by RD Hale
'Yeah, there were boxes that we didn't bother to open. We needed to get out alive! And another thing, I found the augmentator in the bottom of the lake. It was weird, I could see a green light but no-one else could see it,' I explain.
'Hmmm, it may be that nanites seeped into your bloodstream. If they were communicating with each other, this would explain why you could see the light and no-one else could. It may have been guiding you,' Jardine postulates.
Jardine activates a projector and streaks of light reconstruct Charwood Forest around my torso as though I am the devil breaking free of the underworld. Blundering through this holographic map, I cause virtual tremors as the image distorts and we encircle the unbroken representation which shows every clearing and stream with each ruin highlighted red.
'There are twenty seven ruins in this region according to the map. Do you have any idea which one it would've been?' Jardine asks.
'Er, they all look the same. Hang on, it was next to a stream,' I advise.
'There are three ruins alongside streams in this area. I'll get this investigated. Do you still have the map you referred to?' Jardine asks.
'No, it got wet and was ruined,' I reply.
'We probably don't need it anyway. Now for the good news - Ivor's been transformed into an advanced fighting mech. He's received a massive boost to his capabilities, far more so than Killow and he'll come in very useful. In the meantime, Killow, you may just be the best human ally we could wish to have. I think it would be appropriate to invite you into the fold. I don't know how much the others have told you, but we are the rebellion,' Jardine announces.
'The rebellion! Are you kidding? I just thought you were some gangster or something. This is amazing,' Killow gasps.
'That's just the response I was looking for! Being part of the rebellion carries a lot of responsibility, but we'll go into that later. The elites are planning a purge of the slums and they must be stopped at all costs. Tell a soul and you could get us killed. You're already a part of this and it's important you understand the full magnitude. I think I should meet the rest of your friends. If they wish to be recruited, we will train them,' Jardine says.
'Awesome, we'll have our own rebel squadron! And if my body can cope with the nanites I'll be almost indestructible. Arturo, I'm much harder than you now!' Killow brags.
'Someone's changed his tune!' I laugh.
'Now for business. We have multiple EMPs that we plan to install in various locations around the city. They'll help us to knock out the power at will. Given that we're installing a large number, we need help. Killow, your friends have been fully trained, you have not. However you have capabilities we can only dream of. Are you willing to help us tonight?' Jardine asks.
'This is too cool. I'll help you take down those bastard elites.'
A few hours pass with Killow asking relentless questions about the rebellion until our fellow insurgents return from their hunting expedition, plodding through the door in muddy boots. Ahran removes a bloodied boar-head from a rucksack and Dynah recoils as he raises his trophy aloft with a proud grin.
'He brought this boy down with a mere dagger,' Jackson explains as the hunters take seats.
Catching up with our comrades, we drink a bitter green tea which will apparently sharpen our senses throughout the night, but I feel no more awesome than usual as I reach the bottom of the cup and now is not the time to request a beer. This arse-numbing seat makes me restless so I prowl back and forth as Nyota and Jackson tell us about Ahran's rapid training progress, but the neanderthal drifts off to sleep with his head on the table, snoring loudly. There is a limit to his energy after all.
'Ivor come here,' Jardine says, beckoning the mechanoid to a weapons cabinet and he opens compartments on each augmented arm to refill ammunition. Eighteen micro-missiles are clipped in place, then he clanks the last panel shut and pats Ivor's back: his actions confirming he expects complications tonight.
And it is hardly reassuring to see Killow mastering his 'powers' by ordering his hand to: 'Transform into a sword!'
'Wow, the STG really don't wanna mess with this guy!' I laugh at Killow's repeated failed attempts at limb metamorphosis.
'Your abilities will develop intuitively in their own time,' Jardine advises.
A short while later Nyota shakes Ahran's shoulder and he snaps and grunts, almost biting her fingers, before waking in a huff. As the neanderthal gathers his senses, the rebel squadron stand up and gather around Jardine because crunch time has arrived. Our leader projects a hologram of the city with various points highlighted red and as he touches each one the view magnifies.
Muttering to Turbo in military speak, Jardine flicks between several residential tower blocks, a high sky rise at the inner-hub, an industrial estate, a dockland and a powerstation. Then he zooms out and plots two routes with red lines, addressing the group:
'We are about to commence Operation Starburst. We'll hit twelve targets by splitting into three groups. That's four targets each. The chosen targets represent maximum impact versus minimal risk. However we may encounter an eye witness or worse - a droid or guard. Arturo, your training may prove helpful. Killow, if you sense danger just allow your instincts to take over. Dynah, Ivor, I'd like you to go with Turbo. Arturo, Killow, I'd like you to come with me. Ahran, you will go with Jackson and Nyota. We'll meet here when we are done. Let's go,' Jardine orders.
These plans of sabotage sound so simple, but the ramifications will be dramatic and as the collaborators display a professional calm I gain the impression this will be our most dangerous task yet. We drive off to commence the transition from insurrection to civil war and despite facing the worst of my nightmares I remain undaunted. Envisioning how events will play out, I remind myself to react to any sight or sound and prepare for the worst case scenario. To shoot on instinct because there will be no opportunity to ask questions and capture is never an option.
The motion of drawing a phaser and firing repeatedly runs through my mind to ensure my training is freshly imprinted. The silence is breached only by the hum of the engine and the loudness of my heart pounding like a drum beat; the soundtrack to a real life action movie. I feel elevated above the ordinary as we reach the outskirts of the city, privy to secrets and ready to counteract authoritarianism. With one hand on the steering wheel Jardine opens a door compartment and hands over two phasers, one of which I pass to Killow.
'Not that you'll need it,' I mutter.
We cruise past a nightclub with the word: Loveless written in neon lights, dripping scorn on scantily clad women on nearby street corners who fail to tempt us with flashes of cleavage. Scandalous and wretched they hunch with teeth chattering and puff on cigarettes; oblivious to the connotations as they hang in the gutter and their future hangs in the balance.
'Should we really be doing this now? There are still people about,' I ask.
'There's always people about, this is as good a time as any.'
Jardine's expression displays seriousness as we park at the river Tinanmoue dock to begin phase one. Our leader opens the back door without uttering a word and places his hands on an EMP. Clenching teeth, he shoves the cuboid with adjoined chrome cylinders into a rucksack which he hauls over lulling shoulders. Lumbering forward, Jardine aims his phaser at a padlock on a wiremesh gate, behind which trailer trucks are parked next to shutters.
'You two focus your fire on the lock,' Jardine instructs and we shoot until it glows yellow. The gate which flies open with a kick as semi-molten metal clunks on the ground. 'Inside.'
Inhibitions switch off as senses heighten and recently developed covert skills help to maintain blade-tipped focus. Sneaking between vehicles, we pass storehouses to stoop next to a pair of seemingly quiescent portacabins. There are dim lights around the docks but our surroundings are mostly enshrouded by nightfall. Nevertheless we stick to cover.
'We need to sneak over to that crane. Keep your eyes open,' Jardine whispers.
We dash through stacked shipping conta
iners to crouch beside a frontlift bin, next to a single storey building with curtainless windows, no light and no sign of activity inside. Jardine places a finger over lips and we remain still as a gentle humming arouses suspicion. Peering out from cover, Jardine fires his phaser and an electrical fizzing is followed by the sound of metal crashing.
'You two, drag that droid over here,' Jardine orders.
Killow and I scurry out from cover to grab insect-like legs, dragging the robotic security guard as mechanical guts twitch. The exterior of this lightweight spheroid is unblemished apart from a cracked lens and it could feasibly self-repair so Jardine tampers with wiring, hoisting wreckage into decaying garbage.
'We'll have to come back for that thing,' Jardine mutters.
We hurry past a number of vats and as we enter the shadow of our target, my nose lining twinges due to the fishy water which has seeped into the cement of conjoined cabins. I discount the overpowering smell to focus on immense robotic arms situated directly behind, which reach for holographic billboards in the night sky. Bypassing the noxious buildings, I stare up at our unreasonably located mark and wonder how the hell we will possibly lug the EMP to such a height.
'Killow, I need you to stay down here and keep an eye out for droids. Arturo, you'll have to come up and help me fix it in place. You go first and look out from the cabin. Signal to me if the coast is clear,' Jardine orders.
The stingingly cold ladder is sturdy but my leaping stomach half-expects this top heavy construct to be unstable. Jitteriness provides a degree of amusement and I smile at the current shimmering over a bed for the suicidal. About a million rungs high I reach the cabin and crouch next to a control panel, peering through scratch-covered window to scour the shipyard. With no sign of movement, I wave to Jardine who is weighed down by his absurdly hefty package as he struggles up the wrong side of the ladder, stopping just below the cabin.
'Arturo, I need you to climb down and hold me!' Jardine instructs and my eyes widen in response. Careful not to step on Jardine's fingers I climb into a compromising position, close enough to smell stale breath and concerned my insufficient grip strength may cause a messy plummet.
'What do you mean, hold you?' I gasp.
'I'm going to turn around. I need you to wrap your arms around me and hold tight whilst I fix this thing in place.'
Jardine removes a tweed rucksack strap from his shoulder and rotates his body, maintaining a vice-grip on the ladder. I wrap arms around rails, but my fingers fail to meet at the far side of Jardine's barrel torso and I grasp his tunic as he removes the EMP. With a ridiculous display of exertion he fixes the device to the underbelly of the cabin, just out of my line of sight.
'Quick down, before we're spotted,' Jardine instructs.
During our simultaneous descent I twice tread on Jardine's toes causing him to grunt impatiently, but we reach the ground with reasonable efficiency in spite of my clumsiness. And with a massive weight taken off our, or rather his shoulders, we dash to the bin where we dumped the incapacitated droid.
'You two get back to the van. I'm gonna have to reboot this thing. If anyone finds it like this, it will arouse suspicion,' Jardine orders.
Killow and I hurry through the lifeless dockyard to the breached gate where we scan the road for any sign of movement. The vicinity is clear so we climb aboard the getaway van and the tension amplifies as we sit motionless, knowing if a patrol spots the broken lock our plot will unravel.
A lone man comes into view, likely minding his own business, but I clutch my phaser as he strolls below the streetlights with no interest in the mission. My heart jumps as the van door unlocks and I turn my weapon to the evil San Terian bastard attempting to enter, only to realise Jardine has returned whilst I was focusing on a nobody.
'Good work men, that was pretty straight forward. If the rest are this easy we'll be laughing,' Jardine says.
We continue our relatively undemanding mission, placing two more EMPs on the rooftops of residential high sky rises at the outer hub and skeleton coast without incident thanks to a pair of keycards and entrance codes. The smoothness of the operation encourages complacency as we drive to our final destination and I smile at the thought of an easily earned few thousand credits.
The Power Station
We pull up at a gate with a danger sign bearing a lightning bolt, beyond which lies a complex of shuttered buildings and parked vehicles. Electrical veins reach from caged roofs to nearby pylons, relaying the end product of nuclear fusion, the blood supply of the city. The entire complex is an uninviting health and safety hazard - it is clear we have saved the worst till last.
'Okay guys, final one. And this one could be tricky,' Jardine advises.
The final EMP has a more complex, vicious-looking design with jagged parts and I presume this model is of a higher yield due to the critical location. Strain pinkens Jardine's eyes as he traipses forward with the device poking from his rucksack. As we breach another padlock my professional calm is unsettled by the rising tension, knowing one misstep in this hazardous environment could result in a frazzling. Jardine swipes an access card then enters a code on a number panel and the door to the largest building swishes open.
'Ready your phasers,' Jardine commands.
We head through a dimly lit tunnel into an industrialised warren; penetrating deadly grounds where the stakes are measured in gigawatts. My presumption that our chosen target is unoccupied proves rather gullible as we are led into battle by Jardine who turns a corner, his phaser rising as instinctively as a cobra striking. A pair of men in blue overalls flop to the ground.
'Workers, there shouldn't be too many,' Jardine mutters.
Watching for any sign of consciousness, we step over slumped employees who are sleeping like drunkards. At the end of the corridor we call an elevator and Jardine selects floor B3 when we step inside. Metal doors seal shut and as we descend it feels like we are going the wrong way, further into trouble. It should be easy to turn back, yet I am unable to; carried not by the elevator but by the hands of obligation, inevitability. My mouth is uncomfortably muted but there can be no consideration. My actions must be guided by my ears and my gut.
'Take cover,' Jardine instructs.
We place our backs against interior walls as a precautionary measure and as the door opens it proves a smart move. Phaser fire streaks past us; those few inches the difference between success and failure, survival and singularity. Jardine returns fire as I freeze - a malfunctioning automaton unsure of how to proceed. My hesitant hand trembles as I prepare to shoot, knowing the instant any body part leaves cover could equal nullification. But Killow disappears in a swish to demonstrate his newfound capabilities.
'Urgh... Argh...'
'Come out. I've taken care of them,' Killow grunts.
We enter an apparently uninhabited room of silver and darkness, but my phaser remains pointed as I crouch to follow barriers aligning the walkway with machinery standing either side: a haphazard amalgamation of pipework, pistons, fans and warning signs advising not to proceed without protective clothing.
A burst in my chest generates a rush of blood as a hostile's foot pokes out. I shoot and miss my minimal target as return fire strikes Killow who convulses midstride, suspended by waves of energy like a victim of demonic possession.
Recoiling like rubber, Killow's body is released from the non-corporeal grip and he charges, dodging particle bursts illuminating the gridded walkway. Spikes emerge from his forearm which distends like a medieval club and thrusts into a guard's abdomen, tossing him into the air. A sprinting colleague skids to a stop and his thermoplastic rifle rises to take aim at Killow, but phaser fire has already struck his black and red uniform.
'Good shot, Arturo! Come on,' Jardine says.
'Aargh... My head hurts,' Killow groans and I keep a vigilant eye on my ally who clenches temples as though attempting to crush his own skull, but I curb feelings of concern to check the exit route for signs of weaponry.
'It's your
body adjusting to the nanites. Focus through it,' Jardine demands.
As we dash through the next corridor of the powerstation, Killow hunches over at the worst moment, forcing us to engage the enemy without our prototype who is rapidly becoming a hindrance. 'My stomach, eargh.'
An indistinct outline shimmers below blinking lights attached to girders but Jardine's phaser reacts in synchronicity with mine and smoke rises from a plunging figure. Killow disregards pain and bolts forward, extending arms to clothesline a pair of rushing guards. As heels rise and helmets crash down, Killow clutches his stomach again.
'It-It hurts… It's like something's trying to tear out of my belly.'
'Jardine, what's happening to him? I though you said he'd be okay for a few years.'
'His body's still adjusting. It's normal and the phaser fire is not helping things. Come on.'
A reinforced door stands below a jutting archway at the end of a tunnel aligned with columns of black and yellow diagonal stripes. Jardine tampers with a card reader and squeezes through the barricade which divides with a gentle roar. Killow and I follow and approach a barely visible machine at the end of a walkway, glimpsing the sharp edges of its innards. Jardine removes the EMP, tearing the rucksack as the device clanks on a shuddering floor grate.
'Watch the door!' Jardine orders.
Killow coughs up a mouthful of blood; his incompatible upgrade rejecting his physiology at a more advanced rate than anticipated. It is unclear if he will even last the night, but we are powerless to halt the affliction which has aided our survival. Jardine presses keys on a panel with a digital display which is a procedure he did not follow with the previous EMPs.
'Come on, this thing's activated. We have ten minutes to get out,' Jardine commands.
'You mean we're detonating now? But you n-'
'I-I... can't... allow you... to do that...'