by JCH Rigby
A very good result with Morse, battle codes, frequency-agility, and ECM/ECCM. Crypto and Datalink were also very good.
PHYSICAL COMBAT INSTRUCTOR: UNARMED COMBAT AND FITNESS
Arden arrived with a good standard of fitness, no old injuries, and reasonable competence in the usual military unarmed combat techniques (aikido, judo, karate). He has also learned a great deal on the course.
He is now up to a very high level of fitness, with particularly good upper body strength and overall stamina. The cardio-vascular respiratory system is first rate, and he has a very high VO2 max. Excellent body fat percentage. Biomechanically, he is sound.
In terms of unarmed combat, he is careful, almost thoughtful, before committing himself to a move, however, while he spends a long time in the opening moments of a fight apparently stalling, he takes care to read an opponent’s style. He’ll never be a competition winner, but I’d back him against a real opponent. He works well with the Enhancement training devices, and is adept at adjusting his reactions to their force multiplication effect. See also Medical Officer’s report for analysis of suitability for Enhancement.
SIMULATOR REPORT: L/CPL ARDEN, S
The test commenced at 1300 hours with a standard intrusion scenario. Subject was tasked to respond to the intrusion of terrorists into a high-value civil scientific installation. Its nature not being specified. Enemy strength was three; weapons, all small arms; their presumed aim: incapacitation of the facility, which could be achieved either by destroying the area known as Plant ‘A,’ or by shutting down 2 coolant valves simultaneously.
Subject believed himself to be Enhanced to Level 2 (neural overdrive at 40% of maximum, downloaded orders, internal comms on one secure frequency, full optical, hearing protection), and armed with an assault rifle, 1,000 rounds; bayonet; pistol, 50 rounds; 10 grenades, anti-personnel, confined area.
Time factor was applied.
Mission rated at: Difficulty, Level 2; Realism, Level 6; Wound Sensation, Level 7.
I’m off and running down the main corridor. Take risks early, away from where the enemy must be. Three of them; time is tight. The bag guys could blow this bloody place any minute.
Turnings flashing past. Where the hell am I? Check the color codes on the walls; Facility 28, Level Alfa, Corridor 6A. Fair enough. Rifle banging on my chest; bad battle preparation, Stevie. Tighten the sling but keep moving.
Endless bloody doors. Wait. Four down, left; opening. Flat against the wall, don’t like to use a doorway for cover you never know what’s lurking behind a closed door, weapon up into aim, safety off, select auto.
A civvy stumbles into the corridor from an open office doorway, fear written all over his face. Spin around, check the rear. All clear. I grab the civvy pointing him toward a safe exit.
“Go on, you’re okay. Don’t hang around.”
Move again. Wait. Check his office. Can’t check everyone with so little time, but don’t leave an open door behind you. Speed up, dive through, roll. Up and scan; all clear. Take the chance to adjust my rifle sling. Move again. Out, left, get a shift on. Head for Plant A. Easiest option for the bad guys to do damage.
More corridors but I’m all right, I know where I am now, where I’m headed. Open space ahead, Facility 32, far end’s Plant A. Lots of heavy machinery, gives the bad guys good thermal and visual cover. Slow down. Mission is to find the assholes, not race them.
Stalk, slow, senses quivering. Flick between IR and visual range, watch everything.
High right. Infra-red picture of two bad guys working on something. Number three—where is he? Over at the coolant valves? Yeah, that’ll be it; he’ll be going for the alternate in case I get these guys. Deal with him next.
How am I going to make it up onto the upper level? Metal ladder; that’ll ring, however fast I am. Travellator leading to the upper level; that’ll do. Here we go; shades of a Nottingham shopping mall.
Wish I hadn’t thought of that. Can’t let the guys down again, though. Flat on my belly, heart pounding, ears straining.
Here’s the top and it dumps me out on the walkway. Crawl around the corner. There they are, easy meat, sights up.
Something’s wrong with this.
It takes two to close both coolant valves. Number three can’t do it alone. He’s still here somewhere.
Noise behind.
It’s him. I’m going to be too slow—too slow, again.
Piercing pain flashes down my spine. Shit, that hurts.
Shit, shit, shit.
TEST CONCLUDED 1305 HOURS. GRADING: UNSATISFACTORY
ONTO THE ROOFTOP, FLAT on my belly; slither over so I don’t break the skyline. Careful not to snag the suit. 1,500 stories up and the wind’s howling like a bastard. Drop the suction pads and the powerlift pack. Some sort of plant room to my front. Elevator motors? Doesn’t matter. There’s the roof door; looks like it hasn’t been opened for years. Like the orders said. Ideal. Dash forward, keeping low. Quick circuit; all clear.
Back to the edge. Pack; glue: where the hell is it? Got it. Put a dollop there, drive the webmount into it. Brace it with another dollop of glue there, then run some webline out to the edge of the plant room for extra strength.
Good. Nice and solid. Clip the spider onto the trailing end and lean over the edge. Shit, what a drop. Those aircars look tiny. Don’t think about it, Steve. Where are the others? There, by the base of the wall on that little roof-ridge. Hard to see without infra-red; good. Point spidey the flying remote the right way, goose him once on the command channel and he’s off, whizzing away on his webline.
<
Grab the pack again, and its back to the plant room; another check of the door. Cutting lance, power cell; okay. Fire up, you bastard.
There we go. Thirty seconds warm-up and it’ll be ready.
Here come the others, web winches spinning. Fischer, little Paul, Angie with the comms pack. Set up the datalink relay. Good. Paul’s got the lance and he’s started on the door.
Datalink’s ready back to Command. Door’s through; put it down gently.
Down one flight of stairs, three at a time; hold at the landing access door. Paul’s ready for this door; decoder slapped on the lock, interrogating the mechanism and soothing the alarm back to sleep.
<
Love it. Fischer’s halfway up the stairs, still covering the door.
Paul tickles the lock and the door sighs open. We’re through and running; neural overdrive at 60 percent. Got to be fast here.
Two guards ahead, haven’t even seen us yet. Fischer takes the left one, I’ve got the right. A quick knife slash each and they’re down. Bodies dragged along with us and shoved into storeroom two doors down. We’ve been inside the building seven seconds.
Noise around the next corner; the main work area. Scan around; terminals everywhere, twenty-five or thirty civilians, six guards. The AI is central, amid cooling ducts and nutrient vats. Nothing we weren’t expecting.
A moment to brief and we’re off again, around the corner flat-out, hitting the guards first. Two each for Paul and me; one of mine is unbelievably quick for a Slow, actually managing to get pull his weapons trigger and get a burst off. Flechettes zip everywhere but no one is hit. Angie and Fischer take one guard each, ready for the next stage. We take control of the civilians. They’re shouting and screaming.
Fischer shoves them out of the way and sits down at the nearest terminal, tapping in the access codes that cost so much. Angie brings up the last relay and they link it in. The signal flashes back; 2,000 kilometers away, our aggressor AI starts its interrogation.
Four minutes later we’re moving again. Data’s gone back, their AI’s on the way to being three part
s insane, and it’ll take them years and billions to reprogram it. They’ll have no idea which data is reliable anymore. Much nastier than simply trashing it. Down the corridor, through the stairway door, and up to the roof. Howling wind hits us once more as we sprint for the downwind edge and jump.
Jesus, what a drop. Buffeted like crazy all the way down. I’m freezing. It’s a good thirty seconds before the fallsuits pop the drogues and mainsails. We steer crosswind in a loose diamond formation and spill air onto the lower terraces of the neighboring building. The retrieval wagon’s waiting 100 meters away. We bundle in, the motors tilt, and we lift . Mission accomplished.
That’ll teach the bastards.
TEST CONCLUDED 2307 HOUR. GRADING: GOOD.
HEY, ANDY. IT'S STEVE—I’m still here. Looks like you’re not, though; what is it, patrols again?
I seem to have survived all the skills stuff, and the basic tactics. But these simulator periods must be the worst thing I’ve ever done. Somehow you go under determined to remember it’s just another training session, but once you’re in there it all becomes so real, and those bloody wounds hurt. I kept waking up for the debrief, convinced I’ll find a leg shot off, or whatever; but there’d only be a kind of ghost tingling to remind me of what an idiot I’d been. Strange thing is, I never found out if we went and did any part of it physically, or if it was all another sim-hallucination.
Look, I’ve got to go. We’re on our way somewhere else; probably more simulators. I’ll give you a call when I can. Regards to the guys; are you still giving Suzy a good going over, you lucky dog? Give her my love.
Wipe this vid!
See you, buddy. Stay out of trouble.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Silver Lines
“Do you want to know who you are? Don’t ask. Act. Action will delineate and
define you.” –Thomas Jefferson, 1743-1826.
October
Whispering, sneaking little freaks. I hate those tiny voices. They’re creeping around in the corners, chattering to one another like I can’t hear them. They must think I’m stupid. I’ll catch one and then it’ll be sorry. Stupid little bastards, the lot of them.
There’s a couple of different ones every now and then. It’s as if one pack drives off another. The new ones come creeping in, and the old ones run off and hide in some dripping, smelly corner out there in the dark. Then the new ones start their own babbling. I can never quite make out what they’re saying, but I know they’re up to something. No, that’s not quite it; sometimes I can make out my own name.
“Arden,” they say. “Arden, Arden, Arden…”
“Bugger off. Bugger off and let me sleep, or I’ll drop you. You’ll be sorry. Sod off!” They might leave me alone for a while, but I always know they’ll be back.
Today they’re trying something else. It’s music; mad, stupid music that howls and leaps and never gets anywhere. There’s voices in there, too, proper voices, and that’s new. I can hear a woman talking, saying the same incomprehensible phrase over and over. I haven’t a clue who she is, or what she wants, and that’s making me more pissed off. I try shouting at her to make her go away, but she doesn’t seem scared. I can’t work out what to do to make them all leave.
I wish I could see; maybe that would make the difference. Maybe if I could see what’s doing all the squeaking and chattering I’d know how to frighten them all off, and then I could manage some sleep. Well, I can see, sort of; I can see little lights off in the distance, lights so tiny they could be anything. Or nothing. Perhaps they’re my imagination. Or perhaps they’re stars.
Stars? Where the hell did that come from? Should I be able to see the stars from here?
Where the hell is here anyway?
November
A FACE SWIMS PAST, turns and darts down at me. Perhaps I’m under the sea, no, another bloody stupid dream. I’m Steve Arden, that’s what’s important.
So, who’s the face?
It comes closer, grows features, glasses, Earthie businessman haircut. Why glasses? Why not get your eyes fixed, Face?
“Hello, Steve. I’m Doctor Anstruther. How are you feeling?”
The voice batters at my ears and I miss most of what the face says. No need to shout! Bloody stupid question, anyhow. Or is it? How am I feeling? I do a quick inventory check. My head hurts; all over, somehow. My tongue feels like it’s twice the size it should be, and I’m not sure if I’m going to be able to talk.
My ears. Jeez. Why do my ears hurt? They’re throbbing away like God knows what. It seems to hurt way down inside my head, and there’s a sort of tickling along with the pain that makes me want to pull the top of my skull off for a bloody good scratch.
Somebody drops something metal, and I leap up. The sharp noise shoots down through my ears and straight into my brain. Anstruther spins away, my head starts to crash, and my stomach heaves and I think I’m going to be—
“Here. Here you are. In here. Well done. All done now.” Coo’s Face like a mother to her baby.
Yecch. I lean back against pillows, sweating and cold, guts churning. Why do I hear so much? It feels like my brain’s open to the air.
I look at Face again, his hand comes up holding a cloth. Wiping my lips clean.
“That’s better, I’m sure. Do you think you can talk?” He asks softly.
Good one. Not sure; let’s try.
“…arfn…”
Not too impressive. Face smiles. I try again.
“…’ere am I?” Better, but it doesn’t sound like me. Sort of hissy and wheezy at the same time.
“You’re in the medical wing, Steve. You’ve had an operation. Do you remember? You passed Selection.”
Operation? Selection? My brain starts to spin again. Whoa. Take it steady, Stevie.
Did I do Selection? Was that what put me in hospital? I look around a bit, taking it carefully because my eyes won’t quite settle. My vision kind of swims, like each eye wants to do its own thing, I concentrate hard eventually gaining control of them. Yep, looks like a hospital, right enough. Lots of beds—no one else seems to be awake, though—white everywhere, bed warden humming away alongside me, lots of pipes and tubes connecting us together. I take another look at Face.
“…’d you say you were?” Still that hiss. Starting to remember a voice like that, something to do with Luna…
“I’m Doctor Anstruther. My job is to look after you until you’re ready to come out of here. Do you remember Selection, Steve?”
“Yeah.” Feeling stronger now. “I passed, huh?” Throat feels weird.
“Oh, you passed all right. Some of the best scores the instructors can remember. You’re through the worst bit now; we want you.”
Somehow it doesn’t feel as wonderful as it should. I can’t quite take it in; it won’t come clear. The memories start to build up, like water against a dam. I can feel a hell of a lot of pressure just the other side of my mind, memories creeping up that wall, building and building until…
The first crack happens. I think of another face, a strange one covered in silver lines. It’s a dark-skinned guy with an unfamiliar name…
Mahmoud.
More of the wall breaks away.
Luna; Hevelius crater. The Mass Driver contact. Dark body-form suit with colored markings. Another behind it, yellow triangle, carrying something. Odd voices on the comms net. A figure raising his arm. A pistol.
“Enemy. Down!” Double tap, realign the sights as the man starts to fall; another shot, aiming lower to keep hitting the center of the body. The gas pistol spirals away.
“Thanks, Arden. Nice one. Best I buy you a beer later.”
Beer, the long talk back at Copernicus, the rest of the guys from my section straining to catch a glimpse of the stranger troopers.
The wall’s collapsing faster now.
The other troopers sitting there quietly, looking out of it and uncomfortable. Mahmoud talking softly, paying back the debt, expl
aining a little more than I’d dared to hope for, a lot less than I still wanted to know. Andy Norris listening alongside me, fascinated and repelled.
The woman, Keegan; she was something else again. Athlete’s figure, short blonde hair, impassive artificial face. Those weird metallic eyes; was she studying me?
Clown. She was probably playing a vid inside her head. Mahmoud said they could use the comms to access public channels.
Without warning, they all stand. The evening is over. Mahmoud fixes the bill, then puts both his hands on my shoulders. He turns me toward him. His metal eyes nail me to the spot; I freeze.
“Thanks again, Steve. If you’re going to do it, good luck. You’ve got to decide for yourself, you know that. But if you do go ahead, it’ll be the hardest thing you’ve ever done. Try and keep a little bit back all the time. Keep a reserve for yourself.”
They pick up their gear, sauntering toward the door. Us normal soldiers, Slows, stop pretending, and stare after them as they go.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
A Tiny Nudge
I see Anstruther every day, and he keeps telling me how brilliant I am to be through Selection. I still can’t see it that way; I’m too busy trying not to be sick all the time. After a while my stomach starts to settle down, and my ears seem to be a less sensitive or maybe I’m learning to control them better.
I’m curious about how I look. What’s strange, though, is there aren’t any mirrors on the ward; not in the toilets, not in the corridors. It’s no accident. Once I catch on to this, I look for polished surfaces—metal trays, that kind of thing—but they’ve thought of that. Nothing. The windows polarize when the sun sets, or if it goes cloudy outside so no reflections. Even the vid screen is somehow opaque.