by Russ Linton
"Ow!"
"Your gear," he sniffs. "Don't open it around her." He casts an accusatory look toward Aurora. "The field case is only shielded when closed."
"Thanks."
He doesn't reply, just looks at the case and goes back inside. Not sure how long I can put up with drama queen Eric or how to make things right. His departure must signal to Danger and Aurora it's time to go because without warning, we're shimmering out of existence.
Post-teleport wooziness this time radiates to odd points on the soles of my feet. I pick a spot on the ground and focus, trying to stop the spin. Normally works, though this time, I see nothing but a sheer drop off a mountainside.
Danger steadies me. I give a thankful nod and wonder if he foresaw me cliff diving. Could be he was just being helpful. Whichever it was, he remains unreadable.
"Bigger jumps, distance, altitude, bigger adjustment,” Danger says. “You get used to it."
"It's quite lovely," says Aurora in her spectral tone.
Aurora steps off the edge of the cliff, already in tourist mode. She'd take a picture if she wouldn't fry the camera. I wonder if she'd be okay with a film camera or if her aura would destroy the negatives. I take one giant step in the other direction before enjoying the view.
Our tour guide is right. A teardrop lake the uniform color of dish soap rests between mountains. No beaches, water crept into this valley on a moonless night long ago. Near perfect pyramids of earth stud the banks, covered in trees. Granite ridges peer over these, striped with age and wearing the speckled snow of a black and white TV that's lost its horizontal hold.
"Lovely," I say, trying to sound all business. "Where's this factory?"
Aurora quirks her head and points. I trace the line of her gossamer hand and notice a road down the slope, ribboning along the mountain side.
"Bit of a hike," I say.
"Maybe three klicks," Danger replies and soon he's skidding toward lower ground, a combination of skips and slides.
Okay, I'm not entirely in charge, and that's fine. I don't have Eric's aspirations nor do I want to be Corporal Nepotism. They all, even Eric, have way more experience. I just happen to have a useful skill set. Good enough.
We've gone some distance before I realize Aurora isn't with us. In broad daylight, her incorporeal body tends to leave little trace, sound, anything of her passing. Her barely visible greenish outline is still on the ridge, and I flag her down. A flicker and she's beside me.
"Want me to wait here?" she asks.
I check Danger. He's stopped, but his attention is on the brush and a shallow gulley we'll have to soon cross. Guarding point or something.
"Why wait?" I ask.
Her suggestion of facial features narrows and looks downcast. She rustles the fallen twigs with a static discharge from her toe. "It's a factory with electronics. I might screw things up."
She has a point. Then again, I could give two shits about Shortwave's factory. There might be some systems there we need to access, or we might be better off frying the whole place and moving on. If I'm reading her right, she doesn't often get to do "all the things." I recall her simple urge to interact with a doorbell.
"Naw, come with us. It'll be fun," I say. "Besides, you're looking at a master of screwing things up."
She seems excited and her face brightens. Like actual change in lumens, brightens.
"Any way to tone down the show?" asks Danger, eyes forward.
Her head bobs rapidly. Soon she's a thin shadow, nothing more than a reflection of dew across a spider web.
"I didn't know you could do that. How?" I ask.
"Oh, I'm here and there," she points into the sky. "And there." Another finger directed to a specific point in space.
"Uh, cool."
We hike the rest of the way down the slope. A green ghost living in who knows how many places at once. A military black ops guy used to keeping an iron focus on his task. Then there's me.
"Got any heebie jeebies?" I ask Danger. It isn't quite "are we there yet" but might as well be.
He shakes his head.
"Dad almost wanted to come," I say, keeping my voice low. "You believe that?"
"Yep," he whispers, crouching under a branch and holding it out of my way. We're shoulder to shoulder, but he stays focused as he asks, "How's the CO?"
"Beat up. Not too happy I decided to go, but he's dealing with it. He thought it might be too dangerous."
"Sure." Danger stops and fixes me with the same disappointment he might spare for a little brother caught downloading porn. Knowing but not yet ready to be cool with the full implications. "You, you gotta go looking for danger. I live it on the daily. Shit gets old after a while. We don't look for it around me, understood?"
No chance to respond before he's marching up the trail.
"Don't mind him." Aurora drifts through a screen of bristled branches. She's deadpanning the words I've already heard before, and I join her. "He's just antsy."
"But I thought that was because he was stuck at Whispering Pines all day. That's what Polybius said."
She shrugs and floats ahead. "I never knew him before Whispering Pines."
We continue toward the road where the supply truck should be making its rounds. It keeps a steady schedule from what Eric found out, and we won't have long to wait. The sun dips closer to the peaks, and I imagine it gets chilly at night. Right now, the weather reminds me of home. That steady bay temperature somewhere near perfect for overclocking hardware without central air. As the narrow strip of asphalt comes into view, this all seems closer to a late afternoon hike than an infiltration op as Eric called it.
"What's the tactical plan?" Aurora is suddenly uninterested in the squalls and chirps of strange birds, the feel of every branch and cone, and the late afternoon shadows crawling across the walled horizon.
Danger's planted on a rock behind a low-hanging bough maybe fifteen feet from the road. He keeps his plans to himself but checks his gun before getting settled.
"I don't know," I say. "Wait and see?"
"But there's always a plan," says Aurora. "Crimson Mask comes up with very specific instructions. Contingencies, objectives—we had our intel briefing, but no tactical briefing." I can't tell if she's asking for one or making fun.
"I don't know. I mean, what will we do if Cyrus shows up?"
Danger tilts his head but still doesn't speak.
"Why him?" asks Aurora.
"Well, he shut down my Dad's powers. I'm guessing maybe he made you sick?"
"Not him." She twirls her finger, and an invisible current stirs the branches. "He needs physical contact for his power. You should pay attention at your intel briefings."
"Right." The feud with Eric had left me unable to focus without replaying our argument over and over. Thinking of all the things I should have said or shouldn't have. "If not Cyrus, who then?"
"Could've been a coincidence. The cosmos is a bizarre place once you peel back the skin," she says, watching the sky.
Somehow, I don't think she's quite all there. My money is on somebody fucking with her and not bad karma. Whatever the cause, she's right about the plan—we need one. Of course, about the time I try to come up with something, there's a diesel engine rumbling in the distance.
Chapter 24
YOU DON'T HAVE ENOUGH bullets for all the tires," I whisper to Danger. We're crouched behind the rock he was sitting on. Aurora, who's gone from translucent to almost completely transparent, has joined us.
"Dumb idea shootin' tires anyway. Bullet’ll ricochet right off the rim and drop you." If anyone knows a thousand ways to die, it's this guy.
"Aurora?" I ask.
"Me?" She sounds genuinely surprised.
"Yeah, you. What do you think?"
She keeps a close watch on the road, and the semi lurches around the bend. Old, shuddering, it's got a flat front end where the windshield is flush with the grill and the driver inside appears to be floating over the asphalt. Kind of like Aurora. Righ
t now.
"Hey!" Danger yanks me behind the rock before I can go after her.
The entire truck jerks as the driver shifts gears. Positioned oddly high above the dash, I can almost see his knees. He's hunched over a satellite dish-sized wheel. He reaches up to scrub his forearm on the windshield. Probably where he sees a faint, greenish blur.
If I hadn't watched her walk away, she'd be an iridescent oil stain on the pavement. She keeps moving, and the driver gives one last shot at clearing off the windshield before shifting gears.
"Aurora!" I say.
Then she's gone.
No fancy fireworks, no grinding metal, not even a sputter of the old, and now dead, engine. The only thing we hear is the hungry pull of tires on concrete and the brakes whining further up the road. Danger's on his feet, gun gripped in two hands and making for the cab.
"Don't shoot anybody!" I say, half-heartedly. I'm still fixated on the spot where I last saw Aurora.
A green spark traces the trailer wall, and she steps through. She tosses something and I'm ready, those rusted out, dead and gone little league skills fired up. An easy catch. As it reaches my palm, I sense a feathery push. Much like those lost little league days, I come up empty. A packet of cheese puffs hits the ground.
"They had snacks," she says.
At the cab, Danger has dragged the driver out, kicking. He's got his gun leveled as he forces our prisoner to sit, his back to the open door. Words stream from the frightened driver in tongue-shoveling bursts.
"Stop!" I shout to Danger. For now, he isn't doing much aside from covering the guy with his gun. Of course, that's more than enough. There's no argument or resistance when I gesture for him to lower it. The driver's fear gets put on hold as he sizes me up. "You speak any English?" I ask.
A hint of disappointment, and Danger spits at the pavement, his gun loose but ready. The driver's eyes and mouth tighten, and he leans closer, trying to understand.
"No English? American?"
He reveals crooked teeth and starts manically rocking. "America! America!" he chants, hands pumping and eyes darting wildly between myself and the clearly more threatening dude.
"Don't have time for this, Kid Crimson." Danger says mostly toward the tree line, but slicing a sidelong glance my way.
"We can't just shoot him!"
"Naw. Shot out here would wake the whole neighborhood."
Danger's typical blank expression offers a truth for this moment, an interpretation beyond simple brooding. I’m guessing he's got other ideas I won't like. Our comrade continues his patriotic shuffle, but his eyes drift more and more toward the open cab.
"Aurora?" She's just off the road, a green haze regarding the package of cheese puffs. At the sound of her name, the light thickens. Luckily, the driver seems too freaked to notice. "Can you take this guy somewhere safe? A place where he won't get hurt and doesn't have any way to sound the alarm? No phones, computers, that sort of thing?"
Her head tilts in consideration before she gives a confident, "Yes."
That's when the truck driver sees her. If he hadn't already shit himself, now's the time. Halftime show chants stop. His eyes go glassy, and he scrambles for the cab. Danger snatches his waist, and a frantic tug of war begins with the guy clawing at the seat and steering wheel. As soon as Danger thinks he's torn the man free, he's yanked off balance to find the wailing driver's fist in a death grip around the seatbelt.
"Shhhh." Aurora stretches a hand out in what is meant to be a relaxing gesture. "I won't hurt you."
"No, please." He manages some English after all. It's muddy and barely recognizable without his sheer terror.
"I won't..." Aurora's shoulders slump. "You're going to be okay."
The driver squeezes his eyes shut and shrieks. Danger clamps a hand over the man's mouth all the while prying at the seatbelt wound around his wrist. That green hand of doom, a mix of pincushion and heebie-jeebies, touches the driver's arm. For a second, the tranquil quiet of the woods returns and he slowly opens one eye.
Then they're gone. Prisoner and Aurora vanished, the seatbelt falls with a clack and a static spark against the frame. Danger stumbles into the woods. I'm too far away to keep him from falling. He skids into it as easy as a flop for a free throw. I rush over to help him up and nearly end up on top of him. He kind of laughs—a little huff under a heavy dose of stank face—and brushes himself off.
"So," he begins. "No shooting people. We'll just brick our ride? That's the plan?"
"I should be able to get it started again. Just need to reset the battery." I take in the snub nose truck and scratch my head. "Any idea how to open it?"
BY THE TIME AURORA's back, Danger and I have figured how to tilt the cab and get at the engine compartment. Danger's no mechanic, but he's seen people work on trucks similar to these on one field operation or another. Unhook the battery for a few seconds, and we're back from brick to working rig. Luckily the thing was old enough not to be completely fried by Aurora's little trick, but I sure as hell don't plan to lecture her.
"Well, nice to see you again," I say.
"Thank you," she says. And that's all. She's focused on the cracked open truck cab Danger's busy ratcheting back into place.
"And?"
"And...I appreciate your kind remark?"
"What did you do with our friend?"
"Oh. I took him to Pennsylvania."
"Pennsylvania? Really?"
"You said safe, no electronics. Pennsylvania." She says this as though it's the most obvious thing in the world.
Okay, could be worse. The second she left, I'd been freaking out about the exact words I used and whether or not she'd have dropped him off in a cavern on Mars. I mean, I did say safe, but her definition could be pretty freaking broad.
"Why Pennsylvania?"
"Lancaster County. Most peaceful place I know anymore," she says. "My parents and I used to go there when I was a kid. Buggy rides. Quaint little farmhouses. Nobody working with computers or entranced by smartphones. I mean, what is so special about those?" She says the word special with a curious hopefulness I don't miss.
I'm still lost until Danger walks up. "Amish country."
I've immediately got an image of a frightened Chinese guy breaking bread with a family of staid and proper farmers in last century garb. Mandarin slicing the air silenced by bursts of an equally incomprehensible Pennsylvania Dutch. Eric would argue we just violated the Prime Directive.
"Whatever works." Danger stuffs the keys in my palm.
"What's this?" I ask.
"You're driving. I'll ride in the back."
"What? Why me?"
He shrugs as he moves toward the trailer. "Who else? The black guy or the green ghost?" He waves dismissively. "Or the dark-haired shorty?"
Point taken. This ought to be interesting.
"What about me? What are my orders?" asks Aurora.
"Find a spot outside the compound, not too far from the warehouse. That's our last stop."
She salutes and cuts a path quite literally through the trees toward the factory.
I mostly grind my way up the mountain road polishing the truck's gears into smooth nubs. The cab smells of motor oil and an unidentifiable spice. Both seem to slosh around the cabin every time I bungle the shifter. Good news is the windshield the driver had been scrubbing at is smeared into a greasy film. From a distance, I might even pass as a local.
It isn't until I've wrestled my way to the perimeter gate that I start worrying. We had watched video of the truck coming and going on satellite feeds, and it was regular enough, nobody bothered to check it. This was, after all, a civilian facility and didn't seem run in a manner at all close to the terrorist front it possibly was. Even now, the gate arm is open and the only reason the guard in the booth bothers to glance up from his paper is a botched transition to second gear which rattles his little hut. I keep my head down and wave.
Turns out, more of the briefing than I realized trickled through my Eric drama. Every
thing matches the satellite images. With a row of dormitories and the factory buildings beyond, the campus is a miniature city. People live and work here and being close to dinner time, they're starting to roam the streets. Most wear bright clothes and head coverings—scarves, skullcaps, and even these absurdly tiny hats. I'm definitely under-dressed in my plain, dark sweatshirt. But between the window grime and setting sun, nobody seems to have noticed the Caucasian in their midst.
Then again, I see some of those too. And Danger wouldn't have been nearly as out of place as he thought. It's a regular United Nations up in here.
Entire families have made their lives around this factory. There's a pack of little ones on bikes who've fallen into a ragged line behind the truck, snaking in and out of my side mirror. I breathe a sigh of relief when they peel away, racing down another side street.
Eric's analysis determined there's a warehouse full of miners hashing an unquantified number of hertz plus an office building not far from that. Whatever equipment they had in the office was air gapped—zero incoming or outgoing connections. That stood out because the rest of the place was wired better than Santa Clara County. It's not a definite sign they're up to no good, but a decent place to start.
Here's our missing tactical plan: ditch the truck, compromise their systems. We hit the office first to see if there's any data stored there. Then we'll need to get to the roof of the warehouse to piggyback off their outside connection.
Plus, either could be a prime place to check for Polybius. Dad can't be serious about leaving him here.
Yeah, I really do enjoy this crazy bullshit. I've been doing it in one form or another my entire life. Main difference is the stakes. Getting suspended from school, having an account or two banned, worse, maybe doing jail time. And for what? A few pranks and some stolen premium sports feeds? This time it's for a bigger reason. Rescuing a teammate and trying to keep the world safe from twisted people with way too much power.