Void Legion

by Terry C. Simpson

  “Estela, have all the reminders been sent out for this evening’s party?”

  “Yes.”

  “The security measures… are they all in place?”

  “Yes, madam. And coordinated with every guest who has a security detail.”

  “Excellent. Please inform me of any changes.”

  “Yes, madam.”

  A message from Zhi Yin appeared in her HUD. A progress report on the algorithms to track the anomalies.

  Sidrie flicked to her next issue: video of C9040’s failed assassination attempt. Gun aimed, her hand trembling, the young red-headed DeGen stood before Shane Constantine, brilliant young senator and lead AI engineer at Sunrise Systems. C9040 lowered the weapon and fled Shane’s apartment. Shane burst into sobs. Then he bent down, unclenched the arms of his four-year-old daughter from around his leg, picked her up, and hugged her tight.

  Sidrie sighed. She’d hoped for better from C9040. The woman had been one of the best gameborn among those taken in their teens and had not made a false step in all five years she had been in the Total Immersion Program.

  “Estela, report on the cause of C9040’s failure.” She was certain she knew the reasons, but Estela’s confirmation was necessary for the records.

  “A hormonal and emotional spike when she saw the child,” Estela said.

  Sidrie shook her head. “Five years down the drain.”

  “We can still use her.” Dr. Redmond’s voice piped through Sidrie’s aurals. His image was in the opposite corner of her HUD.

  “Not this argument again.” Sidrie sighed.

  “That’s millions of credits in TNT,” he said. “Why let it go to waste?”

  “It has already gone to waste. She failed. She succumbed to her humanity. None have ever recovered.”

  “We could give her another role,” the doctor insisted. “Make her a permanent fixture in Void Legion. With her vast experience and levels, she could be pitted against other gameborn or the testers.”

  “And waste more resources?” Sidrie scowled. There had to be a way to cure the doctor of his attachment to some of his patients. “Total Immersion is a means to an end, a means to cut away humanity’s flaws. We’ve met failure with too many of the older models like her. I’m of a mind to destroy most of them and only keep the ones brought in when they were five years and younger.”

  “That’s several thousand people, many of them children.” Dr. Redmond’s voice was quiet. “Not to mention billions of credits to grow them.”

  “Several thousand people who are mostly DeGens,” corrected Sidrie. “And reminding me of how much we have spent on failure does nothing to help them. It achieves the opposite. I can cut the corporation’s losses in the name of progress. From here on, it must be about perfection.” She had ideas of where perfection would begin.

  A beep echoed in her aurals. A message flashed telling her it was an incoming secure communication from Senator Kirkland. “A moment, doctor.” She waved a finger to shut off Dr. Redmond and to accept the communication. “Senator, tell me we won the votes.”

  “I’m sorry, Miss Malikah, but we didn’t.” Senator Kirkland’s nasal voice sounded more annoyed than disappointed. “What happened to your surefire reason to sway Congress?”

  Sidrie frowned. “Constantine didn’t report an attempt on his life?”

  “No. Was there one?”

  “Apparently not.”

  “I could leak it.”

  “And give away everything? What are you? A fool?”

  “I–”

  “Answer and I will have your throat slit.” Sidrie set aside her annoyance to think. As much as she disliked the idea of changing her mind, now was a prudent time to do so. “Congress and the City Board will have a reason to convene soon enough. There will be no question as to the vote.”

  “Yes, Miss Malikah.”

  She severed the communication and resumed her line with the doctor. “I will go with your recommendation on C9040 this time. And only this time.”

  “Thank you, Miss Malikah.”

  When the call disconnected, Sidrie contacted her Chief Security Officer, Keenan Costace. The former Special Forces team leader would be able to arrange exactly what she had in mind. The misdirection would be perfect.

  ******

  Dressed in a curve hugging magenta and ivory halter-style gown adorned with dazzling sequined and lace embroidery, a deep V neckline, and a satin cape, Sidrie Malikah strode among the patrons after arriving fashionably late. Intimate details for every guest scrolled across the upper left quadrant of her optics. Not that she needed the help. She knew them all. She made certain to smile just the right amount. Offer a nod here. A wave there.

  Her words, she reserved for the important folks, the most prominent of them being Governor Richard Morrison. For in words, there was power. And people were tools. With the right combination of words, she could have anyone do her bidding. Add money to the equation and the possibilities became endless.

  The Governor fancied himself a ladies’ man. And like many a man, he enjoyed the idea of a chase. The idea itself made Sidrie sick, but her feelings did not matter. Only the goal.

  Tonight, the governor was wearing a royal blue Belucini suit that she was certain he thought made him quite refined, if his smile and confident demeanor were any indication. But the suit did little for his battle ax of a face and receding hairline. It was of a nice cut, but that too was ruined by his less than flattering build. His lone admirable quality were his eyes. They were hard gray pebbles. Trying to appear inconspicuous behind him were two of his personal security detail, a man and woman, in dark suits that screamed bodyguard.

  “Richard.” Sidrie smiled and held out her hand. “I’m honored you could make it tonight.”

  He took her hand and kissed it. She cringed inside but smiled all the same. “The honor is mine, my dear, Sidrie. I wouldn’t have missed this or you for the world.” He stepped back, still holding her hand, eyes twinkling as his gaze followed her neckline for the merest second before he caught himself. “Stunning, as usual.”

  She gave his hand a slight squeeze before easing hers away, gently so as not to make him feel put off. “Thank you. You flatter me.” She let her smile broaden and hoped he interpreted her blush as embarrassment.

  He grinned, most likely pleased with himself and the effect he imagined he had on women. Her, in particular. “Just giving a well-deserved compliment.”

  “Thank you, again.”

  “It’s nothing.” He leaned in a bit. “Now that you’re here, I’d like your company for the grand re-opening of Hamilton next week Friday.”

  “I–”

  “Don’t turn me down this time.”

  “I was about to say I’ll clear my schedule.”

  “You were?” His brows shot up.

  “Have our secretaries work out the details.”

  “Just like that?” His eyes narrowed. “It’s been what… four years of me inviting you to different functions only for you to turn me down? What changed?”

  She scowled. “I resent your implications. If I wanted to hold something over you, or expected a favor in exchange, I would have made such a request when I had my hydroponic silos resolve the latest food shortage after the DeGen attack. My fault for deciding I made you wait long enough.” She turned to walk away.

  “No, wait.” He touched her arm.

  She glanced down and faced him, regarding him with dead eyes.

  He withdrew his hand. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it like that. And I wouldn’t dream of accusing you of such a thing.”

  Liar, she thought.

  He threw his hands up in a helpless gesture. “Just surprised you came around.”

  “I surprise myself sometimes.”

  “So, we’re on t
hen?” His eyes were soft. Hopeful.

  She nodded. “My parents always raved about that musical. I’m excited to see it. I have to run now, but we’ll chat before the night is out.” She turned and strolled away, leaving him with his mouth open. Her stomach churned. Still, she managed to smile and continue her greetings.

  She had done her rounds, speaking to senators, investors, CEOs, VR developers, AI engineers, all the brightest tech industry minds across the NAR, when her aurals beeped. The call was from Chief Security Officer Keenan Costace.

  “Yes, Mister Costace?”

  He appeared in her HUD. The burly, coffee-skinned man was standing with his back to a set of holos. He stared straight at her with gunmetal eyes. “There’s been several DeGen attacks, Miss Malikah.”

  “And you feel the need to inform me because?”

  “They struck two of our hydroponic solos in Manhattan and one of our water reservoirs in Prospect Park. They also hit similar assets belonging to the other major Corps. All of them in Manhattan.”

  The news must have spread. Almost everyone was engaged in ways that said they were listening to communications via aurals. An agitated murmur rippled through the room. The murmur quickly became an uproar.

  She frowned. “So many places at once? In two boroughs? They have never done that before.”

  “Exactly. And that isn’t all.”

  “Go on.”

  “We captured one of them and got him to talk. He claimed they have the backing of the SAC.”

  “The cartels?” She refused to acknowledge the South American Conglomerate as any form of government.

  “Yes. At first, I thought it was a stretch. That he might’ve been at the point of saying anything just to end the pain.”

  “But?”

  “Some of the enemy had P56Zs. Most toted BR18s.”

  “You’re speaking gibberish right now.”

  “P56Zs are SAC pulse guns, ma’am. BR18s are their standard-issue assault rifles.”

  “See what else you can get out of him,” Sidrie said.

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  Sidrie tried to think. The number of attacks were truly unexpected. “How are our security forces holding up?”

  “Well enough. The DeGens captured a few floors, but we’re pushing them back. The fight in Prospect Park is a tougher one. They came in numbers. It’s First Ward level, so easier access for them. They used the old abandoned subway tunnels to burrow into the park past our security teams and droids.”

  “Thank you, Mr. Costace. Pull men from wherever you need and keep me posted.” She headed for Governor Morrison, barely hearing Keenan’s reply.

  “Yes, yes,” the Governor said as she drew close. The man in his personal security detachment stepped in front of her. She looked him up and down and smiled icily.

  Governor Morrison continued. “Send everything we have and crush them. I want the NYPD, NAIL, and the SDF out there. Hop to it. We can’t afford to lose any more assets.” When he finished, he strode over to her. “Sorry, Sidrie, but duty calls.”

  “I understand completely. Go. Go.”

  “Thank you.” He strode away with his security detail in tow. He began gathering his aides and other cabinet members.

  “Estela,” Sidrie said, tapping her pointer finger on her lips, “route the current news reports to the holos on the stage.”

  The holos changed from showing new Equitane properties, new vehicles, and Total Immersion, to the DeGen raids. News, police, and military drones hovered over several locations. Pulse and projectile weapon fire blazed a trail between the battling forces. The police and military drones unleashed missile salvos. Above the dissonance of their discharges came the staccato bursts of old-style gunfire.

  One holo displayed police and military EVTOL PTs and Airbuses flying across the Hudson River into Manhattan. Another followed a long line of Hover Type vehicles, sirens wailing, emergency lights blazing, as they sped across the Brooklyn Bridge. Soldiers in gear emblazoned with NAIL, SDF, and NYPD had landed on a building’s rooftop. In Prospect Park, the fighting was taking place at different sections of the wall surrounding the lake from which a few silos got their water supply.

  Transfixed, everyone stared at the holos. Cheers went up when DeGens fell. Gasps when it was one of the good guys. More than a few folks were pointing and yelling whenever they saw a DeGen try to snap off a shot from cover or attempt an ambush. As if the intended targets could hear them.

  Something boomed within the building, startling Sidrie. The lights went out. A klaxon wailed. People screamed. From somewhere close by came the burst of pulse weapon discharges and stutter of assault rifle fire.

  “Estela, what was that?”

  No answer.

  In fact, Sidrie’s optics were completely dark. No information scrolled across her HUD. Something was wrong. Very wrong. A tightness gripped her chest. A foreign yet familiar feeling. One she hadn’t felt in years. Decades. One that still haunted her. A memory of terror from the night some DeGens broke into their house in Dumbo, right off the Brooklyn Bridge, and killed her parents. Raped her. Left her for dead.

  She sucked in ragged breaths, chest heaving. God, this can’t be happening. Not here. Not now. Why didn’t I bring security? I should’ve brought security! A part of her wanted to flee through her secret passage in the back. In less than two minutes she could be upstairs in the most secure quarters in New New York. Stop it, woman. Breathe. This is your place, your home.

  “We have to get out of here,” someone yelled.

  Beams of light emanated from the few people who had worn Smart Glasses rather than implants. A commotion ensued. In the spasmodic lighting, there came a mad scramble for the door amid shouts and screams. She could imagine the crush of people, some falling, only to be trampled by a hundred feet. More screams. Some of which cut off abruptly.

  Closing her eyes, she forced herself to breathe long and slow. Her thundering heart slowed. “You are in control. You are always in control.” Over and over she whispered to herself.

  Red and white strobe lights flashed on. Flickering spasmodically, they cast an eerie glow over the crowd struggling to get out, made them into a frenetic mass. But full security measures had kicked in. The door would not budge.

  Her optics flickered to life. “Mic for this room.” It clicked on. “Everyone stop. Be quiet.” Her voice echoed.

  The room froze.

  “You’re safer in here than out there. This room is sealed.”

  Conversation picked up. Someone shouted a question that she couldn’t discern.

  “Some people got trampled just now,” she said. “Help them.”

  People acted on her words. They assisted the fallen who could not stand on their own. Others who got up, groggy and bleeding, were led to the stage. A few waiters and waitresses retrieved first aid kits. There were a couple doctors and nurses among the crowd. They got to work.

  Sidrie turned off the mic. “Estela report.”

  Still no answer.

  Her aurals beeped. It was Keenan. “What the hell is going on?” she asked.

  “DeGens attacked us here. They got inside the Towers and set off an EMP,” he said. “Knocked out everything. Most of our systems are still down. I’m leading a full company down to you.”

  Grimacing, Sidrie shook her head. “Here? How did they get past the security droids and cameras downstairs?”

  “We were hacked.”

  “Hacked?” She frowned.

  “Yes. Cyber caught it before they got deep but not before they managed to shut off the cameras and disable the MX5s.”

  She shook her head. The DeGens were a bunch of cast offs, the worst society had to offer. Surely, none among them were capable of getting past the building’s encryption protocols. And yet they had.

 
The weapons fire escalated. It grew closer.

  “Hurry.”

  “Almost there, ma’am.”

  Governor Morrison and his detail approached, emergency strobes casting them in a macabre mix of red, white, and shadow. Accompanying them were a dozen other men and women with handguns, security for several other important patrons. Their employers were right behind them.

  The Governor stopped before her and asked, “Are you certain they can’t get in here?”

  “I’m positive, Governor. Sit tight. My men are on the way.”

  “Miss Malikah,” Governor Morrison’s clean-shaven bodyguard said, “I’m Henry. I think we should prepare just in case things go badly.”

  “What do you need?”

  “Tell everyone to fall back from the door. Tell them to help us stack up these tables and chairs close to the doors and back this way.” He pointed. “Then the rest of you head toward the side of the stage so that you can put it between you and any fire.”

  Sidrie did as he asked and made Keenan aware of the plan. People rushed this way and that to comply. Within minutes, the area near the entrance was an obstacle course of monstrous chairs and heavy tables under the capering strobes. The armed men and women split up to either side of the room with a few tables as cover.

  The dissonance of pulse weapon and assault rifle fire raged. Right outside now. An explosion roared, its reverberations felt within the floor.

  A hush fell over the room. A breathless murmur of suppressed fear. Dread. Whispered prayers for the room to be impregnable, for the authorities to arrive in time to prevent a massacre.

  The pitch of the firefight changed, pulse bursts and assault rifle chatter ringing out in measured intervals. A chaotic fusillade answered. The pattern repeated several times. Fire and response. Then the bursts grew slower and singular. Sporadic. Soon, all that was left was silence. An eternity of emptiness.

  Crouched behind the stage with Richard beside her, Sidrie peered toward the door. The expectant breathing and whispered prayers of numerous guests filled the air. As did their perfumes and colognes.