Drones

by Rob J. Hayes

  She listens diligently. Her expression ranges from shock to anger to amusement. I can’t tell what she’ll do once I’ve finished the story. Maybe she’ll agree to help. Maybe she’ll kill everyone in the car and get out while she still can. She seems to find the fate of Dr Brant particularly amusing.

  “You’re a damned wrecking ball, Garrick,” Kendall says after I finish catching her up. “Everyone you touch has their lives smashed to rubble. Either that or they end up dead.”

  “You’re still standing,” I offer. It’s not much of an argument.

  “Yeah, I guess that’s one tally in your corner. You really think whatever these Sanctitists pulled out of the Arkotech computers will help us figure out who killed Pascal?”

  “I think Arkotech did it. Or, I think they hired people to remove the competition. And it just so happens that they had the names and addresses of all their competition. I hope the information the Sanctitists stole will be able to prove it.”

  “Right. Assuming it’s not just the security footage.”

  “What?”

  “You said there’s videos of you delivering this Brant guy to them. The Sanctitists spread those videos? So they must have stolen the security feed footage.”

  I don’t have an answer to that. It hadn’t even crossed my mind. I might be putting us both in danger for no reason at all. Doubt creeps into my mind.

  “Shit.” Kendall lets out a deep sigh. “Okay. Let’s pretend you’re not an idiot, Robot. So the Sanctitists have this information you think they might. And we somehow convince them to give us a copy instead of killing us. Then what?”

  “We collect it all together and find a way to get it to the authorities.” It sounds simple when I say it like that. Things are never so simple.

  “The authorities? Which authorities, Robot? The ones who did it in the first place or the ones who covered it up? The ones who did the hits were professionals with military training. You said yourself the authorities investigating the murders are covering up the evidence to make it look like gang hits, no mention of emotion tech.” Kendall laughs. “Arkotech must have some deep pockets.”

  “We’re here.” The big suit in the driver’s seat pulls the car to a stop and then looks back at us. I glance out the window. Here doesn’t really appear to be anywhere. I see some old, dilapidated buildings, just starting their inevitable sinking into the Lunar soil. There’s a group of people playing a card game on a table in the middle of the street. And there’s the edge of the dome. Glass triangles almost close enough to touch, but cordoned off by heavy steel supports.

  Mr White steps out of his own car and crosses over to ours, tapping on the window. I open the door and slip out. The concrete below feels strange under my feet, almost spongy.

  “Welcome to the Swamp,” Mr White says with a smile.

  I look down at the ground. The concrete isn’t cracked, but it appears to be soft and bubbling in places.

  “Something in the soil,” Mr White says. “Alters the concrete in some way. That’s why the buildings…” He points to one of the nearby hovels. One corner of the home is sinking down into the ground, giving the building a definite slant. “Just one of many problems we Lunar folk deal with that you Earthers never even hear about.”

  There are some arguments not worth getting into and this is one of them. Langdon told me long ago never to argue with a Lunie about the plight of living on the Moon. He said the Lunar citizens choose to live here and choose to bemoan the fact that it isn’t as hospitable as Earth. Langdon was never very sympathetic to the Moon.

  “Where are they?” Kendall asks. She walks around to the back of the old, blue sedan and opens up the trunk.

  “They’ll be here.” Mr White grins at her. “Nobody lives here and nobody polices it either. Best place for a meet. Sanctitists aren’t from Eden though. They’ll be coming along from outside the domes.”

  Kendall glares at the man for a moment, then opens up one of her suitcases. I move around the sedan to stand next to her. Apparently she listened to me. Inside that suitcase is an impressive arsenal of weapons.

  “You told me to bring my tools,” Kendall says with a wicked grin. “Are you carrying?”

  I shake my head.

  “Know how to use one?”

  “Ex-military and private security,” I say. It’s usually all anyone needs to know.

  “I know. That’s not what I asked.”

  “I know how to use a gun.”

  She reaches into the padded foam of the suitcase and pulls out a small pistol, another Glock. Nice and reliable. Kendall hands me the gun and a couple of magazines along with it.

  “You got a holster?” I ask.

  “Nope. Just tuck it into your trousers. You’ll fit right in with the rest of these gangsters.” She lets out a bark of laughter and loads another two pistols, fitting one into her own shoulder holster and another into a hard holster on her hip. Then Kendall pulls a rifle out of the suitcase and loads that too. It’s a make I’ve never seen before.

  “Custom build,” she tells me. “Looks big, but it’s light.” She flips the cap on the scope and looks through it for a moment. “There’s people in the buildings.”

  “Initiative?”

  Kendall shakes her head. “The boys playing poker are though. People in the buildings are laying low, but they’re watching us with some real intent.”

  I tuck my pistol into the back of my trousers, making sure the safety is on first. I’ve seen some messy wounds from people making that mistake. I glance up at the nearby hovels. Movement in one of the upstairs rooms of a building with a sharp slant to it.

  “They wouldn’t be so intent on hiding if they were Initiative,” I say quietly.

  “No shit.” Kendall attaches a sling to her rifle and pushes her right arm and head through so that it hangs down her chest. “You wearing a vest, Robot?”

  I shake my head.

  “Idiot. If shooting starts, stay down and let me cover you.”

  I smile at her. “Taking this protecting me thing seriously.” It’s not a complaint.

  “Last person I was meant to protect got two in the head and another four in the chest. You asked me for this favour, Robot. You want it or not?”

  I nod.

  “We’re trying not to look too menacing, Ms Kendall,” Mr White says. He glances down at her rifle and spreads his hands. “And you look menacing enough without the hardware.”

  “Here they come,” shouts one of Mr White’s comrades. The smile slips from his face and he moves away, out of sight.

  “Stay close to the cars,” Kendall says. “And be ready to get behind one.”

  “You really think this will go badly?” I couldn’t speak for the Initiative’s motives, nor the Sanctitists, but I only wanted answers, not more bodies.

  “You’ve never done business with the Initiative before have you, Robot?”

  I shake my head.

  “Things with them rarely go smoothly. They might like to pretend they’re peaceful, but they’re anything but.”

  Hard not to believe a trained assassin when they seem as nervous as Kendall. She gives my arm a shove. “Move it. Stay close.”

  We move around the sedan and towards Mr White. He’s standing by his old style muscle car. Cars like that are banned down on Earth, their fuel efficiency is atrocious and they make more noise than a shuttle. Up here on the Moon, it seems there are less restrictions. I don’t see any movement in any of the buildings now. It makes me hope that it was just Lunar citizens, those too poor to afford safe accommodation.

  “Scared, Mr Garrick?” Mr White asks. He’s not smiling anymore. He’s watching the atmo-suited group of eight entering the dome through a nearby airlock. The last of the eight step inside and they close the door behind them.

  “No.” It’s the truth. But he can see me sweating and assumes I’m nervous or scared. In truth I’m anxious for answers. I’m happy that I have Kendall here, watching my back. I’m sweating because I’m feeli
ng again. Because I haven’t had a harvest in a week. Not since Brant and Arkotech. Not since the last time I saw the Sanctitists.

  The interior airlock buzzes open and the Sanctitists filter through. They immediately set about removing their atmo-suits, still a good distance from us. I see guns on their side too. Between the Sanctitists, the Initiative, and Kendall, we now have enough weaponry to start a small war. Luckily, no one looks in any sort of rush to pull the trigger. Me least of all.

  Mr White moves forward a good few meters, holding his hands up to show he wants to talk. One of the Sanctitists moves to meet him, all the others wait behind. I don’t recognise any of them. I would have thought the man in the red jacket would have come to meet me at least.

  “You said you had James Garrick,” the Sanctitist, a small man with a bald head, says loudly. He’s not really talking to Mr White. He’s talking to me.

  “Yeah, we do,” Mr White replies quickly. “But before that…”

  “I’m here,” I say just as loudly, stepping around the muscle car.

  “Get back here,” Kendall hisses. She hesitates a moment, then moves with me.

  I stop a few paces behind Mr White. Kendall moves behind me and I feel a hand grab hold of the back of my shirt.

  “Should have put a vest on you,” she whispers in my ear.

  The bald man leans to the side of Mr White to look past him. He lifts up a small camera and takes a picture then presses a finger to his ear.

  I see the men playing cards to the side of the street start to pack up. From where I am, I can see they’re carrying guns as well. I doubt the Sanctitists can see it and the four of them look like innocent bystanders caught in a shady situation.

  “Kendall,” I say, pitching my voice to a whisper. “Do you see…”

  “Get ready to move, Robot. You’ve just set up a massacre, not a meet.”

  The bald man nods to something and pulls his hand away from his ear. “Hand him over.”

  Mr White shakes his head. “Not until I meet with the man in charge of you lot. We’ve got some matters to discuss. See, Eden is our territory and anyone who operates here… shi…”

  A gunshot rings out loud and Mr White’s body falls to the floor. I see the bald man, gun in hand, turn and launch into a run back to the other Sanctitists as they scramble for cover. A hard pull on my shirt and I’m stumbling backwards as Kendall pulls me behind the muscle car just as the first report of rifle fire sounds across the deserted streets.

  Chapter 23

  Tension: Rigid. Nerve-racking. Heart-stopping. Tension sells surprisingly well. Some people like the feeling of balancing on a knife edge. Sustained tension they call it. It’s almost as dangerous as terror.

  I hear bullets bury themselves into the car we’re hidden behind. Kendall is crouched down low, one hand on my shoulder, keeping my head down. There’s another man with us, one of Mr White’s big thugs. He points his shotgun over the roof of the car and shoots without looking. Blind fire. He’s as likely to hit his comrades as he is the Sanctitists.

  I steal a glance through the last remaining window. It doesn’t last long, Kendal pulls me back down and the window shatters from a bullet.

  “What did you see?” she asks.

  “The people in the buildings are theirs. They have good positions, shooting down on everyone. The other Sanctitists have retreated to cover. The Initiative lot are taking up positions across the street from them.” I shake my head. “I’ll be amazed if anyone gets out of this alive.”

  Fear. I remember being in situations just like this many times. I don’t remember the fear from them. Knowing that a single stray bullet could be the end at any moment. Knowing that there are people on the other end of scopes trying to kill you. It’s the sort of heart-pounding fear that freezes a person. Paralyses. I should be sweating. My heart is thumping fast and I’m still suffering from withdrawal, but I feel cold. This is the problem with harvesting. I’ve been in situations like this before, I’ve felt the fear before. But I can’t remember feeling it. I can’t remember how to overcome it. I feel as green as a new recruit.

  Kendall shakes me hard. “Stay with me, Robot!” she shouts as a salvo of bullets rip into the car. The big man beside me ducks down, on his hands and knees. He looks as scared as I feel, only it’s not freezing him into inaction.

  I pull the borrowed pistol from my belt and take a deep steadying breath. I don’t intend to die here today. My training comes back to me. I remember the other situations I’ve been in, just like this. It doesn’t remove the fear, but it helps me move my leaden limbs.

  “Good.” Kendall is wearing a toothy grimace. “Now, Robot. Whose side are we on?”

  The question catches me off guard. I have to think about it. We’re taking cover with the Lunar Initiative, but if they win the shoot out, I gain nothing. I need the Sanctitists. I need what they know. Or at least, what they might know.

  I give a sorry smile to Kendall. “The other one.”

  “Excellent.”

  Kendall pushes my head down, reaches over and shoots the big man beside me. One shot in the face and he’s gone. Spots of blood hit me. Kendall pops her pistol back into its holster and lifts her rifle.

  Another car is visible to us and so are the four Initiative thugs behind it. Kendall lets loose a series of short bursts and all four go down, dead or dying. She waits a few moments to see if any are still moving. One of them is. Another short report and he’s dead. Kendall switches magazines quickly and risks a glance over the top of the muscle car we’re crouching behind.

  “The rest of them are in those buildings on our right. You remember how to give covering fire, Robot?”

  I nod.

  She unclips the rifle from her sling and hands it to me. “Get the Sanctitists to keep their heads down and try not to kill anyone. Ready?”

  I nod again. My heart is hammering. The fear still has me in its grips. I wonder if Kendall feels it. I wonder if she’s the type of person who only feels alive when feeling fear. She places her back foot against mine.

  “Now!”

  I raise my head and aim the rifle through the broken windows of the car. Short bursts, gentle squeezing of the trigger. Recoil vibrating through my shoulder. Bullets hit the brickwork and the Sanctitists duck away. Kendall pushes off against my foot straight into a sprint. I keep firing, wild aiming meant to keep the Sanctitists looking anywhere but the street. Kendall vaults over the car with the four dead thugs behind it and keeps going, a pistol in her hand. She doesn’t slow as she disappears into the darkness of an open doorway. The rifle clicks. No more bullets. I drop back behind the car and make myself as small as possible. Bullets rip into the metal and all I can think of is how lucky I am that cars like this were made from steel, not aluminium.

  After a few moments the sound of gunfire fades and the car behind me stops ringing from it. An odd silence drifts over the street. I almost dare to poke my head out but decide against it. Two more gunshots echo out from the buildings and then another. I hear shouts, men’s voices warning others cut off sharply. Another few gunshots and a scream.

  I raise my head just a little, just enough to get a good view of the building Kendall ran into. Just in time to see a man in a suit stumble backwards out of a window and catch hold of the ledge. A shout ripping from his mouth as his fingers are shredded by the broken glass. I see a flash of gunfire in the window and hear another shot and the thug falls the last twenty feet to the ground, impacting with a sickening thud.

  Another silence falls over the street.

  “The Initiative are dead. All of them.” I hear Kendall shout.

  “Step out slowly. Hands raised. No weapons.” One of the Sanctitists. A male voice, sounds a lot like the little one who started the gun fight.

  “You still alive, Robot?”

  I’m smiling despite myself. Despite the situation. “I’m alive,” I shout.

  “Well… It’s up to you. We trusting these terrorists or should I kill them all?”
<
br />   I struggle not to laugh. It’s often that way once most of the tension leaks away from a violent situation. It’s hard not to be amused. I’ve never really understood why. Maybe it’s the relief of still being alive.

  “I’m out of bullets,” I shout.

  “Trusting it is.” Kendall is silent for a moment. “I’m coming out.”

  I see her step slowly out of the dark doorway, her hands held high. I don’t see any guns on her, but I doubt that means she’s unarmed. She also looks unhurt. Happiness and more than a touch of surprise. I put the rifle down on the ground and raise my own hands, following them up until I’m standing behind the muscle car.

  Sanctitists pour from their hiding places. I count nine and a few more still hiding in the buildings. This was a trap they had set long in advance. I don’t know what issue they have with the Initiative, but I wager this was a big blow against them. The little bald man rushes towards Kendall, three friends with him. She stands still, hands raised, and lets them pat her down. They look scared. She does not.

  A man and a woman move towards me. They check me for weapons, just like Kendall, and then escort me forwards into the middle of the street.

  “That was impressive,” the bald man says, staring up at Kendall.

  She looks down at him, a good couple of inches making her seem a giant. “That was easy,” she says with a savage grin. They haven’t cuffed her, and she stands at ease. “I hope you chose the right side, Robot.”

  “I hope so too,” I say before turning the to the small bald man. He seems to be in charge of the situation. “I’ve been looking for you people. I need to talk to the ones who attacked the A…”

  A fist to my stomach cuts me off and doubles me over. The ground lurches up to meet me and I spend a moment staring at the spongy concrete, gasping for air.

  “Sorry about that,” says the little bald man. “Fastest and easiest way to shut you up. We’ll talk and all of that. But not here, in the open. Not in Eden at all. Never know who’s watching or listening.”

  I struggle back to my feet to find Kendall chuckling at me. “I thought you military types know how to take a punch,” she says with a grin.