by M. R. Forbes
Chains sat up, looking at him. A tear trickled down his cheek.
“Grepping bastards,” she said.
Hayden nodded in agreement, withdrawing the blades from Jake’s head. “He should have let me handle it,” he said softly. He dug into Jake’s pockets, withdrawing the Butcher’s transmitter. He held it out to Chains. “Get the Butcher charged, and see about refueling the tank.”
She took the transmitter, and he stood up.
“What are you going to do?” she asked.
“Finish cleaning house,” he replied.
He slid the empty magazine out of his rifle, taking a fresh one from the body armor and locking it in.
“I should come with you,” Chains said.
“No. I’ve got it. Stay here.”
“Sheriff-” she started to say.
“Stay here,” Hayden repeated. “Get the Butcher charging and the tank refueled. Please.”
Chains nodded somberly. She put her hand over Jake’s eyes, pushing them closed. Then she jumped to her feet, looking around the garage for the things she needed.
Hayden walked over to the metal door. He pushed against it, finding it locked.
“Chains,” he shouted.
She stopped and looked at him.
“Get the transmitter. I need some help with the door.”
She returned to Jake’s body, taking the Butcher’s control device from his pocket. A moment later, the roid started to move, climbing off the tank and approaching Hayden.
He stepped aside, letting the machine do its work. It put its hands on the door, flexed its arms, and pushed.
The door bent inward, held in place by a metal bar across the back. It didn’t survive the pressure long, the bolts in its anchors giving way, breaking free of the frame and allowing the door to be torn off the hinges and thrown back and into the wall. It made a loud crack as it hit that echoed down the stairwell.
Hayden ducked around the Butcher, putting the rifle to his eyes and sweeping the stairs. He started to descend.
There was only one level down. Hayden paused there, finding this door was barred as well, the Scrappers doing their best to keep him out of the base. Were they so afraid of him? Then why had they been so belligerent with Jake? He didn’t understand these people or the decisions they made. There was no reason for it.
He backed away from the door, moving to the first platform on the steps and shifting his finger to the secondary trigger. The explosion would either collapse the stairwell or remove the door. He was fine with either outcome. They probably didn’t have another way out.
He squeezed the trigger. The metal ball thunked out of the barrel, hitting the door and sticking to it. He retreated around the corner, pressing back against the wall. The explosive detonated, shaking the entire structure and sending dust and mortar down on his head. He heard a scream from inside the door. A guard?
He counted to five and then turned the corner again. There was so much dust it was hard to see, but it was clear the stairwell hadn’t collapsed. The door was twisted and bent, hanging almost sideways, the metal behind it blown away. A soldier was on the ground, a piece of shrapnel through his chest.
Hayden peered through the opening with the rifle. The corridor was clear. He slipped past the door and into the base. The wall beside him had the USSF logo on it, nearly two meters in diameter.
He kept walking along the corridor, pausing at each doorway, tapping the door with his rifle, then pushing it open, then sweeping it for signs of the enemy. As he cleared the second door, he heard footsteps coming toward him from an adjacent hallway. He moved the rifle to the back of the body armor, drawing a USMC pistol from his hip.
The Scrappers stopped at the corner, out of sight. He heard a tick, and then a firebomb came from the side, bouncing off the wall and rolling toward him.
He ran forward, hopping over the device and making it to the corner, letting his body slam into the wall to stop his momentum, turned to face the enemy.
They were surprised by the maneuver, left having to adjust their aim. He fired into them, one round after another.
The firebomb went off, a soft detonation that spread flame across the hallway. Hayden threw himself from the wall, into the Scrappers, closing his replacement fist and extending the claws. He slashed one of them in the face, taking a round in the gut from another. It didn’t pierce the armor, and he turned the pistol and fired, hitting the soldier in the throat.
It was over as quickly as it started. Four dead Scrappers sat at Hayden’s feet. He breathed heavily, his adrenaline pumping, his anger and frustration coming out in his assault.
Sergeant Nil wasn’t among them. Where the hell had he gone?
He stepped over the dead, continuing down the corridor. He reached a larger door to his right. It was open and led into a dining area. Old metal tables and chairs were arranged inside, and the smell of meat wafted out from the back. What kind of meat?
He noticed a dark spot behind a counter. Black, with a pale star near the front.
He stepped into the mess.
“Sergeant Nil,” he growled. “You didn’t duck low enough.”
The Sergeant didn’t move.
“Are you the only one left here, Sergeant?” Hayden asked. “Not much of a defense.”
Nil rose slowly. His hands were down, hidden by the counter.
“Who are you?” the Sergeant asked.
“Sheriff Duke,” Hayden replied. “I’m looking for my wife. She was here with Ghost. Two, three days ago.”
“You’re the Insider?” he said. “You’re supposed to be grepping dead.”
“I’m not,” Hayden said.
“Your wife is gone, Sheriff,” Nil said. “Ghost took her to Ports. Just the two of them.” He raised his head, clearing the counter. He was smiling. “Just the two of them,” he repeated. “Ghost has a way with the women. Shit, Ghost has a way with everybody. And anyone he doesn’t have a way with always seems to wind up dead.” He was talking, but Hayden could tell his hands were moving slightly, edging closer to his gun. “You should thank him when you see him. Oversergeant Grimly was going to do your wife hard. Ghost killed him for it. She’s his property now.”
Hayden’s eyes stayed fixed on the soldier. He was trying to get under his skin. Distract him. Break his concentration. He knew why.
“Three days,” Nil said. “Plenty long enough for him to seduce her and get into her pants. One way or another. Sorry, Insider. Must be rough to get introduced to the real Earth like this.”
“I’m learning to adjust,” Hayden said, lowering his gun. “Why don’t you come out into the open? You want to take a shot at me? You can do it there.”
Nil nodded. “Sure. Have it your way, Sheriff.”
He started to move.
It all happened in a split second. It wasn’t Nil’s feet that were moving. It was his arm. His gun arm. Hayden raised his pistol again, not slowing the vertical momentum as he pulled the trigger. Nil’s weapon came level at the same time the bullet hit him, right between the eyes. The force of it knocked his aim off when what was left of his nervous system managed to send a signal to his finger to take the shot. His round went high, hitting the ceiling half a dozen meters in front of Hayden.
Then he collapsed behind the counter.
Hayden held his pistol in front of his face for a moment, making sure the Scrapper didn’t get back up. When he didn’t, he lowered it back beneath his coat, snapping it to the armor there. He turned around, walking out of the mess.
He moved down the hall, less cautious but still on alert. He made his way through the compound, checking the rooms as he passed them. He came to a small room with four bunks in it. The bottom bunk was unmade. He stared at it a moment and then stepped in, leaning down over it and lifting a single long strand of dark hair. Natalia’s hair. He would know it anywhere. He held it tight before tucking it into the pocket of his coat.
He left the room and continued down the hall. He came to the last door, openin
g it and entering. This room was large and well appointed. A king-sized bed, nightstands. A bottle of wine was on the dresser along with a pair of glasses. He smelled blood. He walked through it, to the bathroom in the back. He looked into the shower there, finding more of Natalia’s hair stuck to the drain.
He exited the bathroom, crossing to a closet and swinging it open. Inside were the best quality clothes he had seen, in the form of a trio of softly spun suits. Dark suits, not white like Ghost preferred to wear. Did these belong to King? A wide-brimmed hat sat on a shelf above the suits. He reached up and grabbed it, taking it down and placing it on his head. The fit was a little snug, but he liked the idea of taking it from the Despot.
He spent a few more minutes searching the room, looking for anything he could use. He found an old copy of a Bible in the nightstand drawer, but little else.
He abandoned the room, finishing his sweep of the compound. There were no more Scrappers inside. There were no other signs of Natalia, either. He discovered the large generator running the place, and later a small communications station. He could hear the Scrappers chattering to one another over what he guessed was a series of longer-range transceivers, but after thirty minutes none of them mentioned Ports or Ghost or Natalia or King, and he lost interest.
He headed out of the facility, climbing the stairs back to the garage. Jake’s body was still where he had left it. Chains was off to the side, sitting on the tank. The Butcher was connected to the wall by a thick wire, a flashing light indicating it was receiving power.
“We’ll be ready to go in two hours, Sheriff,” she said.
“Did you find fuel for the tank?”
“I found fuel. It smelled the same, so I hope it was for the tank. I guess we’ll find out.”
“You don’t have to come with me,” Hayden said. “You see what happens to the people who do. I told Jake the same thing. He wouldn’t listen.”
“I’m not going to listen, either, Sheriff,” Chains said. “You’d be alone without me, now. I’ve been on my own out there. I know what it’s like. But I was alone because I couldn’t trust anyone. I trust you. I think you’re a little crazy in the head, but I trust you.”
“I’m going to get you killed.”
“If you plan to do what’s right, you’re going to get a lot of people killed. But they’re going to die willingly because they’re doing what’s right. That’s how Jake died. That’s how I’ll die, too.” She paused and then allowed herself a small smile. “Besides, do you have any idea how to drive a tank?”
“No.” He smiled back at her. “Neither do you. You can’t even put it in reverse.”
She wiggled her fingers at him.
“What does that mean?” he asked.
“Nothing pleasant,” she replied. “But in this case, it’s supposed to be endearing.”
“Then I’ll take it that way.” He turned his head back to Jake, another pang of guilt causing him to shiver. “We have two hours. We should take care of his body. On the Pilgrim, the corpses are sent to Medical for processing. They get broken down and reused.”
“Reused?”
“It sounds awful. It isn’t as bad as it sounds. From the videos I saw, you used to bury the dead.”
“We still do, when we can.”
“Then we’ll find something to dig with and bring him outside.”
“You want to go outside? What about the trife?”
“We won’t be far, and we can call that if we need to.” He pointed to the Butcher. “I wish I could bring him back to his farm. This will have to do.”
“It’s probably a better burial than he would have gotten otherwise,” Chains said. She paused a moment. “Sheriff?”
“What is it, Chains?” he asked.
“Casey,” she said. “My name is Casey.”
“Casey? That’s a pretty name.”
She blushed slightly beneath the grime. “Thank you. I can’t stand hearing it from other people. They’ve always used it to hurt me. That’s why I go by Chains. I know you won’t hurt me. You can call me that if you want.”
He stared at her a moment. She was putting her faith in him. Was she going to die like all of the rest?
“Okay, Casey,” he said. “I’ll do my best not to let you down.”
“I know. Nice hat, by the way.”
42
NATALIA LEANED BACK in her chair. The glow of the mainframe terminal flared out ahead of her, revealing the logo of a blue eagle with a white star in its grip, against a red background. A small box sat beneath the logo, with simple instructions:
ENTER PASSWORD.
Three days had passed since Ghost had broken her spirit. Three days that were both the best and worst since Hayden’s death. Three days spent working on the problem Ghost had presented to her: a room full of computers that would not start.
She used all of her waking hours on the problem. Eighteen each day. It was better than being in her room, naked and alone, left to remember Hayden, left to mourn with no way to end her own life. They took everything from her. They even drained the water from the toilet, so she wouldn’t be able to drown herself.
She had examined all of the conduits. She had tested the connections. She went over wiring diagrams and tried to isolate everything. She traced the problem back to a single large box at the front-end of the room. All of the power flowed through it, and at first, it seemed operational. Then she realized there was a thermostat sending a signal out to another device located below the servers, and that equipment wasn’t responding. It had taken time to lift up the grated floor of the room, to find the small access hatch and descend into its bowels. She discovered the main control board had burned out. She removed it and brought it back to Ghost with simple instructions:
“Find something that looks like this and bring it back here.”
He had looked at her, a small smirk appearing on his face. Was he impressed with her work? Amused by how agreeable she had become? Uncertain of her motives or if she was telling the truth?
Regardless, he thanked her, took the board, and disappeared.
He returned early the next morning while she was asleep. He was dirty and sweaty, and he had stitched a cut above his left eye. He also had a matching board in hand.
“We found two of them,” he said. “In case this one is also damaged.”
He didn’t tell her she had to rise to fix it immediately. She decided she would, getting up and making a quick trip to the bathroom before rejoining him in the hallway, where he returned her clothes.
He didn’t usually stay with her when she worked. He usually had Bones come down to keep an eye on her. The woman hovered near her any time she was outside of her room. Bones didn’t speak to Natalia, even when Natalia tried to speak to Bones. The soldier kept her distance but was always alert, making sure she was earning Ghost’s trust, instead of betraying it.
This time, he escorted her from her room personally.
There was nobody else in the server room when they arrived. She turned the lights on; a series of overhead diodes that provided more than ample illumination to the space. She pointed to a rolling cart with dozens of tools organized on it.
“I’ll need that,” she said.
Ghost looked tired, but he did as she said, retrieving the tools and wheeling them to the open part of the floor. She climbed down into it before holding up her hand.
“The board,” she said.
He passed it down to her.
“I also need a screwdriver.”
He handed it down, too.
She screwed the board back into place.
“Soldering gun,” she said, holding her hand up.
He didn’t react right away.
“Ghost, soldering gun,” she repeated, looking up at him.
He was staring into space, distracted by a thought. He looked bothered. Concerned.
About what?
“Chuck,” she said loudly, using his name to break him out of his trance.
His eyes d
rifted toward her. They bore into her in a way that made her shake.
“Soldering gun,” she said again, steeling herself against the gaze.
He passed the tool down to her, moving slowly.
“Is there something you want to tell me?” she said.
“No,” he replied. “Keep working.”
She took the gun, using it to reconnect the thermostat wires to the new control board. She made a few other adjustments and then climbed back up.
He was still there, looking at her intently. She could tell he was worried about something. Worried enough that he was struggling to hide it.
“Let’s see what we’ve got,” she said, leaving him there while she made her way back to the main power switch.
She opened the face and flipped the switch. A series of lights began to flip to green on the box itself, and the ground started to rumble beneath her feet. Ghost looked at the floor, surprised by the sudden vibration, which calmed a moment later. Then a blast of cool air began to rise from one side of the vented ground, while a second fan at the other end pulled the warmer air in.
The servers, all two hundred of them, showed sudden signs of life.
That was last night. Today, it seemed ironic to her that she had repaired the HVAC unit beneath the floor and gotten the servers up and running again, only to be stymied by something as simple as a series of letters, numbers, and symbols. Of course, she had seen an interface like this plenty of times before. This software was more up to date than the operating system that helped manage the critical systems on the Pilgrim, but at its heart it was essentially the same thing.
Then again, she had never needed to guess the password to the MEDS; the Metro Engineering Diagnostics Service. She had the administrator codes etched into her brain, and they were the first thing she tried here, unsurprised when they didn’t take.
Ghost had asked her how they could bypass the screen. They had come across the security before, and been equally stumped about working around it. He was impatient when he asked, whatever was bothering him lingering in everything he said and did.
She had explained some of the potential methods to him. She had described brute force methods, dictionary-based algorithms, and rainbow table vectors as simply as she could. He had stared back at her like she was speaking another language, and in a sense she was. Then she told him the password was probably written down somewhere or hiding in plain sight. If they had found anything in the rooms of the scientists, that was a good place to start.