She bolted left toward the blast doors that sealed them in. She pounded on the door, a red blinking strobe light above bathing her in a reddish tint.
"Open the door," she bellowed, but the doors stayed shut—someone had taken control of the terminals.
She fought the scream in her throat and wiped beads of sweat off her face. She bent over and put her hands up, catching her breath. No time for this. I must move faster.
Something barreled down the hall, moving away from her. She jolted, made the right at the tee away from the other sound, bumping into two people standing in a line. Six stood single file outside a window, and she made herself number seven. The load out was similar to what was assigned at the Institute during field exercises, only real. A P-3 helmet, a P-3 vest, and a fusion rifle she was sure was going to be heavy. The plastic armor would be useless against whoever was attacking them, but it was better than nothing. When she got to the counter, she stopped for a second and thought about which accent to use.
"Here." The armorer shouted above the alarm, giving Victoria the same kit. "Have you been trained?" The armorer asked holding up the FR-1.
"No."
"The safety is here. Trigger. Aim through this reticule. It's got a couple-a smart aim features which outta help if you can't hit. Energy pack good for a while. Oh, here is a flashlight on the front. Click on the side and make it a red laser too. And here." He reached down, pulling grenades out of a crate. "Take these in case you need to blow up or zero something large. Or don't want to be caught alive."
His voice was calm and easy, but her heart and mind raced, and she snatched the kit. Sprinting to an unlit corner, she put the armor on and made herself familiar with the rifle. She adjusted the Plasstien with internal Planks to make sure it fit her arm.
The armorer closed the window and slammed down a barrier. Victoria saw him coming around the side. He walked over to her and said, "I think they're after you. I was told the Institute might come looking for you. You've got to make it out alive, Victoria Tesla." He touched her arm. "Good luck."
"Alright. Don't worry about me. I'll be fine."
He nodded and ran down the hall.
"I don't know who you are," one of the troopers said, "but we need your help. St. George has sent in the Martel Knights. I don't know how they found us, but we are going to have to evac now if we have any chance of getting out alive. We... We have to get going! Seal this door!" They reinforced the corners with Plasstien nanosheets and melted on several plastic sheets. The stench and smoke from the burning Plasstien assaulted Victoria's nose and eyes, and she could barely breathe.
"You've got to be joking. Why would St. George send in the..."
"Fuck if I know! You're with us. Shadow everything I do. You are Victoria Tesla, right?" he said, his hand holding her shoulder.
"Yeah. I just got here. Please. This can't have anything to do with me. I didn't do anything. I..."
"Get a hold of yourself!"
"The door is sealed!" One of them said. They bounded down the other hallway cocooning her with their lives. "This way. On me," he barked. The signs kept pointing to the command room. Rechecking her rifle didn't slow her thoughts or calm her one bit. The Institute didn't train for this. They sprinted down two more halls, and when the point turned towards the mining exit, the man's telecaster squawked. He unbuckled it and dialed it in.
"Sawyer five, do you read me, over?" Webber said over the telecaster.
They were going to kill everyone, including her. At least she had a fusion rifle. Anything less would bounce off or fail to do much of anything against their armor.
"They've sent the Martel Knights and are after the girl. Respond, over," Webber repeated over Sawyer Five's comm. "Respond, over."
Sawyer Five looked at his telecaster and back to Victoria.
"Take this," Sawyer said, almost dropping it into her shaking hands.
"I'm here, Webber." She clung to her rifle like a lifeline.
"If there is no way out and you think you have no other choice, you know what to do. Don't let them take you alive." Victoria hated the dreaded finality of Webber's statement.
Another emergency broadcast auto-dialed in. "They are in the mines. Repeat, they are in the mines. All essential personnel fall back to the southern blast doors!" They all turned as rumbling explosions rattled further down the mining caverns.
"On me! Move!" Sawyer commanded.
They turned back around and headed for the second hallway. Two women shot ahead, running point, and as they peeked around the corner, two long bursts from flechette rifles shredded them to pieces.
"Grenade out!" Sawyer threw out around the corner and the walls and ceiling collapsed. "On me!"
They moved, tactically and methodically, dozens of them, down the hall.
Sawyer slammed up against the wall, tight, and prepped a grenade. He turned, gave a smile to Victoria, and threw it, bouncing it off the wall down the hall. A thunderous roar and bits of Plasstien cascaded through the air, shredding the floor, ceiling, and walls. He prepped and lobbed another. This time the blast was silent, their ears ringing from the first explosion. A ringing round and a high-pitch tone rang her ears.
Something bright down the other end of the hall made her turn her head. The heat from a huge gout of flame just meters down singed the hairs on her arms. How had they snuck up on them? She turned and sprayed fusion death down the hall toward the flamethrower and watched as the enemy Knights dove to cover and were unharmed. She ducked as the return fire smashed the wall she was hiding behind, throwing powdery material into the air. She held her breath and awaited her death.
25 Deane’s tooth
D.K.E.
Year 318
As promised, Rosie Rex had received the commendation from Dr. Bells at the Institute, and it had indeed done amazing things for her career. Her newly granted security clearance granted her access to files she once only dreamed about reviewing, and she dove in with all the fervor of a Picker on an adventure. She toiled away in secret vaults across the Kingdom researching different unsolved cases. The one case that nagged her curiosity the most was "Arkhe," a series of files rather than an actual certified investigation. Scraps of digi-prints, old articles from print magazines, maps which bore no resemblance to anything she'd seen before, and a yellow key card without any identification marks were all she found. The frustration kept her up at night.
She spent the weekends visiting John and nominated herself for Secondary Life Counselor. They agreed and Dr. Bells sent her a certified bio-locked Note of Authenticity. Her love grew the more she visited him, and she memorized hours of good parenting skills from the E-Network. The late nights became even later as she worried about her son and the live fire exercises being conducted there. But after the stress-filled nights, he would call her and explain the exercise went okay and not to worry about him. But it never helped.
Soon, he had little time for her visits as he was usually out leading his troops in combat simulations outside of the Institute. The officer cadre presented her with his records and told her not to expect too much in the way of visitation. Then she realized she had missed out on his youth and would probably miss his teenage years too. She cried herself to sleep sometimes thinking about it. Even if this was the best thing for him, the pain felt so intense, the only thing to help stave off the self-loathing was wine.
Toward the end of the year, when the St. George lights hung from stores and houses, and the sleet, rain, and snow had abated, she took walks around the city, looking at the monuments and statutes of the Kingdom's greatest heroes.
She stopped in Hooper's and ordered a pastrami on rye with a lemon tea, her favorite when she stopped in for something to eat on this side of Londun. As she took a bite out of the last half of her sandwich, the door swung open. In walked Reginald wearing khaki slacks, patent leather dress shoes, and a silk black shirt with the first few buttons opened showing off his broad, muscular chest. He looked even more impressive out of his uniform. In t
he right clothing, he looked like a god, and she ran her eyes over his body twice making sure he wasn't an imposter.
He held the door for an older woman walking with a cane. Probably his mother, but her age... Her long white hair laid smoothly braided on her back, and she hunched over somewhat. Modified red Sinsii goggles sat on top of her hair.
Rosie stood, grinned, and waved them over.
"Reg, dear! You look dapper!" She shook his hand, feeling his strong grip. The woman raised her brow and gawked at her. His mother must have contracted something to be this old.
She dropped her goggles down over her eyes and scanned her.
"Mom, this is Rosie. Rosie, this is my mom, Deana Jameson."
"I see who it damn well is, Reginald. These stupid things you make me wear tell me things I don't want to know." Deana slipped the Sinsii goggles off and sat opposite. "Order me a toasted ham on wheat and a glass of red stim-wine." Now that is a harsh accent. She didn't live in the city, and no person brought up in a proper Kingdom school would use contractions.
"Ms. Jameson, I do not think they serve stim-wine here, but I would be happy to go next door and buy you something."
Reginald stood up and waved Rosie to sit back down. "I will order us food and get you the wine. By the time the food is done, I will be back."
Rosie peeped him leaving. She didn't want to talk to this woman, not if she were asking for stim-wine in the middle of the afternoon. This wasn't going to be enjoyable.
"Reg has talked a lot about you."
"Oh?"
"Yes. You know he is an excellent man, and now that he's living in a flat, he keeps everything clean. He's changed. I guess you had your hand in this."
"No. He did that himself but I am sure he has changed. I mean, look at the way he is dressing now." Rosie gobbled down her sandwich and tea. Her relationship with Reg was private and had nothing to do with this woman or anyone else. No one likes coming home to an empty house, but over time, the emptiness became the new normal. After being married to Uther, she wasn't 100% sure she could ever be in a serious relationship again. And she hadn't had a man since then. The nights of being alone and crying over romance vids all alone on her sofa had to end.
"What is it? Don't you hold back any data about my son."
"Nothing really. I was just thinking."
Reginald walked in with a bottle of Scott's Vermilion Red in one hand, three wine glasses in his other, and wore a cheap, fake smile. When he sat next to his mother, he looked like a man dressed for an important occasion and smelled department store fresh. His hair was short, slicked back, fashionable, but held a military sculpt as his job required. His trimmed fingernails were perfect and his breath held the scent of lavender. His clothes were pressed, his shoes spotless. A kind of glittering glow accompanied everything he did.
"Thank you," Deane said. Before he could reach into his pocket to pull his utility knife, Deane mouthed the cork with her tooth implants. Reg looked away as Rosie heard a drilling sound coming from her mouth. Her eye fell on one of Deane's tooth as it drilled down and expanded. And she pulled the cork out with her mouth and sniffed it a few times. Then she flicked her tongue and retracted her tooth. She aimed the cork and threw it from across the room landing it dead center into the recycle bin.
Deane poured before Rosie could hold her glass up, and gave herself a full glass, draining a third of the bottle. Rosie was about to toast her health when Reg's mother gulped the red in one long swallow. A pungent burp followed and punched Rosie in the face. All she could do was hold her breath and turn away, and Reginald's face turned red.
"You look great. I am happy things are starting to turn around for you at work." Rosie said trying to break the moment.
"Actually, I have a new job now, and it is paying quite well." He sipped his wine.
"Where is that?"
"A place called Lamprays at the intersection of Berney's and 17th Avenue. They have undergone extensive remodeling, costing them quite a bit, I would assume. I'm just running security there. Nothing special."
The old woman grabbed the bottle and poured herself more, glaring at the wine like a mosquito ready to feed. "And I told you, a place like that is up to no damn good. But you never listen to me anyway."
They all stopped talking. Did she want her son to fail?
"Go fetch us another bottle but make it a 314. This crap here gives me heartburn." Deane reached in her nose and started digging.
"Be right back. And mom, please do not pick your nose in public, okay? It makes us both look bad. You promised me this time..."
"Never you mind, boy. Now go fetch me my wine and hurry up." She pulled out something bright yellow and the puss ran down her finger. She wiped it on the tablecloth and eyed the cook's ass. "He's got a cute one."
Reg rose and jetted towards the door, stopping short and waved to get Rosie's glance. "Sorry," he said, pointing to his mother. She looked away and ordered another tea.
Deane somehow managed to drink the entire other bottle by herself and sounded perfectly sober complaining about everything except the King. Rosie stopped listening and ordered herself another a take-out sandwich.
As she was leaving, her hand wrapped around a small slip of Plasstien. She zipped up her jacket and checked out the plastic. His contact apartment data. Cute, Reg.
* * *
She didn't telecast for a week but anchored the strip of plastic to the telecaster so she wouldn't forget. She poured herself yet another glass of wine as she dialed in his number and half hoped he wouldn't pick up.
"Apartment 142. How shall I direct your call?" The flat asked in an old monotone voice.
"I would like to speak to Reginald Jameson. This is Rosie Rex." A few moments later, Reg appeared on her telecaster. Her device still used black and white tech, and his image came out blurry around the edges.
"How are you?" He looked rough, the worst he'd been in years.
"I dialed you by accident."
"And you waited until I picked up to tell me?" He scratched the fresh whiskers on the side of his face. "You are sounding rather fun tonight."
"I might be."
"I can come by to pick you up. Take you out or we can just drive around and do whatever. You don't sound like you should be driving tonight."
She sloshed her wine before draining it, poured another tall glass, and waited to think about what to say next. By the time he got here, perhaps she would be relaxed enough that the sex might even be enjoyable. It had been so long, and he was looking better by the second. Rough for Reginald was damn fine by any woman's imagination. But she didn't want to ruin this, and sex with someone like Reg would. If he were working at a high-end bar and dressing and smelling like a supermodel, her window of opportunity would be short.
"It is going to take me at least thirty minutes to get to your house from here. You are not going to be passed out by the time I get there, are you?"
His comment shook her out of her lust. "No, I will be ready. Watch out for neo-animals running around this time of year where I live. A lot of people have wrecked their autocrafts hitting them. Be careful."
"Will do. See you in forty-five minutes."
26 Victoria's Parents
Red pulse beams snapped against the wall, blasting and melting the Plasstien. Victoria aimed down the hall, mindlessly firing her FR-1.
"Keep your fucking head down!" Sawyer shouted.
She watched him perfectly line up his eye through the optic and fire. She eyed the Knight as he dropped, blood spurting from the open cavity that was his head. A Martel in black P-12 plated combat armor with their St. George Cross emblazoned across the front, took aim and she let go, holding the trigger down and screaming for them all to die. Each blast hit him square in the chest and blew him into thirds. Her ear picked up the enemy comm traffic coming closer.
In horror, five of her comrades turned to vapor when the Knights fired their flechette rifles. The P-3 armor was like paper. What was the use of wearing it? The hits sou
nded like wet meat being pulled apart and she dodged down, only missing the burst by a few centimeters. When she fell, the bodies around her followed and blood gushed over her armor like paint. Only Sawyer and she were left.
"Grenade out..." he whispered, lobbing his last explosive towards the incoming enemies. She pulled a frag from her vest, and he snatched it from her and lobbed it. How many of them were there? One barreled down the hall with a back-mounted nanosteel canister of liquid petroleum and carried a discharger. The grenade landed at his feet, and the man reached into his belt, grabbed a canister, and sprayed a coat of gray nanos on it.
His finger moved to the trigger, and he aimed his weapon down toward them. She grabbed another grenade, not remembering what the red one did. Victoria mashed the top red button three times, pulled the pin, and threw. One. He threw her down and fell on top of her. Two. He grabbed her hands and rammed them to her ears.
"Cover your ears!"
He did the same. Three. A spray of bloody petrol licked up the sides of the wall, flames like hell destroyed and burned everything, and the melted ceiling and walls dripped down, waxy and wet. The fire demanded more air and sucked it in from everywhere. She gasped and received the taste of Plasstien and building toxins.
He screamed something, but she couldn't understand. Sawyer gestured behind him and started maneuvering backward, firing at the shadows advancing on them. He turned to her, pulled another and hurled it. Boom! Blood sprayed and poured out on the floor. Only one grenade left.
The corpses of the great St. George Martel Knights lied at her feet. There were dead Americans everywhere. Feces, piss, vomit, guts, and blood painted her surroundings, and she pressed up against the side to avoid slipping and falling in the mess.
They raced through fire and smoke back to where the explosion of fire from the flamethrower. The air was being cleaned and the Plasstien had re-solidified. Dead Knights lined the entire hallway. Searching them, he pulled a helmet off a woman and tossed it to her. Sawyer dug around until finding another one and exchanged his.
The Arkhe Principle Page 17