by Russ Linton
Of course, cruising the streets of terrorist-ville, I haven't seen any evidence of the twisted part. These people look, well, happy. Kids playing, husbands and wives walking hand in hand—nobody looks oppressed or haunted by the dark reality of an ideology run amok.
I turn the rig down a side street, managing not to take the corner off a building, and park. We're still doing this, no matter what these people know about their boss. It's the rush, gotta be. The stakes, I'm less sure about. Maybe that's how all the supposed heroes feel.
Chapter 25
THE SKY FLARES BRILLIANT orange behind the craggy mountain silhouette, and leaves behind the infinite expanse strewn with stars and banded by the powdery rift of creation. At this altitude, with the low power lighting of the factory town the only source for miles, you can see every speck of cosmic dust the universe has to offer.
Aurora's hinted at exploring those reaches. I want to ask her about being utterly free. Like many Augments though, she's plagued by an odd melancholy which accompanies the powers. Many seem wistful about the good old days when they could blend in and join the "normals."
I'd still ask, but she's not here. She's hidden near the warehouse but at a good enough distance to not fry the place. My hope is she doesn't get curious and bring down their network too soon.
I also hope she doesn't have to use the only emergency signal we could agree on. It's sort of a show stopper. She's convinced she can ionize the atmosphere from here to Whispering Pines. They never let her do it—too showy. To think she could paint that canvas though, I almost want to see her try.
Danger taps my shoulder. From our vantage point crouched behind an adjacent building, the office looks empty. I rise up, and he pulls me back down. A lone security guard strolls by. Before he's out of sight, Danger has us hustling across the open space.
It's been the same for the past thirty minutes with him. He's that blur on the periphery which forces a double take. A sigh of relief follows. An understanding of being mistaken. Seeing things.
Only, there was somebody. An armed dude with a finely tuned ability to know exactly when he might be discovered. His safety takes precedence over any observer’s false sense of security.
The sheer freakiness sets in. Danger’s power isn't the obvious creep factor of the day-glo girl, it's terrifying once you experience it from his perspective. Either way, an Augment's desire to leave it behind and be normal, I can understand. Happens to all the good ones, I bet. The ones who do get seduced by the power have to be insatiably hungry to want more.
Security is light. This remote, what's there to worry about? No obvious cameras, the guards don't appear to be armed with more than a radio, and, what do you know? The back door to the office is unlocked.
Danger puts his palm on the knob for a four count then nods.
I slip inside close behind him. He makes sure the door closes with a nearly inaudible click. I'm still trying to get oriented when he pushes me low, behind the row of shelves where we've entered.
Somebody's whistling.
Panic level raises, and I check Danger who's as cool as ever. Gun stashed, he's impatiently tapping his thumb along his finger and watching an invisible clock. The whistling fades, and he hurries us between supply shelves and toward an open space filled with carpeted cubicles designed in one of the lower levels of purgatory. This doesn't look like the base of a criminal mastermind. It looks like a call center.
Along one full wall, there's a line of machines in various states of disassembly. ATM's, automated checkout systems, and even the top housing and card reader of a gas pump. Whatever is going on here doesn't look too legit to a guy who has either thought about modifying or actually modified these same machines at one time or another.
A vacuum whines to life, and I spot a janitor as Danger continues his special forces hustle behind the partitions. Another stop. He points to his eyes, and above the partition we're crouched behind then starts a finger count.
His last finger drops and I pop up whack-a-mole style. First place my eyes land is the whistling janitor, a black embroidered skull cap bouncing as he runs the vacuum. It's not what I need to be focused on, but it's so trippy that we haven't been spotted. I feel, well, powerful. Invincible.
A tap on my leg. Time's almost up. I do another sweep of the room until I notice a bundle of cables disappearing behind the ceiling tiles. Danger smacks my leg, hard, but I haven't found the wire closet quite yet. It's got to be here.
There! Total hack job. They've even left a tile open where the terminating bundle of cable sags.
The embroidered cap pirouettes, his Vacuuming with the Stars routine stepping up a notch. I see dark brows come together as Danger yanks me to the floor.
I hold perfectly still while Danger slides the gun from his waistband. The vacuum cleaner stops. My heartbeat replaces all sound.
Once more, I get the sense I can translate languages I've never heard as the janitor issues what must be the inevitable "Is anyone there?" Danger has one long finger pressed to his lips and he's shaking his head, daring me to do anything else stupid. I only breathe again when the vacuum starts.
That one finger at Danger's lips points to me then stabs viciously against his chest. No argument, even in hand jive. I indicate the direction of the networking closet. A few more years off my life, and we're there.
Danger locks the door behind us, and I perform a quick assessment. If I threw a pot full of cooked spaghetti against the wall, that's what we'd have here. Cables spew out of the bundled trunk at the ceiling before feeding haphazardly into switches and routers. Dots of amber, green, and red flicker from the racks, the floor, even a piece of equipment propped on a chair.
In truth, I couldn't ask for a better situation. Five minutes, tops, and I've hidden our own miniaturized wireless router behind the tangled mass. Shielded pack closed, I'm ready for the next stop.
Janitor once more in competition mode, we escape the office unseen. Full on dark has fallen outside. The trip to the warehouse is quick, almost too easy. Still no sign of enemy Augments. Could be we're here for nothing, but I'm already planning our infiltration into the second factory Eric mentioned.
We hustle to the rear of the warehouse. Danger leaps up to haul down a roof access ladder. The noise should be deafening but it's masked by the heavy purr of miners and exhaust fans coming from the building. Soon, we're ascending into that crisp band of stardust.
A tower and several antennae arrays bristle from the flat metal roof. Danger tests the footing first, and with an exaggerated motion, plants his foot heel to toe and puts a finger to his lips.
As I step off the ladder I feel the bare metal flex under my shoe. With the amount of heat they're generating below, it's doubtful there's any insulation to absorb the sound. Of course, with the hair dryer scream of hundreds of cooling fans I'm not too worried about our noise level. Danger hangs by the ladder while I make my way toward the array. Quick install. Piece of cake.
A raised skylight spills fluorescence into the night, not far from their communications array. All their inbound and outbound mining traffic flows through here, likely toward another tower, higher up to carry the signal over the mountains. With any luck, it'll soon be transmitting the once secluded office's network traffic straight back to our base.
Job's as straight forward as I hoped. The only tricky part is splicing in the power to our own equipment. Of all the things which can go wrong, I do sorta wonder how many top-secret missions ended with a hapless agent cooked on the roof next to the enemy communications array. Probably more than I know—but not today.
Done here. Mission accomplished. Send the jets on their fly over and raise the damn banner. I'm strolling toward the ladder, about to try and force a fist bump out of Danger, when I catch sight of our tertiary non-objective. No need to double take. How many cybernetic people exist in the world?
I drop low and wave Danger over. He crosses the roof with feline grace and edges up to the skylight. Polybius and Cyrus stroll betw
een racks full of mining gear. They continue down the row and out of view.
Danger and I slink away from the skylight. The image below seems to have wormed into his thoughts, and he's focused on the patch of brightness. He's got to have an idea, but he isn't sharing.
"We need to get him out of there," I say.
"He don't look tied up." He's half between a mumble and a whisper. "We had a leak, remember?"
"He was kidnapped! We can't just leave him."
"You sure you're ready for the major leagues?"
He's right. I nearly got made by the janitor. Not sure how I'll do against an Augment. If Cyrus is here, Shortwave probably is as well. Not to mention Vulkan or Time Slip. We could be headed into some serious shit. Plus, we'd be doing exactly what Dad asked us not to do.
If there's one thing I'm good at...
"I'm ready."
Danger shakes his head. "Then what? We just gonna pop outta here with Aurora? Tin man's toast if we do."
There were a lot of reasons Polybius spent most of his time back at the base. He wasn't much of a field ops guy for starters, and he wasn't quite as portable as the rest of the team as long as they relied on Aurora. He's shielded to an extent, however a full teleport would cause nothing but trouble.
"I'll think of something. But we're not leaving him."
"All right, Kid Crimson, you say so." He chambers a round and sweeps an arm toward the ladder. "Don't say I didn't warn you."
We're alone, roof and sky our only boundaries, and I hesitate. The dark horizon beyond the warehouse lights looks vast and the shroud impenetrable after staring into the skylight. Those heavies, those black diamond Augments or whatever the hell they were, could be there, waiting. No second chances.
Danger hasn't moved. His eyes are a beacon in the dim glow. It's a test. He's testing me. Can I, do I have what it takes?
I crack my neck and swing onto the ladder. Each step becomes easier than the last. Once there, I check for any "hostiles" in the dim alley and drop into a crouch.
He leaves a wider gap than I'd prefer. It forces me to be hypersensitive to every flicker of light, every rustle of the trees, every distant call of civilization in the town beyond. He's either pulling some kind of initiation bullshit or being a plain ol' dick. Doesn't matter, I don't intend to leave Polybius behind.
I know what Dad said. I know Danger thinks we shouldn't risk it, but for whatever reason, he's not turning around to run. He'll know exactly when it's going to go wrong. We must have a shot at this.
The only door into the warehouse is set into a larger hangar door. A guy in fatigues with a rifle stands guard beneath a muted orange lamp. I dip back around the corner and give Danger an annoyed stare. I'm not sure how far he wants to take this little lesson of his. If we're doing this, I need his experience.
I could chuck my multitool and pray it hits the guard in the side of the head. You know, the sweet spot you see in all the movies that knocks him the fuck out. Or maybe I could pretend to be a lost tourist wondering when the factory tour starts. Seduction is probably off the list.
Before I can get to dumb idea number four, Danger slinks around the building. He settles into the unnerving pace of a slasher flick's bad guy closing on the oblivious camper pissing in the woods. He takes up a sprint, and I know he's sensed his imminent discovery moments before the hapless guard has even turned. They collide. I race toward the scuffle.
Danger's swatted the rifle away by the time I get there. The guard is face down, Danger's booted feet laced around the guard's thighs as he wrenches on the poor guy's neck. Lost in the ambient thrum, the life and death struggle happens with the volume on mute. Frantic thrashing lessens to a fitful spasm, and the guard goes limp.
Danger disentangles himself and begins securing his victory. Belt, combat webbing, whatever he has available. While he works, his eyes dart from me to the rifle. An inviting bob of his head.
Entirely not my style. Guard tied and propped against the wall just outside the light, we encounter yet another unlocked door. Yep, people this far out in the boonies don't have anything to fear. Except Danger.
I motion for him to take the lead, my lesson over. He seems fine with it, but there's an odd hesitation. I don't have time to ask before we're bathed in the roar of cooling fans and a wave of heat.
Chapter 26
AMONG THE STACKS OF miners, I should feel at home. Endless processors and heat dissipation. Part of my brain is enjoying a silent geekgasm surrounded by this much raw power. Without Danger though, I'd be freaking out.
The tall racks funnel our sight lines. Fans mask all sound. Creeping between such tightly packed aisles and rows, we could easily stumble across an Augment or an armed terrorist. There's nowhere to run if that happens. This is all on Danger.
We approach the end of the first aisle, and he signals a stop while he scouts ahead. Satisfied, he waves me forward and I join him. The aisle opens into a clear space with pallets of boxes and spools of cable nestled against a wall. Next to that is an office with a closed door beside a picture window. Cyrus is inside talking up Polybius who's seated at the desk.
Danger's on the move, skipping the mute tactical instructions which to me are a source of badassery and to him another day at the office. I sprint after, trusting his ability even as I check to the sides, behind, and above, unable to keep my own nerves at bay.
The office could've been locked. Probably wasn't, but Danger's combat boot makes sure it doesn't matter either way. The handle pops out funny as his kick lands, and the door buries itself into the sheetrock.
Cyrus turns, ready to act. He's never been known to carry a weapon though his martial arts skills are renowned. Word was, if those skills ever failed, his healing power could mend even life-threatening wounds mid-fight. All those factors meant he was never afraid to engage an armed enemy. The respectful distance Danger maintains, and the gun leveled at his brain, however, seems to provide enough pause.
Danger twitches his head. We've been at this long enough, I get the gist. I hurry into the room and secure the door as well as I can.
"Danger," says Cyrus. His attention stays on the gun, waiting for any opportunity.
My wingman doesn't reply. He keeps his target covered with trademark inscrutable intensity. An augment staring contest works for now, but I'm not sure how we disable Cyrus short of killing him. It better not come to that.
"Spencer?" Polybius rises and circles to the front of the desk. He sounds more worried about me than he does his own status as captive.
"Hey, uh, we're here to rescue you."
Cyrus and Polybius share a moment. It lasts a split second but knocks the piss out of me. There's no animosity. None. Instead, they seem to be weighing options. Their options.
"You shouldn't have come," says Polybius.
"I'm starting to think you're right." I check Danger who refuses to even blink.
"Ya dahwety," Cyrus exclaims, probably his Arabic version of W.T.F. "I can't believe Sean would send you here."
"Who else? He's in a hospital bed thanks to you, asshole."
Our former medic makes a plaintive gesture and begins to move closer, but Danger cuts him short with an "Uh uh."
Polybius smiles that grandfatherly smile he gave when we talked outside Mom's cell. Danger flicks the gun barrel toward him. Cyborg hips hum and click as he eases onto the edge of the desk.
"I'm sorry to hear he was hurt," Polybius offers. "He'd be here himself, if he could, I'm sure of that."
"Yeah, he would," I say. Dad and I have never seen eye to eye but confronting this constant treachery, defending him is an autonomic response. "He'd come to save you or anyone from our team. That's how he is."
"And that's his biggest problem. And yours." Cyrus' doesn't hide his annoyance. "He refuses to think before he acts."
Once I held the healer in high regard. Once, all these lab experiments had my sympathy. I'm not sure that's the case anymore.
"I appreciate your being here, I really do," says
Polybius. "Less than twenty-four hours ago, I would've been happy to see you or your father. I was worried, frightened even, but he helped me understand."
"Who? Cyrus here?"
"No, Shortwave."
First, they trash the base to get at him now he's ready to forgive and forget. "You're joining forces with these clowns? I thought you were smarter than most of those walking weapons."
"I've agreed to help their cause. Willingly."
I'm not sure how much more of this insanity I can take. "Are you a captive or not?"
"Shortwave has a vision," he sighs. "We can explain, but I'd much rather have this conversation without the gun."
"I don't think so," I say. Danger doesn't lower his weapon. Nice to have some backup. "We'll have this talk with the threat of violence, like when Shortwave's goons turned our lobby into a crater. Why not ring the damn doorbell and hand out your pamphlet?"
"You mean Crimson Mask's doorbell?" Cyrus crosses his arms and plants his ass on the opposite desk corner from Polybius. "I'm not sure Sean could handle taking orders from anyone else, let alone agree to a plan that wasn't his idea."
Fine, maybe I'm becoming more like Dad. Yes, he's bossy and insufferable. But who the hell is this Shortwave? What does he have to offer? Polybius speaks, and I hope to God it's an explanation.
"Originally, they planned to use my abilities without my consent. Such a thing is not without precedence as you recall." I shy away from the knowing grin. Polybius' legs unlock with a whir as he stands. "My fellow Augments aren't the problem and never have been. The true issue is a system intent on using war to control their populations. When no enemy exists, they create one. When the powerful can't confront each other directly, they force the weak into conflict and decide their fate. As you say, Spencer, we were their walking weapons, heralds of death and war. Freed from their control, we could be much more. We can be the ambassadors of an age of peace."
"And terrorists are the path to this peace? You're aware of that, right? Cyrus here and Shortwave hanging with some head chopping, car bombing fanatics in the desert."