by James Walker
“You sure you're OK?” Omicron asked.
“I'll be fine,” Lambda replied. “I think I'm just tired from the aftereffects of the linkage fluid.”
“As long as that freaky little brat didn't fry your brains or something.” Omicron leaned back in his seat and crossed his arms. “I'm a little disappointed, though. Leaving Hongpan with some business still unfinished.”
“What are you talking about?” Lambda asked. “We recovered the target. Or were you hoping to finish off the rebels?”
“That would have been a nice cherry on the icing, but that's not what I'm talking about,” Omicron said. “I mean Agent Hans and his merry little band.”
Lambda looked at Omicron through a gap in her fingers. “Well, you only have yourself to blame for that. You're the one who asked Director Nimh to drop all charges.”
“Yeah, so I could ice the bastards with friendly fire,” Omicron replied.
Lambda sat bolt upright and stared at Omicron in horror. “You didn't.”
“Only two of 'em,” he said in disappointment. “Never got a chance to track the others down. Well, at least our buddy Hans was one of 'em. Maybe someday I'll find the rest and make good on my promise.” He raised his hands and cracked his knuckles, grinning.
Bitter disappointment showed on Lambda's face. “I can't believe you did that.”
“What the hell are you getting all upset about?” Omicron asked in bewilderment. “Those sons of bitches were gonna put a bullet in our heads—after they had their fun with us, of course.”
“Obviously they deserved severe punishment,” Lambda said. “But cold-blooded murder of your own allies in the heat of battle isn't the way to do it. You should know that.”
“And here I thought you'd be thanking me.” Omicron put his hands behind his head and stared up at the ceiling. “Whatever. Sometimes I just don't get you.”
“The feeling is mutual.”
Lambda hid her face behind her hands and leaned forward, once again resting her arms on her legs. Omicron continued staring at the ceiling, a hurt and confused look on his face. They passed the remainder of the aerial journey in silence.
35
Vic slowly stirred back into consciousness. He was lying on his back, pinned to his seat at an uncomfortable angle by the restraints. His entire body ached, but nothing hurt worse than his throbbing head. He opened his eyes and beheld the dark interior of his exosuit's cockpit. A crack in the front viewscreen, just barely too narrow to admit a person, allowed a shaft of dim light to pour inside. He could see the shadowy outline of a human silhouette on the other side of the crack, looking in.
“...ic. Vic, can you hear me?”
Someone was calling his name. As the world came back into focus, Vic realized it was Esther looking through the crack in his canopy, calling him. She was no longer wearing her bulky hazmat suit, and her right arm was held in a bloody sling.
“I can hear you,” he answered.
“Good,” Esther said, “you're alert and responsive. Are you hurt? Is anything broken?”
Vic unfastened his restraints, then flexed his arms and legs. None of his movements caused him undue pain.
“I seem to be OK,” he said.
“I'll back off and give you some room,” Esther said. “Try to open your canopy.”
Esther disappeared. Vic waited a few seconds to give her time to stand clear, then grabbed the handle that opened the canopy and tried to turn it. It was stuck. He grabbed it with both hands and applied all his strength, but it would not budge.
“No good,” he called. “It's jammed shut.”
It was not Esther's voice that answered, but Pierson's, magnified by an exosuit's loudspeaker. “Move to the gunner's seat,” he ordered. “I'll pry your canopy open.”
Vic clambered over the back of the pilot's seat and flopped into the gunner's seat. A moment later, two sets of large, robotic fingers snaked their way through the crack and grabbed hold of either side. With a hideous screech of rending metal, the robotic hands pulled the crack open wider, then disappeared.
“Can you get through now?” Pierson's voice echoed.
Vic returned to the pilot seat, reached out and grabbed the edges of the crack, and pulled himself out of the canopy. He stood up on the chest of his wrecked exosuit and looked around. He was still in the same subterranean storage compound. The opened Cage and surrounding computer equipment stood to one side. On the other side, Esther was looking up at him, while Pierson's Mad Ox loomed above them both.
“Major Cutter,” Vic exclaimed. “The Cage—there was a girl inside. Spacy took her. It was one of the augments—”
“Dr. Klein told me what happened,” Pierson cut him off.
“We've got to get her back,” Vic said. “After everything we've been through—”
“We'll take care of that when the time comes,” Pierson replied. “Our first priority is survival. Follow me. There's no time.”
*
Vic followed Pierson and Esther back to the encampment. Most of the remaining rebel forces had pulled back and formed a final defensive perimeter. Vic's stomach lurched as he realized how precarious their situation must be if their defensive line had fallen back this far.
Pierson parked his Mad Ox and disembarked, then he and Esther hurried to the trailer that acted as the mobile base's command center. Vic followed them at a distance and stood just outside the door to the command center, hoping that their conversation would shed further light on the situation.
“Someone obviously sold us out,” Guntar's furious voice emanated from inside. “There's no way in hell the Theran bastards could have sprung this trap if someone hadn't leaked our position to them.”
“I have to agree,” Pierson said. “There's a traitor in our midst.”
“Or not in our midst, as the case may be,” Guntar said. “Where's that sniveling little weasel, Professor Harris? There hasn't been any sign of him since just before the attack started. Awfully convenient time to disappear, don't you think?”
Childers answered uncertainly, “But we don't have any proof—”
“What more proof do you need?” Guntar demanded. “A few days after he shows up, the Union is all over us. He vanishes without a trace just before they start their attack. It was idiotic to trust him.”
Childers' voice rose to match the anger in Guntar's. “What other choice did we have? We were never going to get the Cage open without his help. Dr. Klein herself admitted it was beyond the abilities of anyone here. He was the only person sympathetic to our cause with enough security expertise to unlock it.”
“Except he wasn't so sympathetic after all, was he, General?” Guntar shot back.
“There was no other way to open the Cage.”
“So we got the Cage open. What does it matter now that we've lost what was in it? All our sacrifices have been for nothing.”
“All right,” Pierson cut in, “trusting Professor Harris was a mistake. It's water under the bridge. Fighting amongst ourselves isn't going to help.”
There was a pause, then Guntar admitted, “You're right. Well, that's it, then. We'll retreat to the deepest part of the Undercity and start over from square one.”
Childers answered, “I hate to give more bad news, but I don't think we'll be doing that either. According to the troops who retreated from the front line, the enemy has blasted holes in the ground and infiltrated the Undercity all around our position. We're completely surrounded.”
“So what?” Guntar said. “We'll shoot our way out. We've still got enough forces left to give them one hell of a fight.”
“That would seem to be our only option,” Pierson agreed.
At that moment, a rebel came running through the encampment toward the command center. He brushed past Vic, paying him no heed, bolted inside and exclaimed, “General, the Therans have sent a communication drone to the edge of our position. The enemy commander is asking to speak with you. The demolition team looked it over and it doesn't seem to be
rigged with any traps.”
There was another pause, then the officers agreed to see what the enemy commander wanted and filed out of the command center. Vic followed them as the rebel messenger led them to the edge of the encampment, where a communication drone waited. A long cable trailed from the back of the drone and snaked around a distant corner, out of view. A holographic projection of a P.S.A. official hovered over the drone.
“I recognize you,” Childers said. “Ridley Nimh, executive director of the P.S.A.'s Hongpan division. What an honor, to receive a transmission from the top of the chain of command.”
“And to whom am I speaking?” Ridley asked.
“General Rick Childers,” he replied. “I'm the ranking officer of the SLIC forces here.”
“General Childers,” Ridley said. “I would like to negotiate the terms of your surrender.”
Guntar snorted. “Who the hell says we're surrendering?”
“You don't have to, of course,” Ridley shrugged. “If you would prefer, we could finish you off here.”
“That's quite some confidence you've got there, after all the waves we've fought back,” Guntar said. “You sure your forces are up to eating the casualties it will take to finish us off?”
“True, continuing the frontal assault would take its toll on both our forces,” Ridley admitted. “However, we needn't expose a single soldier to the danger of further combat to finish you off. By retreating underground, you've conveniently given us the opportunity to place explosives at strategic points on the surface that, if detonated, will collapse the entire district, burying all of you alive.”
“But you would turn all of Industrial Sector Seven into one giant crater,” Esther objected. “Surely you wouldn't go so far.”
“We already evacuated all lawful residents from the district prior to launching our attack,” Ridley replied. “The loss of one nonfunctional, barely-inhabited sector would be considered a good trade for finishing off an entire SLIC cell. I already have the governor's authorization to detonate the explosives if I deem it necessary.”
“It's a bluff,” Guntar said. “They probably haven't even planted any explosives. No way we're going to fall for such a childish trick.”
Ridley did not answer, but instead nodded to someone outside the range of the holographic projection. A moment later, a violent tremor caused the entire cavern to shake. Dust rained from the ceiling, and a single boulder dislodged and fell on one of the trailers, crushing it like a soda can.
“Still think it's a bluff?” Ridley asked.
There was a pause, then Childers asked, “What are your terms?”
“I offer you the following,” Ridley said. “Your forces are to assist us in an assault on an enemy facility, under our command. After the operation is concluded, you will disarm and your forces will be disbanded. In return for your cooperation, your manifold crimes against the colony of Chalice will be pardoned. You will, however, be required to undergo reconditioning as former class-1 criminals.
“Additionally, in the course of mopping up your remaining forces on the surface, we have taken over 50 rebel prisoners. Should you choose to accept our terms, they too will have their crimes pardoned, provided they agree to undergo reconditioning into lawful citizens. Should you refuse, they will surely be executed for high treason and terrorist activity shortly after we bury you under a million tons of earth.
“What is your answer?”
Pierson asked, “What is this 'enemy facility' you want our assistance assaulting? Another SLIC base?”
“Quite the contrary,” Ridley replied. “It belongs to an organization that I believe we regard as a mutual enemy.”
“What organization would that be?” Guntar asked.
“I'll leave that to your imagination.”
Childers asked, “Can we have some time to talk this over amongst ourselves?”
“I'll give you fifteen minutes,” Ridley replied. “Don't think to trick us. If there's any sign of movement from your forces, I'll order the explosives detonated immediately. If you don't give me your answer within the time limit, I'll order the explosives detonated immediately. Fifteen minutes. I look forward to your wise response.”
The hologram flickered off. The rebel officers moved away from the communication drone for their discussion. Vic continued following them, wondering how they would respond to this latest crisis. As far as he could tell, the P.S.A. had them checkmated.
“To hell with them,” Guntar spat. “I'd rather die fighting than let myself be turned into one of the Union's zombie slaves. I say we go out by raising as much hell as possible before they bury us under the rocks.”
“With all due respect, Colonel, that seems a rather defeatist attitude,” Pierson replied. “Once we're dead, our resistance truly is over. As long as we're alive, there will always be more opportunities to fight back. Our first duty is always to survive.”
“What opportunities?” Guntar demanded. “Weren't you listening? He wants us to go through reconditioning for class-1 criminals. Anybody who comes out of that is nothing but a brain-dead shell. Kiss your free will goodbye.”
“Maybe, but they won't do it until after the operation he mentioned,” Pierson replied. “We'd make useless soldiers if they reconditioned us. Any combat operation is a hotbed of chaos. That will be our opportunity to break free.”
“They'll have thought of that too,” Guntar objected. “The P.S.A. might be a bunch of rotten bastards, but they aren't stupid. You can bet they'll take every precaution to keep us in line. Hell, it sounds to me like they just want to use us to do their dirty work for them. What a brilliant stroke that would be—crushing a SLIC cell and using it to wipe out another enemy at the same time.”
Esther interjected, “I have an idea that may be more to your liking, Colonel.”
All eyes turned expectantly to Esther.
“They can hardly expect those of us who are seriously wounded to participate in this operation of theirs,” she said. “In order to fulfill their side of the bargain—or at least maintain a pretense that they intend to—they'll have to take our wounded as prisoners and give them treatment. In other words, our wounded will effectively be agents inside the walls of a P.S.A. facility.”
“So what?” Guntar asked. “Wounded or not, they'll still be kept under close guard.”
Esther smiled. “Maybe not if they're unconscious.”
Understanding began to dawn on the others' faces.
“I have a small amount of spryneg-5,” Esther said. “It's a drug that puts the recipient into an induced coma. They're guaranteed to come out of it after a while. By altering the dosage, it's possible to control the timing of the coma to within an hour. On top of that, the drug is almost impossible to detect after it's been in the bloodstream a little while.”
“I see your plan,” Pierson said. “When we turn ourselves in, we'll infiltrate their facilities with literal sleeper agents.”
Esther nodded. “But they'll have to really be injured, or the ruse is unlikely to work. Colonel Artega, I noticed you have some blood on your head. You would be the perfect candidate to lead the sleeper agents. That's what made me think of it.”
Guntar ran his fingers through his shaggy beard. “Not a bad plan. Certainly better than just handing all of us over to be used and mind-controlled by the Union. How much of that stuff do you have?”
“How long do we want to put them out for?” Esther asked.
“No matter what time we choose, there's a risk,” Childers said. “But I think the best bet would be about 36 hours. Long enough to put the enemy off their guard, but soon enough that hopefully the agents would be able to wake up and cause some havoc while the bulk of the P.S.A. forces are carrying out this mysterious assault operation.”
“In that case, I only have enough for about three people,” Esther said.
“No, that's perfect,” Pierson said. “Having too many would be suspicious in itself. But three agents is just enough to do some serious damage, wi
th a little luck.”
“Then the question,” Childers said, “is who the other two agents will be.”
“I volunteer myself,” Esther said. “I'm injured, and a technical expert is likely to be useful inside a P.S.A. facility.”
Pierson said, “Then number three would be...”
“Me.”
The voice was Eliot's. All eyes turned to the shaggy, athletic sergeant as he limped toward the group.
“I'm injured,” he said. “With three broken ribs, no way I can participate in the P.S.A.'s little assault op. But I refuse to sit around doing nothing while my comrades are in trouble. Please, let me in on this.”
“You got it, Harper,” Guntar replied. “Let's hope you don't regret it.”
“All right.” Esther gestured to Guntar and Eliot. “We don't have much time, so we'll have to hurry. Both of you come with me and I'll administer the spryneg-5.”
The three of them left, reducing the decision committee to Childers and Pierson. They traded a glance and came to an unspoken agreement.
“I'll spread the word about the situation,” Pierson said.
“I'll give Dr. Klein a few minutes to put her group under,” Childers said. “Then I'll contact Director Nimh and let him know that we accept his terms.”
36
The cargo plane flew through the night sky, passing over the satellite towns northwest of Hongpan. Then the towns gave way to automated farmland; then an expanse of rolling hills and stony ridges; then a vast forest. Finally, the cluster of hardened buildings that comprised Fort Spriggan came into sight, visible as a group of lights in the darkness.
The cargo plane descended, then touched down with the screech of rubber hitting tarmac. Once the plane had come to a complete halt, the loading ramp opened and the passengers disembarked.
Koga was the first out of the plane, together with two marine escorts and Astral. Koga had ordered a raincoat placed on Astral with the hood worn low over her brow, primarily to hide her third eye from curious stares; secondarily because the thin, high-cut medical gown they had found her in was not quite decent. No point in testing the troops' sense of professionalism.