I invented screamers early on in my villainous career. Sonics at just the right level to find your inner ear and treat it like a speed bag. This one was set to non-lethal, but it still did the trick, stunning most of the revealed mooks long enough for me to target and drop them with pinpoint shots.
After the slaughter, I dug the hissing remains of the forcefield generator out of my utility belt, winced at the burnt cloth, and dropped it to the floor. It quietly started to burn a hole through the planks of the pier. I ignored it, listening to the sudden silence.
Muffled squeaking. A rhythmic thumping. Someone striking the side of a box with their foot?
“IS THAT ALL?” I said into the darkness, peering around the building. Smashed crates leaked Day of the Dead decorations, surplus kitsch sold at three-hundred-percent markup to stupid tourists.
Nobody answered. But then, I would have been surprised if La Codicia had. I checked my clothing over for bullet holes, found none, and nodded in satisfaction.
Then I headed toward the thumping. A large crate tucked in a corner, about the size of a refrigerator. Shielded against thermal as well.
It shattered when I punched it, spilling two figures to the ground. Spetta, tied head-to-toe, and gagged. And El Hombre Último, dressed in a purple-and-silver costume, covered in exclamation points. Unconscious, by the look of it. No mask, and I shook my head in disapproval. Masks had a significance down here, moreso than in the US.
Well, we’d sort that out later. I bent over and ripped Spetta’s gag out. “ARE YOU GOOD TO WALK?”
“Y-yes. You are unhurt?”
“YOU DOUBTED?” I pulled out a knife, cut the rope away from her then hoisted El Hombre into a fireman’s carry.
“Mierda, you’re strong!” Spetta blushed. “Sorry.”
“LET’S GO.”
I turned around, started to jog out of the warehouse.
“Ah, one more thing!” She called. I turned back.
—and a single shot rang out. El Hombre jerked as the bullet caught him in the gut. Spetta smiled, and lowered the stubby little Tokarev pistol.
And gasped, as blood bloomed on the front of her dress. She slumped to her knees, clapping a hand to her belly.
“H-how?” she whispered, staring at me.
I lowered El Hombre Último to the ground, gave him a pat. Then I shook my head, sending blonde hair whirling... until it came off. The wig fell away. I removed the mask, revealing the steel skeletal face of the guard-bot I was piloting remotely. “YOU WERE THE CLOSEST PERSON, LA CODICIA.”
Her face twisted, snarling in rage as she coughed, flecking the bot’s visual sensors with blood. “You bitch! How! How did you know?”
“ASSHOLE. NOT BITCH. IT’S MORE GENDER FRIENDLY.”
“Tell me!”
“DIRE DIDN’T KNOW. NOT UNTIL EIGHTEEN MINUTES AGO. YOU SPOKE TO HER THROUGH A VOICE MODULATOR. DIRE’S MASK RECORDED IT, AS IT DOES EVERYTHING SHE SEES AND HEARS. DO YOU KNOW HOW LONG IT TOOK TO DE-MODULATE THE MESSAGE? TO REALIZE THAT YOU WERE THE ONE SPEAKING?” I laughed, and my voice bounced through the warehouse, over the twitching forms of her gunmen, and the wreckage all about. “YOU TRY TO FOOL A TECHNOLOGICAL GENIUS WITH TECHNOLOGY. FUCKING BRILLIANT. GOOD ONE.”
She slumped to the ground, still glaring. The effect was broken somewhat by her spasms of pain. I felt no sympathy. Gut shot people die slow, I’d learned that one from experience. She deserved it.
I continued to gloat. I’d won that right here, after all. “AFTER THAT, A LOT OF THINGS FELL INTO PLACE. THE MONEY IN THE TREASURY... IT DIDN’T LEAVE WITH THE MINISTER OF THE INTERIOR. YOU GRABBED IT.”
“It was mine. Like this shitty little country.”
“YOU WERE MAESTRO M’S LIAISON TO CORAZON, POSING AS HIS SECRETARY, RULING FROM BEHIND THE THRONE.”
“It worked so well for so many years. Then you came.” She coughed again. Blood stained her trembling hand.
“YOU WEREN’T BRAINWASHED WHEN YOU PULLED THE TRIGGER ON EL HOMBRE THE FIRST TIME. BUT WHEN THE GUN DIDN’T GO OFF, YOU FAKED IT. VERY CONVINCING, TOO.”
“Good enough... to fool... you and that prancing purple idiot...”
“WHERE IS HE, BY THE WAY?”
“Never... tell you... bitch.”
I sighed. “NO, SHE’S AN ASSHOLE.” Then I kicked her in the gut. She screamed, rolled over, going into a fetal position. “GET IT RIGHT.” While she screamed and tried to stay conscious, I glanced around at the fallen men. “WHO ARE THESE GUYS, ANYWAY?”
“Mercenary trash... the Maestro will...” more coughing. She wasn’t going to last.
“ALRIGHT, HERE’S THE DEAL.” I drew out another grenade, this one marked with a white stripe. “DIE FAST OR DIE SLOW.”
“Fucking... what?”
“DIRE DOESN’T TORTURE. BUT SHE WOULD LIKE TO KNOW WHERE SEÑOR ACERTIJO IS. SO IF YOU TELL HER, DIRE WILL SHOOT YOU IN THE FACE AND YOU’LL DIE BEFORE YOU CAN BLINK. PAINLESS, MORE OR LESS.”
I tossed the grenade up, caught it in the bot’s palm. The leather gloves I’d covered its shiny fingers with creaked, as the ominous sphere wiggled, handle just begging for a good tug. “OR SHE DROPS THIS. AND YOU DIE SLOWLY, SCREAMING.”
“What is that?”
“WHITE PHOSPHOROUS GRENADE.” It would burn everything in this warehouse to a crisp, would keep burning until the building collapsed into the water. She’d burn or she’d drown, or the smoke would get her. Or she’d survive all that and bleed out.
Her face paled. “No.”
“THEN TALK.”
She breathed a sigh. “Doctor?”
“YES?”
“Fuck you.” Her hand crept to her neckline, and what I’d taken for a choker around her neck beeped, as she grabbed it and twisted.
The world turned white.
I blinked, as the VR interface slid away from my head. After it was clear I rubbed my temples and growled in frustration. Bit by bit I peeled myself out of the harness, cursing as I went.
Though the night hadn’t been a total loss. “Alpha?”
“Boss?”
“Big explosion, yeah?”
“Not huge, but there’s a nice pillar of smoke.”
“Get the nearest guard-bot patrol down there, try to dig El Hombre Último out of there before his power murders someone down the street. Ah, he’s wearing a purple costume. Well, if it’s still intact. Not sure what the explosion did to his clothes.”
And then I poured myself into the chair, and rubbed my eyes. I’d liked Spetta. The truth of the matter, when I’d found it, had hurt. But there had been lives on the line, so I couldn’t take time to mourn. Now I did, and I felt the tears threatening under my lids, quiet sobs racking my body as I shook. I’d been betrayed. Again.
I let it out, and after my emotions had settled, I cleaned myself up and stared into the mirror. Minna’s face stared back.
I put my hand against the cold glass. “It’ll get better,” I promised myself. “It’ll be worth it.”
Spetta had been poison. To tell the truth, moving into this position had proved toxic. I’d seized control of the country, but I’d done it unprepared, and without the support I needed to really protect and improve the place. I’d done decently, for what it was worth, and most of my setbacks had been due to international politics and outside influences... but at the end of the day, I should have planned for that. I’d played it by ear, and the music had gone sour.
I needed people who I could trust at my back, if I wanted to finish this symphony. So far I had two of those; Alpha and Ricio.
“Even a tyrant can’t go it alone,” I muttered, pulling my hand back, and leaving a nice print on the mirror.
I sorted through my priorities. I’d just dealt Maestro M a blow, he’d be a while recovering. Señor Acertijo was still missing. “Alpha? Did you find Último?”
“Yeah. He’s a little banged up, but still alive.”
“He’s actually injured?” That was a surprise. A good one, actually, it suggested that his powe
r had its limits. He might not be a walking apocalypse-risk after all.
“Yep. Nothing horrible, looks like the explosion threw him into a few crates. Cuts, bruises. He’s awake but groggy, can’t talk. I think he’s been drugged.”
“Good, bring him—” No, I couldn’t bring him back here. There were three living people in this building and one of them was me. If someone snuck in and shot him three times we’d all die. “—to the nearest clinic. Ah, change out his costume for something generic first.”
“On it.”
Freed from my responsibilities for a little while, at least, I decided to take a shower and ponder my next move.
That lasted all of six minutes. My earrings squawked, from where I’d put them on the sink. I nearly killed myself on the slick tile floor, abandoning my wash and rushing over to them. “Doctor Dire, please respond,” Suru said for what was probably the tenth time.
“Here!” I shouted, slapping them into my ears. “Yes! She’s here. What?”
“Incoming call from General Ricio. Do you wish to acknowledge?”
What? How did he— oh, right, I’d given him the voxcaster to control the drones and ’bots. But if he was trying to call me directly... “Modulate Dire’s voice and put him through.”
“Affirmative, Doctor.”
“General?”
He didn’t waste time with pleasantries. “We have three days, perhaps.”
I took a breath. Exhaled. No need to ask what he was talking about. He’d been given one order.
“Explain.”
“Somehow they got around us to the East. I think the Chamis guided them through a hidden pass.”
I winced. “They’re behind you now, aren’t they?”
“Cutting the supply line right the hell off. And setting up to fuck us in the ass once they’re ready. If there’s a bright side, it’s that the suicide trucks haven’t shown up ever since you dealt with the kill team.”
The US wasn’t fielding the teleporter. Sadly, I had a feeling I knew why. “They’ll be using their metas to transport men and material.”
“Great. Maybe two days, then. We can hold for a time. My main worry is the quiet. The rebel artillery’s silent, and my scouts can’t tell where it’s gone.”
I chewed my lip. Odd. The previous setup for their field pieces had been to the north. Would have been easy to leave them there, put pressure on that front for the big push. South... no, the ground that Malo Verde was on was even higher from that side. Less that they could do from that end. So where did they move it to?
I contemplated... and my eyes went wide with sudden realization.
Mitch had confirmed that the Chamis were back on the Northern shore of the bay.
What if they’d brought company?
“She’s going to check something. Hold on for a min—”
THUMP!
The palace shook, part of the ceiling caved in, and I fled out of the bathroom as the tub behind me filled with dust and rubble. Without stopping to wipe off, or caring, I grabbed my null suit and tugged it on. “Hatch open!” I commanded, and my armor turned and squatted, back gaping wide as it prepared to be donned.
“What? What was that?” Ricio said.
“She found your artillery,” I voxed as I slid into my Brute Suit. “On the bright side, you don’t have to worry about it. Or an assault, probably. Hold tight, rest your troops. They probably won’t come for you until the Capital’s secured.”
“Shit! Can you hold?”
I laughed, feeling a feral grin settle over my face. “Oh, don’t you worry. The fools think to attack Dire’s weak spots.”
The palace shook again, and old stone gave way.
“It sounds like they’re doing a pretty good job from here!”
I laughed again, letting my voice echo through the crumbling halls, as I moved. “That’s what’s funny. Dire is never weak. Over and out, General.”
“We’ve got troub— oh.” Alpha said, phasing in and out. Damaged emitters in the walls, most likely.
“Yep,” I confirmed. “Steer a few of the see-gulls north, will you? Across the bay?”
“Sure, not a problem.” A few seconds passed. I waited, arms crossed as another artillery shell shook the floor.
“We’ve got landing craft in the bay, and... oh. Ow. Yeah, no more see-gulls.”
“Scramble the guard-bots. Contain the landing. What took down the see-gulls?”
“Missiles and flak. They’ve got some serious anti-air just beyond the beach. And some military ECM. The signal went gooier the closer my birds got.”
They were laying for me. Expecting me to come flying over the bay, and into the fight. I weighed my chances against cutting-edge American ballistics and warheads, found them slim. If the suit was fresh, maybe, but not as it was now.
So instead of going up, I went down, ignoring chunks of masonry that bounced off me whenever a shell hit.
Once I got to the lower levels, that stopped entirely. Oh, the bombardment still went on, but these tunnels had been built solidly, with all the strength of the stone cliff around them. My captives would be safe in the lower levels. As for the palace above? Eh. It was replaceable.
I mourned the loss of that glorious bathroom. The rest? It had been Corazon’s, not mine. Never truly mine.
“What are you doing?” Alpha asked, as I squeezed myself through the lowest doorway of the lowest point of the fort.
“Remember that tunnel under the bay?”
“Oh. Oh yeah. Heh! Go get’em, boss!”
The corridor was a little cramped, but a straight shot. I sped through it, picking up speed as I raced back to my lair.
“Greetings, Doctor Dire!” Suru chimed. “It has been—”
“SKIP IT.”
“Affirmative, Doctor.”
“VENT SMOKE IN THIRTY SECONDS. BEGIN COUNT.”
You don’t set up a secret lair without building in a lot of useful toys. My feet pounded as I dashed up the winding tunnels of the mine, clock ticking down in my HUD. And as the count hit thirty, my audio sensors picked up a great hissing, like a thousand snakes registering their disapproval.
I charged out of the mine entrance five seconds later, straight into the huge smoke cloud that issued forth from every mine shaft around me. Switching to thermal sight, I glared into the jungle below.
They’d arrayed a huge force of anti-air measures against me.
All pointed toward the palace.
I didn’t give them time to turn the big guns around, diving through the canopy and crashing through the trees, scattering screaming rebels before me as I targeted and shot out lights with quick, short particle bursts. Then I was in among the truck-mounted flak guns and missile launchers, ripping them to shreds with the suit’s augmented strength.
Eventually they started shooting at me. But by then most of their vehicles were heaps of scrap, the remaining few having fled before me, wheeling down the road and disappearing into the jungle.
As bullets pinged ineffectually off me I stalked toward the artillery piece that had leveled my palace, and lit it up with a max-power particle beam that seared into the sky, crackling like thunder and shining like the sun.
When the beam flickered out, the gun was gone and the rebels had fled. I turned, searching, thermal sight off and nightvision on, and audio sensors to their most sensitive bands.
Nothing on the beach. Nothing but retreating figures, back in the jungle. Nothing—
Wait.
I followed the faintest hint of sobbing. It sounded muffled, but the acoustics were weird. Echoing, almost? I followed it, straight to the sea caves that the Chamis used to store fish.
And straight up to the one on the end, the one they kept the smugglers’ goods in.
My metal-shod feet clanked down the slope, ancient rock giving way as I forced my bulk through narrow openings, peering into the recesses of the cave.
And there, in the far back, shackled to the walls, were three figures. A man, a woman, and a boy wh
o couldn’t have been more than twelve. All staring in my direction, with wide eyes and slackened lips. All wearing rags and hospital gowns, torn and muddied from the water.
The boy’s face slid, twisting around like jelly on his skull. The woman had four arms jammed awkwardly out of her clothes, weaving and tracing patterns in the air. The man twitched every few seconds, and every time he did, the water puddles around him froze and unfroze, sending puffs of vapor into the air that fell back as ice pellets.
Each of them was missing their left ear, with bloody gauze bandages wrapping the wound.
My Geiger counter chattered. My eyes widened at the readings and a piece of the puzzle slipped into place, followed by another.
These were mind-wiped metahumans. I’d found Corazon’s source.
And the Chamis were in on it. Had been for years. But something didn’t add up...
Fire crackled behind me. I turned, to see Escala, her burning face a mask of sorrow as she stood, arms at her sides; a picture of abject misery.
“And now you know.”
I turned to her, light flickering as it reflected from the thousand thousand scars and nicks my armor had gained since the start of this whole sorry mess.
“WHAT HAVE YOU DONE?”
The flames died. I stared at Escala as she hugged herself, alone and miserable. Sympathy warred with fury in my heart, and won. For now.
“Please, Dorothy. Come with me. The Elders can explain.”
I nodded. “THEY HAD BETTER.”
We left the cave, her hand on my arm. Around me, the remnants of the rebel artillery burned. Across the bay, someone had fired up an air raid siren. Too late, for my palace burned, plumes of smoke billowing into the sky.
I would hear the Elders out.
Then I would judge them. And if they didn’t have a good goddamn reason, I’d send them straight to whatever hell awaited slavers.
CHAPTER 18: FULL CIRCLE
“Minion? Sure, I admit it, I'm a minion. But honestly? I was literally built to be a one of those. What’s your excuse, buddy?”
--Unknown digital organism overheard trash-talking invaders during the failed landing on the Bay of Mariposa.
Dire : Wars (The Dire Saga Book 4) Page 27