who wasn’t even on the Network.”

  “Pretty much all of the classified governmental funding that, if not kept secret, would fundamentally ruin their reputation as a company, along with the careers of some powerful figures. It would render their most popular, and therefore profitable, programming unsustainable literally overnight. Not to mention expose several officials and business executives as taking kickbacks, or worse.”

  “Which brings us back to why the hell I shouldn’t get back to my cozy job halfway across the country! You say this OP was a farce from the beginning? Great, you sold me on that. Job well done. But I took it seriously, and it was a qualified disaster. So for me, it’s on to the next one. I wish you both luck in your endeavors.”

  “Milo wait,” Hal pleaded as he grabbed Milo’s arm. Milo looked at the clutched arm, then gave a hard glare into the other man’s blue-grey eyes, which prompted a quick release. “Sorry, but it’s not as simple as that. According to what Watson dug up from Rosen’s archives, they have set their sights on your office, amongst many others. You, and three of your colleagues, were specifically chosen for Rubicon to test your mettle against highly sought assets. You were obviously the standout winner.”

  Milo vacillated between the two spies with incredulity, waiting for one to break their composure. When neither gave in he took on a sarcastic tone. “Oh I see. Their big, evil plan was to make me a runner in the Game. I can see it now, the oldest contestant to ever grace the Network.”

  “Not exactly,” Alena cut in. “They were going to offer you a field recruitment position; likely due to your discipline and dependability if I had to guess. If you had turned them down, which it seems they expect you to, they plan to either discredit you via your beloved car, or somehow tie you into the fiasco that took place in Manchuria during the war…”

  “That’s classified information!” Milo exploded in a fury. “There’s simply not enough evidence to pin any of that calamity on me, mainly due to the fact that no such information exists!”

  “Yeah, well, that’s kinda the point we’re trying to make isn’t it,” Hal said. “With their growing number of contacts within DOD, they could’ve gathered just enough data on you to make up whatever they wanted and have it sound credible. Then blackmail you to comply, either as a staff member or contestant in one of their many, and I use this term very loosely, reality shows.”

  “But why bother when they have the money, and influence, to recruit whomever they want? Why would they waste their time on people who clearly aren’t interested?”

  “Because Rosen doesn’t target just anybody. They don’t settle for runner-up. Also, apparently their sales pitch comprises a fair amount of intellectual property that could damage their recruitment process if released. Not to mention that, as a company, they’re completely narcissistic,” Alena informed.

  The anger rising within Milo was reaching a point he had not felt for many years. Most probably as far back as that ill-fated military operation that became known as the Manchurian Catastrophe, where he assumed command of what remained of an entire company, in what was supposed to be a safe zone. He swallowed down the bile and focused on a solution like he always did in situations such as these.

  “So what are you proposing we do about this? Especially since you seem to already have the intel you need to break their back.”

  “We need someone on the inside,” Alena chimed in. “I mean physically. We need you to go inside the zone and connect with the Zenith network, to aid in creating a backdoor into their larger system. If we can do that, we can transmit our data through Rosen’s own streaming services, which will reach far more people than a news station or public streaming channels that only niche groups will see.

  Milo scoffed and waved off the notion as if it were a buzzing pest. “That’s all well and good lady, but the zone security net will have locked onto me long before I get anywhere near enough to connect to anything… unless you have a cloaking device up your sleeve?” He concluded mockingly.

  “Not exactly,” she responded in what was becoming her usual phrase. She was either not impressed by the joke, or oblivious to the reference; Milo couldn’t tell. “However, we do have access to a few of Rosen’s vehicle transponders. It may not fool them for long, but long enough to hack in and block their zone security...”

  The two men waited for her to continue what appeared to be an unfinished thought. When no elaboration came, Milo broke the silence that ensued.

  “Um, ok. Just like that? Anything else I can do for you two?”

  “Yes, you might want to contact that friend of yours who works for Rosen, and get her to do anything she can to help us, just in case their response time is faster than I anticipate. Oh, and you should probably try to contact Mister Hyde while you’re in the zone. You should be able to reach him through the Zenith network, potentially rendering assistance if possible.”

  Milo’s head snapped to his left to face Hal. By the grimace on the other man’s face, it was clear he had forgotten about Hyde as well. They raced to Milo’s car, almost knocking Alena over in the process.

  “Do you think it’s over yet?” An already winded Hal asked.

  “Dammit man! Don’t say it like that.”

  They reached the Studebaker at the same time, and Milo activated the view-screen. He directed his onboard computer to the Rosen Network, but paused to regard Hal.

  “You might want to make this your port of call sailor. It didn’t sound like I have time to chauffeur you around at the moment.”

  The Most Dangerous Game appeared superimposed across the center of the windscreen, leaving an adequate amount of unimpeded visibility for the driver and passenger. The image briefly captivating the both of them was of Marcus carefully navigating a heavily rocky terrain. Towering granite formations surrounded the intrepid contestant. He methodically scanned each crack and crevice for anything out of the ordinary. Both men let out a relieved sigh.

  “And let you go charging to the rescue alone? I couldn’t allow m
yself to miss that, especially since I got you into this in the first place,” Hal added sheepishly. “Besides, between piloting this thing, attempting to access the network, coordinating with Alena, and contacting Marcus I figure you could use an extra pair of finely tuned surgeon hands.”

  “Oh that’s right, you’re a doctor,” Milo responded dramatically. “Perhaps you might be able to finally use those skills in this tactical infiltration operation.”

  “Funny. Now get us in the air while I try to contact Sonya. Hopefully Marcus can hang in there a bit longer.”

  “My money is still on another victory. Maybe it’s good that I’m allowing you to tag along though, in case he really will need a doctor.”

  Chapter Seventeen: Coup de Grâce

  Senior Airman Marcus Hyde was beginning to go mad. Even though he knew there was only one enemy out there, he perceived threats with every unidentified sound, and every sway of desert grass.

  He consulted his forearm datapad, which held preloaded information such as: detailed maps of the zones, date and time, as well as known inventory, amongst other applicable information. The catch to this fairly standard, toned-down military equipment is that, for the purposes of the Game, at least one piece of data had to be entered into every application offered through the computer. He checked his location, based on the position he calculated in between rounds, and his computer-estimated position put him slightly under two kilometers southwest of a safety ring…

  There was a faint, metallic scraping to his distant right that caused Marcus to reflexively go prone onto the ground, huddled behind his small duffel bag. Although he was well aware of the strands of titanium and spider-silk threads of body armor sewn within his battle dress uniform, it wouldn’t protect him from the concussive force of average munitions. What saved most soldiers’ lives in battle was the powered combat vest, or PCV. Through the use of repulse technology, the battery-powered vest essentially pushed back on impacts severe enough to cause moderate injury, with the help of the hardened outer layer of material electronically stiffened to absorb the kinetic energy.

  Thanks to dozens of tiny solar cells, which were also part of the PCV, the battery could continually charge in the warm Nevada sun. The vest’s battery also powered the forearm datapad, as well as the integrated helmet and environmental mask, both inundated with several features of their own. Despite those touted and tested benefits, he still had the impulse to use his equipment bag as a shield.

  Straining his senses for another sound, or movement of any kind, Marcus could feel his muscles tensing. Readying themselves for the instinctive fight or flight response that even experienced soldiers still had to contend with. As he stood there, still as the stones around him, he quietly berated himself for not exiting the shallow valley he had entered in hopes of evading the seekers. While that decision was one of strategic necessity, it may have allowed the hunter to gain ground on him more quickly.

  Seconds stretched by, as if time were standing still. After several breathless moments, Marcus relaxed some and thought it best to at least put on his helmet. As he twisted his body to reach for the helmet strapped to his vest on the left side, the rock wall behind him exploded in a muffled pop, showering him with sand and stone.

  Marcus slapped the Kevlar helmet on his head and scurried back the way he had come. He fired off a few controlled bursts in the direction his gut told him the threat was coming from, but received no definitive hits in response to his efforts. When the echoes from his weapon’s staccato sounds faded, Marcus clearly heard a soft hiss and smooth action noises from a well-oiled pneumatic re-loader, which in his mind narrowed the possible weapon of his assailant down to a silenced SPAS-22 shotgun, or an auto bow.

  He continued to incrementally stretch the distance between himself and his attacker. Without taking his eyes off the narrow valley before him, Marcus desperately tried to remember the layout of the area he had just traversed only minutes ago. He knew there was a small crevasse on his left that could not only provide adequate cover, but also a path to higher ground. He was certain it was close, and was getting frustrated by not seeing…

  An intense force struck him square in his stomach, propelling him off his feet. The PCV had done its job and absorbed the brunt of the impact, but he was still lying flat on his back with the wind knocked out of him. He dared not sit up, for fear the same weapon came for his head, so he tried scanning the area where he lay. As he writhed on the ground, his breath returning to him, his strength came back in a jolt when he saw the rocky fissure he had been searching for looming behind him.

  Seemingly in one swift motion, Marcus rolled to his left, and deftly slithered along the valley wall, into the cleft of rock. As he tucked his legs inside, the blur of an arrow darted by and struck the opposite wall. The specially designed bolt head had a series of barbed hooks packed within it, no doubt meant to incapacitate limbs, he assumed.

  He clamored his way to the top of the stunted valley and tossed a smoke grenade in the direction of his attacker. The still air and depressed features of the area ensured maximum coverage of the heavy grey fog. For good measure, he lobbed a timed flechette grenade to the far end of the cloud, and took off at a sprint toward the safety ring. At the pace he was moving, Marcus could easily make the safety ring in five minutes, give or take. Unfortunately, due to the rough terrain, and the fact he couldn’t maintain his current pace with all his gear, the trip would likely take up to eight, he cursorily calculated.

  The boom of the second grenade echoed across the area like a firecracker, followed shortly by a muffled grunt. Marcus spun toward the sound and fired into the dissipating cloud. Again, there was no clear reply to his shots, as if the bullets were swallowed up by the smoke. He leapt up with a jolt and resumed his flight.

  He pushed his body to its limit. His lungs burned, and his legs were stiff and heavy, like they were made of petrified wood. He had lost track of time, and wasn’t entirely certain he was still going the right direction. Marcus was about to slow down to consult his datapad when he saw it. The golden glow of the safety ring beckoned him like a soul to heaven. He mustered all the strength he had left and sprinted toward the artificial enclave that housed his salvation.

  As he rapidly approached the ring, a sudden, intense pain pierced his lower torso. He felt himself slowing, no matter how much he willed to move onward. Finally, he had to drop to his knee and saw the cause of his plight. The long bolt of an auto-bow was protruding from his abdomen. The head of the arrow was unfamiliar, but it had opened up like a flower, with the petals flush against his skin. In the center there was also the unmistakable arching of electrodes feeding into the metallic petals.

  “It’s sapping your will,” a raspy, Australian voice pronounced behind him. “That’s why you’re slowly weakening. That’s why this hunt will be known as the one that almost got away.”

  Marcus plopped down onto the dirt while turning to face his attacker. The man before him was tall, but not overly imposing. He presumed it was because the figure was aesthetically conservative by employing very little gear, though the sad state he approached was also a contender. The hunter wore impressive adaptive camouflage, but parts of it along the right side weren’t working, and seemed to be stuck on a dull grey color. Upon closer inspection, Marcus noticed a few tenacious, spiked flechettes from his grenade peeking out of the damaged suit. A sense of sullen satisfaction washed over him like a shadow, and became apparent to the man standing over him.

  “Yes, it was a good lob. I managed to pull out some, but a few of the buggers are in deep. My hat goes off to you mate. I’ve never been injured during a hunt before. Now then, any last words?”

  Marcus stared at him with burning contempt. The Aussie’s nonchalance about killing someone he didn’t even know was appalling. The way he stood oozed arrogance as well, like he was putting on a show and figured he was already out of danger. Marcus racked his brain to come up with something witty to say. When nothing to his liking came to him, he figured
snide was the way to go.

  “Yeah. I do. You should really ask to see the hands of a person you’re about to kill before taunting them. It kinda damages the mystique when it backfires.”

  A confused mien crossed Jack’s face. Then one of panicked realization. As fast as he was, it made no difference to an opponent who was already prepared to strike. Marcus depressed the trigger of the ballistic knife hidden behind his leg. The blade shot out like one of Jack’s bow bolts and hit its target in the throat.

  Two heavy spurts of blood were ejected before the hunter attempted to quell the flow with his hand, but it had been too late. His hand turned crimson in seconds, which loosened his grip on the gushing wound. Marcus had drawn his sidearm immediately after he fired the knife, though he now knew it wouldn’t be needed.

  Jack collapsed mere centimeters from where Marcus sat, blood pooling beneath him rapidly. While not nearly as severe, Marcus turned his attention to his own injury. The bolt had run out of power, but he couldn’t feel his strength returning, and every move he made sent stabbing pain across his body. Something needed to be done, and soon, or he ran the risk of becoming septic and joining the man laying next him.

  He knew Network medics would be sent to patch him up before the next round. Because contestants in live shows were essentially investment property, there was little in the way of medical equipment issued. However, he was unsure of their response time, since injured participants were treated off screen. He rummaged through the duffel and pulled out a laser wire cutter. While it was designed to cut through optical cable, and the occasional circuit board, Marcus knew it had been tested well beyond those levels, and was certain the polymer-alloy material of the arrow would be no problem.

  In seconds, the bolt head had been seared off, and the remainder of the projectile was gingerly eased out through his back. This effort solved one problem, yet caused another. He now had two gaping holes in his body, far too close to vital organs for comfort. He didn’t have the dexterity to perform any precise surgery on his back, so he slapped a proderm patch over it, from the limited supply he carried, and concentrated on his abdomen wound.