Discarded

by Mark A. Ciccone

  With a brusque nod, Leah bolted. Leaping a good five metres off the rise, she tucked and rolled into a sprint, angling to the right. Greg started to bolt left, but stopped when he saw Cayden standing still, staring up at the sky. He motioned frantically. Come on! The older Golem didn’t even seem to notice. Gently, he set down his duffel beside him, then straightened, still gazing into space.

  The humming grew louder. The air around the two men began to shift and whisper. Greg made one last, desperate wave. Cayden gave no sign that he saw this, or cared. With a snarl of frustration, Greg took off running. Less than ten seconds later, he was crouching low behind a fallen log, out of sight. Poking his head above the decaying pile, he saw Cayden hadn’t moved an inch. He hadn’t drawn his pistol, or his knife. To any watching eyes, he seemed like a normal, everyday traveller, lounging at the local bus stop or sticking his thumb out on the highways.

  A rustle in the leaves and branches beside him: Leah. Her face was pale with anger and fear. ‘What the fuck is he doing?!’ she hissed.

  Before Greg could answer, the humming rose to a crescendo, pressing at his eardrums like the wings of a Cessna-sized hornet. He pulled the clinger’s hood over his head and stabbed the sealant button at his collar; Leah made the same move. The sound dropped, but the air vibrations increased, stirring dust and dirt everywhere. He slackened his jaw to keep his teeth from rattling and dropped the eye screens on the hood.

  Metal flashed in the lowering sun, to Greg’s right. Whipping around, he saw two choppers emerge from over the southernmost trees, bearing for the quarry. Black Hawks.‘Wraith’upgrades, he assessed unconsciously. Mostly used for insertion work. Rarely armed, given the risks ofbreaking stealth cover, like with the Grey Witch – but that doesn’t mean they don’t havedeployable rotary cannon in either bay.

  One slowed, coming to a hovering halt – the command craft, judging by the two dulled yellow bars painted above the cockpit. The other kept moving, making a slow loop around the quarry’s length, before swinging back over the main pit, stopping above its lip. Chunks of gravel and dirt spiralled all over, coating Cayden’s poised figure. The older Golem didn’t even twitch, looking serenely back and forth at the two craft.

  Foot by foot, the command chopper dropped, coming to a rest on a patch of bare earth thirty yards away from Cayden. The bay doors slid open. Four men in NBC suits and mask scrambled out, fanning out in a wide semicircle. Each one held an XM rifle, trained on Cayden’s face or chest. Greg zoomed in on him with the eye scanners, and saw that he was smiling dimly, like a housewife or chef who had an excellent spread laid out. Why the Christ is he doing that? They’ve practically slapped the cuffs on, and we’re just sitting…

  His mental train halted, with a screech of imagined brakes. At first, he was too dumbstruck to do anything but stare. Then his lips curled in a bemused smirk. If he can pull thatoff– well, he is the first.

  Shifting a little, he ejected the clip from his pistol and tucked it away. Leah glanced sharply at him. Behind the screens, her eyes were wide and confused, even more so when he pulled a new clip from another pouch, one with a white tag near the top. Slotting it in, he whispered, ‘Trust me.’ She looked at him in confusion for a moment, then dipped her chin, and followed his lead.

  He brought the pistol to bear on the scene, staring down the sight. Two more figures had descended from the landed chopper, also in NBC gear. One was an officer, upper echelon by his bearing and attitude, carrying a pistol. The second man was unarmed, so far as Greg could see, and had a similar military posture, but it was clear he was an outsider. Must be the requisite spook, making sure of the capture.

  One of the other soldiers barked at Cayden. The older Golem went to his knees and clasped both hands behind his head, that tranquil smile still on his face. The crescent of soldiers moved closer to him, keeping several yards between him and themselves.

  The officer and the spook came up behind the line. The former kept his weapon trained on Cayden. From the set of his mask, he was speaking to the spook out of the corner of his mouth. The spook muttered something back. Strangely, he seemed less eager than the soldiers to approach Cayden. That was a first, for Greg. All the spook types wedealt with before, they’re the type to shoot or cuff first chance they get– including whatever the fuck those thingswere at Chicago and Monticello. Might be a noob– exceptall the rest before were professionals. Doesn’t fit. He frowned.

  The two men seemed to come to an agreement. Still keeping his weapon trained on Cayden, the officer waved to the team’s sergeant. The man slung his weapon back over one shoulder. With his free hand, he pulled a pair of thin metal loops from a belt pouch, connected by an even slimmer wire. ‘Clinchers’, in standard jargon. Built similar to the shock-cuffs used by civilian cops, these were a blend of steel cable and nano-fibre, strong enough even to resist Golem strength.

  Cayden angled his head toward the NCO as he approached. His smiling face was still fixed, but now there was a hint of something more. Mirth, as at a good prank – and, to Greg’s surprise, a kind of sadness or resignation. It was as if he longed for the cuffs, but knew he wasn’t meant to wear them. Watching for any twitch, the sergeant stepped behind him, and cautiously extended the first loop around his left wrist.

  A sharp pop! rang out, echoing though the quarry. A blue-lit object the size of a baseball erupted from the woods to Greg’s north, zipping high above the two choppers. Greg’s eye screens dropped three more filters, blocking out most of the white flash of EMP. Looking down the sights again, he saw the hovering chopper shake and wobble, the engine hurling sparks and flame as it shorted out. The four soldiers, the officer and the spook were cringing and hunched over, moaning and shouting to one other. Less than two seconds after, the craft struck the ground, crumpling the landing gear and shearing off its rotors.

  The whole scene dissolved into a haze of sound and motion. Even before the crash, Cayden was up and moving. He seized the sergeant’s arm with both hands, pulling him over one shoulder and slamming him to the ground with a crackle of breaking bones. Leaping to his feet, he seemed to blur, reappearing several yards away, behind the two nearest soldiers. Two short jabs, and the men collapsed, gasping for air through cracked ribs.

  By this time, the officer was moving himself. Without hesitation, he swung his weapon toward Cayden’s back. At once, Greg’s finger jerked. The pistol spat twice, striking the man in the chest and sides. He jerked and writhed, before collapsing. Greg winced; the stun bullets were powerful enough to knock out full-grown elephants, even in the lower-charge rounds he’d chosen – or fully-suited Golems. The two soldiers left upright spun to face the trees. Two shots from Leah took down the furthest of them, but the second opened up on full auto.

  Half a dozen slugs punched into Greg’s chest, shoulder and head. He tumbled flat on his back, dizzy, ears ringing. Leah’s gun barked twice more, followed by a muffled shout. He blinked and turned his neck several times, checking for new damage: aside from the ‘healing’ indents in the fabric, none. Thanking the clinger’s designers for the thousandth time, he pushed himself up on his knees, scanning the field again. All five soldiers from the first chopper were on the ground now, groaning in pain from cracked bones, nerve shock, or both. The pilots were still in the cockpit, huddled over their instruments. The spook wasn’t in sight; he’d either ducked flat or was hiding in the chopper.

  To the left, Cayden was emerging from the wreck site of the second bird. He carried an NBC-clad soldier by the collar in each massive hand, holding them almost a foot off the ground. Delicately, he laid them flat, ignoring their moans. Stalking back to the crash, he returned moments later with two more soldiers, placing them beside their comrades.

  Still wary, Greg stood up. Beside him, Leah imitated the motion. ‘You all right?’ she asked. Her features were hidden by the hood, but the worry was plain.

  ‘Yeah.’ He stretched and wiggled his arms. ‘Nothing a couple hours away from gunfights won’t cure.’ She just looked at
him, not speaking. He sighed, and cracked his neck. ‘I’m fine. Really.’

  Out of the blue, a new voice crackled in their hoods. It was female, hard as granite. ‘Getaway, calling Lockpick – repeat, Getaway calling Lockpick. If you are receiving, acknowledge and authenticate at once.’

  Greg and Leah shared a surprised look. Pressing a finger to his earbud, Greg looked northward, where the EMP shot had come from. ‘Getaway, this is Lockpick, acknowledged. Authentication: Golf-Lima-Delta-Charlie-314.’ A simple code – their initials, their target and date of departure – but the signal was close, and it’d be scrambled beyond outside detection by the fallout.

  There was a pause. Then the voice returned, a bit softer. ‘Authentication confirmed. Report as to mission outcome.’

  Greg looked out again, at the multiple bodies and two wrecked craft. Cayden reappeared, this time carrying the two pilots from the crash, and with two XMs slung across his back. Unlike the soldiers, these men were flailing wildly, trying and failing to break free. Ignoring this, the older Golem walked past the row of unconscious bodies, set them down, and cuffed each man over the head with one hand – not enough for a knockout, but plenty to rattle them. Picking up the clinchers from where they’d fallen, he laced them around the pilots’ wrists. Moving to the side of the fallen sergeant, he removed several more clinchers, using them to bind the other eight together in pairs. Most of them were too out of it to notice; those who weren’t earned a smack of their own, before desisting.

  A flicker of motion, by the intact chopper. The spook was standing up, both hands empty. Cayden spotted him – and then he was beside him. Before the other man could flinch, the older Golem smacked him across the back of his head, causing him to go limp, then lifted him bodily by the back of his suit with one hand. With a final warning gesture at the assembled bunch, he started for Greg and Leah’s spot. The spook squawked in pain, but didn’t try to break away.

  Taking all this in, Greg pressed his ear again. ‘Outcome is Sigma, Papa Foxtrot Alpha. Repeat: Sigma, Papa Foxtrot Alpha.’ Success, Pending Final Action, in the parlance they’d decided on before departing. Not just here, either.

  The pause was longer this time. When the voice returned, the undercurrent of pleasure was easy to hear. ‘Acknowledged. Extraction team is incoming, to the north. Stand by to confirm.’

  Stepping out from the treeline, Greg spotted four human-shaped figures emerging above the quarry’s northwest end. Zooming in, he saw all of them were garbed in clingers, their exterior patterns mimicking the surrounding forest. They moved at a steady, unhurried walk, aiming weapons toward the wreck or the trees around the clearing. He sucked in a long, relieved breath, and retracted his hood.

  Cayden halted, dumping his prisoner at his feet. The man moaned, turning over on his back. Ignoring him, Cayden stared hard at the approaching party. ‘That’s our pickup?’

  ‘Yeah.’ Pulling her hood back, Leah looked shrewdly at the older man. ‘You knew they were waiting, didn’t you?’ She held up her console arm. ‘Only camo patterns on other clingers can hide the wearer from the types of scanners we’re equipped with – but you knew anyway.’

  The ghost of a smile appeared on Cayden’s face, for the first time since they’d met him. ‘You should know most of all that there’s more to tracking than tech, or even your eyes and ears. Everything tells – smell, texture, the slope of the ground, the resistance to wind.’ He kicked at the ground, throwing up a small cloud of dust, and inhaled. ‘The prints were covered, but the disturbance was even more obvious than the trail. There were depressions in the bushes and gravel piles at the far end – no need for zoom-in to see them. And clingers have always had a faint odour, whether in the field or at the Facility. Something artificial, almost metallic – I suppose it’s part of the creation process.’

  ‘And that whole “lone bait” charade?’ Plusthe look on yourface, just before the EMP shot.Wonder what that was all about? Greg held back the question, though it wouldn’t go away soon.

  ‘The rotors said everything,’ Cayden said, in the same pedantic voice. ‘If they were out for blood, they wouldn’t waste their time with the stealth modifiers. All I needed was to stay in the open, and they’d come to me.’ His tone became darker, more serious. He kicked the prone man before them in the leg, hard enough to hurt without breaking. The spook yelped, but held still. ‘Plus, it’s beyond time that we got a better idea of who’s chasing us, and why.’

  By this time, the four new arrivals were a few yards away. One broke off to check the wreck and collect the Rangers’ weapons. Two others moved to stand guard over the prisoners, and look over the disabled intact chopper.

  The fourth figure stepped up to the travellers. One hand pressed the hood button, and yanked it back, exposing a feminine face – white and youthful, with a short bob of pale blond hair. Her eyes, electric-blue with deep lines, roved over the three of them, and the group of bound soldiers. When she spoke, it was with the same hard voice as over the headset. ‘See you picked up some extra trinkets on your D.C. jaunt.’ She gave them another once-over. ‘So you’ve got it?’

  Delicately, Greg unclasped the canister, and held it out. Megan’s expression didn’t change, but he could sense the relief in her tough, wiry posture. She looked to Cayden, her gaze wary and calculating. ‘And he’s the one who can open and decode it?’

  Cayden stared back stoically. ‘To an extent. Seems there’s another layer to get through – and I was curious enough to see what was so important beneath it to drag you younger types out after me.’

  ‘Good.’ Megan straightened, and gestured to the road. ‘We don’t normally patrol this far, as you know. But when Jorge’s system picked up the drone crash, we figured you couldn’t be far off, so we extended the range. We’ve got transport waiting by the old town airport – two Spectre-modified Humvees, full charge as well as backup gas.’

  ‘So Overwatch is up?’ Leah asked, pleased. Greg was, too. Jorge had been working round the clock since his own arrival at the Sanctuary to develop just the right all-encompassing software to piggyback on the world’s sparse satellite and other surveillance networks – and mask it appropriately, no easy task with the NeoNet upgrade, and watchdogs on almost every access point. If it was working at last, the Sanctuary stood a much better chance of taking root – and guarding itself against anybody with the military equivalent of pliers and weed killer.

  ‘Yep, two days ago. He isn’t a hundred per cent on its range beyond the Cascades, but as long as there’re satellites in place, anywhere in the world, the program’ll work fine.’ Megan glanced up at the steadily darkening sky, and the clouds forming to the east. ‘Weather’s supposed to take a nosedive overnight, which’ll limit any satellite coverage. And the rad-count ought to mask any thermals.’ Her eye cast critically over the prone figure before them, and the prisoners, now sitting close together and watching their captors closely while they ministered to their comrades’ minor wounds. ‘Which, if you’re expecting us to lug this bunch along, are going to draw more patrols and drones like a gazelle carcass draws jackals.’

  ‘We’re not taking all of them.’ Greg pointed to the man at Cayden’s feet. ‘This one has all the markings of a spook. Doubtful that he’s the brains, but whoever’s directing this wouldn’t send anybody he didn’t trust to handle a sweep like this.’ He thought he noticed the captive shift at this, but ignored it. ‘And unless I’m mistaken—’ he waved at the group of prisoners ‘—there’s somebody high-ranking in charge of them, more than just a typical front-line officer. Either one of them might have intel on exactly who it is that’s been after the three of us. And if it comes to it, it’d be smart to have some bargaining chips.’

  ‘And the others?’ Megan moved a hand to the hilt of her knife, as if she expected the answer.

  Would’ve been the one for metoo, not all that long ago, Greg thought. Still the same gutreaction in all of us, I guess. And she’s always been more in favour of it, after her time in the Caucasus, a
nd in Ukraine. ‘We collect their heavy weapons, ground the last chopper for good, and leave them. Any transponders they’ve got are fried, but they’ve got the suits, rations, and medkits.’ He squinted eastward. ‘Somebody’ll be around soon – and I have a pretty good idea who.’

  Leah’s grim nod said she caught his drift. She looked at them questioningly, but she didn’t push the subject. Instead, she brought two fingers to her mouth, and whistled sharply. The other three in the patrol trotted over. With their hoods up, Greg didn’t recognise any of them, but that wasn’t too strange. The Sanctuary’s numbers had been growing by ones and twos every week or so for a while, and plenty of the old hands spent most of their days on the perimeter – in full gear, without tags – so it was easy for faces to lose familiarity.

  Megan relayed Greg’s suggestions to the patrol in a few terse phrases. Not bothering with salutes, they set to work at once. One – a woman, by her stature – climbed into the surviving chopper, and began yanking the controls and panels free, throwing up small geysers of sparks and smoke. The other two – both men, one stockier than the other – focused on the prisoners. The taller one gathered up all the spare ammo clips, holding them under one arm as he lifted each of the XMs by the strap with the other. The stockier man went over each man’s cuffs, checked the seals on their suits, and ensured that every one of them had at least a knife – no worries about their trying to cut or shoot their way free. A few tried to struggle, but were swiftly quieted by their own comrades.

  Activating her sleeve interface, Megan called up a map. At Greg’s glance, Cayden strode over to the captives, undid the cuffs on the officer and marched him back to the throng of Golems. Up close, even through the suit, it was clear the man was a long-haul leader. He held himself erect, looking over each of them. No doubt he was searching for any weaknesses. His gaze lingered briefly on the other suited prisoner among them, whom Leah had pulled to his feet by that point, clinching his arms behind him. The two men’s eyes met, but neither said a word. Some other connection there, beyond the professional, Greg concluded. Have to chat it over, back home; might prove useful, and increase ‘chip value,’once we’re clear on who it is we’ve got.