by Piers Platt
The Arclight team – and a sizable portion of the hologram drones – began running through the crowd, heading for the edges of the parade ground. As she ran, Paisen scanned the soldiers ahead of her, ignoring three holograms before she found two flesh-and-blood soldiers standing back to back for mutual support. She downed them each with a stun dart, and casually decked a third with a left hook to the jaw. Then she was clear of the enemy line. She lengthened her stride, accompanied by a small squad of holograms.
Behind her, one of the jeeps started up and drove through the crowd, appearing to carry a number of escaping soldiers. As she ran, Paisen saw a Jokuan NCO spot the jeep. He managed to rally a group of his troops to fire at it: they riddled it with bullets, and it crashed into a barracks building. The soldiers inside flickered and disappeared – they had been holograms, with the vehicle operating on auto-pilot under Vence’s instruction.
Less than a minute after leaving the parade ground, Paisen was the first team member to make it to the rally point between two barracks buildings, at the edge of the camp. She dropped the two Forges she had carried onto the ground and flipped them open, starting a build sequence as more of the team began to join her.
“Huawo, give me a head count,” she ordered. “And I want a sentry watching the main road. I want to know well in advance if they get their shit together enough to come after us.”
“Got it,” he said.
Vence joined her a few moments later, and set two Forges – hers and Wick’s – next to Paisen’s two. On the Forges’ trays, thick plastic pipes began to take shape.
“I count seven, plus you two,” Huawo reported. “Didn’t you guys come in with three?”
“Yeah,” Paisen agreed. “I gave Wick a secondary objective, he should be here momentarily.” She took the first two finished pipes from the Forges and screwed them together, forming a four-foot length of pipe. Vence handed her a completed detonator from her own Forges, and Paisen attached it to the high-explosive packed inside the pipes.
“You got this?” Paisen asked Vence. “We need another eight feet.”
“Yeah,” Vence told her.
Paisen stood and saw a lone runner turn the corner, laden with bags. Wick was breathing hard from his sprint. “They saw me,” he said. “They’re coming. A hundred, maybe more. Couple jeeps.”
“Okay,” Paisen said. She helped him strip off the backpacks, and handed one to Huawo. “Wouldn’t want you to leave without your Forge,” she said.
“Recover your pack, Candidate,” Wick joked, mimicking the Selection drone’s voice. He passed the other Forges out to their respective owners.
“Set those up, we’re about to have company,” Paisen ordered. “Put them into cooperative mode, under my command.”
The team hurried to comply, setting their Forges in a tight circle on the ground and opening their cases, then slaving each to Paisen’s internal computer, in order to operate as a single, synchronized unit. She sent them a set of plans, and watched as the nano-machines sprang to action.
“Holy shit, that’s fast,” Jacque remarked, watching in amazement as the machines’ combined efforts yielded several feet of gleaming metal in the space of twenty seconds. “Never seen them work in concert like that before.”
“What are we building?” Huawo asked.
“A Prowler,” Paisen replied.
“Oh man, I hate those things,” Jacque said, grinning. “My combat trainer sent one of those after me once, worst fucking training day ever.”
Paisen jogged to the edge of the building and peered back toward the parade ground. She saw a large group of soldiers in loose formation headed in their direction, with several armored vehicles following. She turned and checked the camp’s fence next, and the guard tower above it.
“Rika,” she radioed. “Suppressive fire in a moment.”
“Standing by,” came the reply.
Huawo had organized the rest of the team, and as the Forges finished sections of the Prowler, they assembled the machine, slotting components into place.
“Bangalore’s done,” Vence announced, screwing the final pipe into place, and setting the completed device on the ground. Wick picked up the opposite end, and the two contractors carried the twelve-foot length of explosives-packed plastic between them. They stopped by the edge of the building at Paisen’s raised hand – she could see the guards in the tower now. The commotion inside the camp had attracted their attention, and one of them must have spotted Wick as he ran to join the team – they had swiveled their heavy machine gun around to point inside the camp, though the barracks building hid the team from view for the time being.
“Now, Rika,” Paisen said.
“On the way,” Rika reported.
They heard the distinctive boom of a rail rifle round going supersonic, and the heavy machine gun in the guard tower tore apart with a screech of tortured metal, the rifle’s bullet ripping the weapon nearly in half. Rika fired several more rounds near the shocked guards, and they dove for cover on the floor of the tower.
“Go!” Paisen told Vence and Wick.
They jogged across the open ground from the building to the fence, and then slid the plastic pipe through the fence, pushing until it was fully in place under both the outer and inner fence lines. Rika kept a steady stream of rounds impacting on the roof of the tower. The guards stayed down. Then Vence and Wick jumped to their feet and hurried back to the building.
“Prowler’s booting up,” Jacque told Paisen. She turned and surveyed their handiwork. In the space between the barracks buildings, a twelve-foot-long autonomous ground drone squatted menacingly on a set of six articulated, insectoid legs. With a pair of front-facing auto-cannons and a swivel-mounted grenade launcher near the rear, it bore a strong resemblance to a giant, robotic scorpion. It rose up on its legs and Paisen heard the cannons load their first rounds.
“Stun rounds and grenades?” she asked.
Jacque nodded. “Yeah.”
Paisen patted the machine on top of its sensor suite. “Seek and engage,” she told it.
The Prowler moved with deceptive speed, its legs a blur as it burst out onto the main road and skidded, turning to face the oncoming Jokuans. It paused for a brief second, assessing targets, and then leapt forward, firing with all three weapons. Paisen heard shouts of fear and dismay from the Jokuan ranks, and the din of weapons opening fire, bullets clattering off the Prowler’s armored hull. As she watched, it closed with the Jokuans, running at full speed. The terrified soldiers scrambled to get clear, and Paisen saw several tossed roughly aside. The machine climbed onto the hood of one of the jeeps, smashed in the windshield with its front cannons, and pumped the vehicle’s cabin with stun rounds at point-blank range.
“Christ, I almost feel sorry for them,” Jacque said. “Almost.”
Paisen ignored him, turning to face the fence. “Fire in the hole,” she warned, and the contractors took cover against the side of the building. Paisen triggered the detonator on the demolition charge, and the Bangalore torpedo exploded with a shattering blast, tearing a clear path through the camp’s fences.
“Time to go, Arclight!” Paisen yelled.
They ran for the fence, and Paisen noted that Rika had shifted aim, splitting her fire between two of the neighboring guard towers, ensuring they stayed well out of the fight, too. The team struggled over earth churned up by the blast, Paisen standing at the outer fence line and counting each of them in turn, ensuring all ten of them made it out. Then they were free, and running up a gentle rise toward the tree line and Rika’s van.
25
“That’s the third truck today,” Dasi observed, making a note on her datascroll as the cargo truck left the manufacturing plant’s loading dock, driving off slowly down the wooded suburban road.
In the driver’s seat next to her, Jace took a sip from his coffee and nodded. “And two more trucks still loading up. How many pallets does a truck like that hold?”
>>>Eleven, Six told Dasi.
&
nbsp; She pretended to check her datascroll for the answer. “Eleven,” she said.
>>>Based on our best estimates of Fenoxal prescriptions, Shibuden-Klein appears to be manufacturing far more product than they need to.
Yeah, agreed. Dasi sketched some quick math on the datascroll. “We’re estimating two thousand doses of Fenoxal per pallet … times eleven pallets … times five trucks per day. That’s over one hundred thousand doses per day that Shibuden-Klein is manufacturing.”
Hawken exhaled noisily into his coffee cup. “Woah. That’s waaaay more than they need to ship in order to meet prescription demand. That’s like a hundred times the amount of drugs that legitimate patients should be consuming, per their doctors’ orders.”
“I wonder where all those extra drugs are going?” Dasi asked, rhetorically.
“Mm. I wonder if they’re all getting dumped down some ceremonial well.” He started the car and pulled out of the side street. “Let’s find out where this shipment is going, at least.”
He sped up, and within a minute, they had the cargo truck in sight again. It took a turn past a large office park, then headed down a road marked Private.
>>>There is a security gate less than one mile ahead, Six warned Dasi, showing her a satellite image of the area.
“Stop here,” she told Hawken. “There’s a guard booth ahead. Looks like this road ends at a private launch pad.”
“Interesting,” Hawken said, slowing and pulling over to one side of the road, as the truck disappeared in the distance again. “So the NeoPuritans ship their own goods – guess they don’t trust anyone else to handle it. I bet if we checked the manifests on that cargo spacecraft, it would be going to a world with a NeoPuritan Church.”
“Probably,” Dasi agreed. “They probably have their own truck meet the shipment on the far side, too. That lets them keep control of the whole Fenoxal supply chain, from the factory to the church.”
>>>Would you like me to obtain the air traffic control manifests to find out? Six offered. Their security protocols do not look particularly robust.
No, Dasi said. We can get a warrant for that.
Hawken turned the car around, and drove them back to their chosen surveillance spot, across from the plant. He set the car in Park, and Dasi saw that both of the remaining trucks were still in place at the loading docks.
“We need a way to trace the shipments,” Hawken said, drumming his fingers on the wheel of the car. “To prove that the drug is getting all the way from here at the plant to the churches.”
“We’d have to get inside the plant to do that,” Dasi pointed out.
“Mm,” Hawken said. “It’s not going to be easy.”
* * *
Lefev turned and ensured the door to the office building was locked behind him. Then he slipped his messenger bag over one shoulder and stepped out onto the sidewalk, walking toward the nearest monorail stop. Above him, Excavar’s simulated sky was dimming from an orange-hued sunset into a purple-tinged dusk. He reviewed the day’s progress in his head as he walked, frowning in slight consternation. He had been unable to find anything else in the finance records, despite hours of searching.
Truth be told, you’re a little upset that the girl showed you up, he told himself. Twice. He shook his head, smiling. Jace was right to bring her in, she’s quite an asset.
He heard steps behind him and glanced briefly over one shoulder – a pair of men were walking in the same direction several yards behind him, but they appeared uninterested in him. As he turned to look forward again, however, a third man rose from his seat on the stoop of a building, and stood waiting in his path.
Lefev frowned as he approached. “Can I help you?” he asked the man.
“Yes,” the man told him. “You can die.”
Lefev felt rough hands grab him from behind, and saw the flicker of a steel blade in the man’s hand. He tried to cry out for help, but another hand covered his mouth. Then the knife hit him, the metal cruel and cold as it punched into his gut. He gave a muffled scream of pain as the knife twisted, and felt another blade stab him in the back, near his kidneys. Strong hands held him on his feet as more knife thrusts struck home. The world swam before his eyes, and then everything went dark.
* * *
“Conference call request,” Foss’ home automation system announced, breaking through his sleep. He groaned and sat up in bed, fumbling for his holophone.
“Time?”
“Three twenty-two a.m.,” the computer answered. “The call is marked ‘Urgent.’ ”
“Connect,” Foss replied.
“Senator? It’s Shofel.” His aide’s face appeared on the room’s main viewscreen. “I apologize for the late hour.”
Foss grunted. “This is time sensitive?”
“Yes, sir,” Shofel agreed. “I have Patriarch Rewynn on the other line. Patriarch, are you there?”
“I’m here,” Rewynn said. “What’s this about, gentlemen?”
Foss rubbed at his eyes – on his viewscreen, he could see Shofel was in his bedroom, too. Rewynn appeared to be in the back of his private air car, traveling somewhere on Scapa.
“You asked me to keep you updated on the matter of the investigation,” Shofel explained. “Our personnel on Excavar just made their first move. Hawken’s senior investigator is dead.”
“Lefev?” Foss asked. “Good.”
“What about Hawken and the girl? The undercover cop who infiltrated the Church?” Rewynn asked.
Shofel shook his head. “I’m afraid they’re no longer on Excavar, sir.”
“Damn it,” Foss said, wincing.
“That’s the main reason I’m calling,” Shofel said. “As I was discussing the situation with the team on Excavar, a flash report came in from our head of security on Sipadan. Apparently the men at the Shibuden-Klein plant have spotted a man and a woman in a car parked near the plant. They’re observing the plant, and they followed a cargo truck partway to the launch pad. The team believes it may be Hawken and the girl, conducting surveillance.”
“The mercenary team is on Sipadan now?” Rewynn asked.
“Yes, sir,” Shofel confirmed. “They’ve been on standby at the plant, per your request.”
“Then Hawken’s fallen right into our trap,” Foss observed. “Deal with it, Shofel.”
“Yes, sir.”
26
The movie theater was ancient, a relic of Tarkis’ early colonial days. Threadbare red velvet seats lined the orchestra and balcony, and ornate wooden carvings arched across the ceiling, gilt paint peeling off with age. Hidden in one of the darkened wings of the stage, Rath peered out at the gathering audience.
“It’s a fitting venue,” Ricken observed.
Rath turned to find the former lawman standing behind him, surveying the stage.
“Hm?” Rath asked.
“An old theater, for an old man like me,” Ricken said, smiling. “How does it feel to be home?”
“Strange,” Rath said. “It’s been a long time.”
“Since before you were a guildsman?” Ricken asked.
“No.” Rath shook his head. “I came back once, while I was in the Guild. I thought I could find some peace by avenging my brother’s death, but … well, nothing will ever bring Vonn back.”
“But his legacy lives on, in you,” Ricken pointed out. “You honor his memory every day, in the choices you make.”
“I suppose,” Rath said. Uncomfortable, he looked back out at the theater’s seats. “Who are they, again?” he asked, indicating the crowd with his chin.
“They’re your people,” Ricken answered. “Our kind of people. Community leaders, in one capacity or another. Various union leaders, the head of the local small business organization, the chief of the fire department, the president of a non-profit medical clinic. Over two hundred self-made men and women – the true backbone of this planet. Are you ready?”
Rath took a deep breath. “I suppose so.”
“You’ll do fine,” Ri
cken assured him, clapping him reassuringly on the back. “Just speak from the heart.”
Ricken pulled his holophone from his pocket and skimmed it briefly. “No response from General Yo-Tsai,” he muttered. “I asked for a status update on the fleet’s readiness.”
“That reminds me,” Rath said. “I think Yo-Tsai’s up to something.”
“What makes you say that?” Ricken asked.
“Anders!” They looked up and saw Lonergan, who was standing beside the stage’s sound equipment, tapping his watch meaningfully. Jaymy stood by his side. “It’s time,” the old man said.
Ricken patted Rath on the shoulder, and stepped out onto the stage, with Rath in tow. The crowd quieted immediately, and Rath saw all eyes fixate on Ricken.
“Good day to you all,” Ricken said. “I apologize for the subterfuge we had to employ to gather all of you here, but now that you see who organized this meeting – me – perhaps you understand the reason for that secrecy. I’m Anders Ricken, and I’m here to ask for your help.”
A heavy-set man in the front row laughed. “Anders Ricken is dead,” he pointed out, raising his voice to be heard.
“No,” Ricken said. “I’m not.” He gestured to the massive screen behind him, and on cue, the famous newsreel footage appeared, showing Ricken boarding his doomed ship on Caustiga. Then the screen showed a different angle, shot with another camera. Soon after the group boarded the ship, they emerged again, climbing down through a hatch hidden behind the ship’s boarding ramp, and secreted themselves under a camouflage net. The ship took off moments later.
“I’ve been in cryosleep since then,” Ricken told the audience. “But now I’ve come back.”