Puo cuts in, “Cruisers are en route and have launched HiDARs.”
“Damn,” I swear. They know we’re here—at least this shopping graveyard is about to have more company.
HiDARs are not a smart move—St. Pancras is under a roof. But it’s their equipment they’re wasting—probably launched by a government employee that’s doing the minimum respectable amount of work to not get fired. ‘Look Boss, the flow chart said to launch HiDARs so that’s what I did.’ Snort.
“Panda,” I say, “the duffle bags are up ahead, grab one and proceed to the lower-level tracks. Toady will help guide you. Skip every other rider, and attach an empty balloon bag to two converted squiddies. Understood?”
“Understood,” Liáng says.
I exhale and drive toward the two black duffle bags on the floor up ahead that Puo deposited for us earlier last week. If smashing rocks through iconic British sites is our signature, then we’re about to dot the “i” in a spectacular finale.
* * *
Tying the balloon bags is simple enough, but it’s a numbers game. The more we get in place before the Muppies arrive, the better our distraction and diversion will be.
I’m quasi-alone on the upper-level tracks, while Puo’s squiddie is down below riding herd on Liáng. I say quasi-alone because two of the converted squiddies hover dumbly behind me on the train platform, and Puo’s near constant chatter to Liáng is hogging up all the bandwidth on the comm-link.
The converted squiddies are just maintaining buoyancy back on the platform, their appendages hanging limply. They each have an inflated balloon bag tied to them. Their visage makes me think of evil zombie minions sadly watching their evil master overlord leaving on a rainy, nighttime train. The evil master even bought them balloons, but the minions are still heartbroken. The low classical music piping into my helmet even takes on a mournful note. How sad.
Inflating the balloon bags to positive buoyancy is the fun part. Once they’re attached to the automatic rider, you push the button on the outside of the bag, and they self-inflate, rising up in the water. Pretty neat.
Unfortunately, I don’t have time to watch each one. As soon as one is tied off and inflating, I’m off to the next. Only the low, continued sound of hissing behind me informs me the bag is still inflating.
I’m about halfway done hurrying across the upper-level tracks when Puo announces to both Liáng and I, “HiDARs are in the water.”
I keep working, not bothering to reply. Good luck with that. The handy-dandy glass and iron roof sixty feet above me takes care of those buggers for the most part. Yay for the Muppies being predictable.
“What’s your status, Plump Panda?” I ask.
“About halfway done,” Liáng answers.
To Liáng I say, “Skip down to the last two tracks, then let’s rendezvous at the security office—Toady will lead you there.” We’re running out of time. If the HiDARs are in the water, other things should be nearby as well.
“Roger, that,” Liáng says.
To Puo I ask, “Any sign of our friends?”
“No,” Puo answers. The rest of the converted squiddies not waving goodbye to their evil overlords are patrolling the perimeter of St. Pancras, keeping watch for any sign of the Muppies. “But it’s a big place.”
“Thanks for the boost in confidence,” I say.
“It’s what I’m here for.” I can hear the smile on Puo’s face. At least he’s in high spirits—probably riding the high of converting the squiddies. We weren’t sure that was going to work, so our plans didn’t count on it.
I maneuver the DPV to the end of the tracks to follow my own advice. The goal is to overload the Muppies, give them so many targets, spread out so far, that they don’t know what to track.
“Queen Bee,” Puo says, his voice now full of concern.
I finish tying the first of the last two bags at the end of the tracks. “What?”
“There’s something coming in under the roof near you.”
I stupidly look in that direction, flashing my helmet lights. I’m sure that was a nice sign to whatever’s coming that something interesting is here, while in turn I see absolutely nothing. “What is it?” I left the handheld sonar device back on my DPV.
“I don’t know,” Puo answers. “I don’t recognize it. Both of your converted squiddies picked it up.”
The St. Pancras roof travels out quite a ways. There’s the original glass and iron arched roof that I’m currently under, but also a flatter more modern section that extends out. Whatever is coming will be here soon.
“I’m getting outta here,” I say. I push off the metal railway toward my DPV. “Keep the converted squiddies on me.”
“Roger, that,” Puo says.
“Panda,” I say, “Meet me at the security office.”
Liáng gives his affirmative.
The security office is our ticket out of here. There’s a little known private entrance to the underground from there for VIPs, mostly government officials important enough to have their own security detail, that we plan to exploit.
The DPV whirs to life and pulls me along toward the platform and my two evil minions.
“Queen Bee,” Puo says, his concern growing, “hurry.”
“I am hurrying. Why?” Stupid DPVs with their stupid weak whirring motors.
I glide past the two converted squiddies who don’t move to follow, and head straight for the stairs that lead down.
Puo doesn’t answer.
“Toady—!”
“Oh, crap!” Puo screams. “Forget the DPV. Grab the squiddie!”
One of the converted squiddies springs to life audibly whooshing water behind me as it sprints forward. It slows next to me waiting for me to grab on.
I do exactly as Puo tells me, releasing the DPV in mid-motion and grab onto one of the squiddie’s metal articulating appendages for dear life.
The squiddie launches itself forward as soon as I’m on, nearly ripping the appendage out of my grip, and jerking my breath out of my chest.
“Toady—!” I croak. I try and look back but see nothing as the squiddie rushes me toward the stairs.
“It’s a HiDAR,” Puo rushes, “being carried by squiddies!”
Oh, crap is right. Clever bastards. So much for minimum-work-government-employee manning the station.
Now they’re going to have a damn accurate view of what’s going on in here. Including a nice image of a sexy underwater reclamation specialist in a full dry suit trying to flee the platform. I kill my helmet lights—no point making it easier for them. Now only the squiddie lights the way.
The squiddie dives down the stairs with me in tow.
“Toady,” I rush, “keep an eye on it. Prepare to light the candles.”
The metal appendage is cold seeping through my death grip. The water pressure builds up on my helmet and chest, breaking down my back to roll off my fins.
“Roger, that,” Puo says in a clipped perfunctory manner as he focuses on the new threat.
I can taste the salty sweat dripping into my mouth as we sprint by the ghosts left of once-thriving storefronts. The suit feels too warm.
“Panda,” I say, “You know where you’re—”
Liáng answers, “I know where I’m going.”
“Good.” At least I think good. A sudden spike of worry hits that left unsupervised, Liáng, if a turncoat, could present a problem.
Puo says, “I got a squiddie with him if he needs help.” Translation: I’m keeping an eye on him.
The middle of my back aches from holding on. The stupid balloon bag tied to the squiddie keeps thumping down onto my left shoulder every so often, while the two balloon bags tied to my waist keep tugging at me. Shouldn’t be much farther.
“Holy crap,” Puo whispers, and then says much more loudly, “It’s a whole freaking squiddie navy.”
“Wha—?” I start.
“Squiddies!” Puo yells. “Hundreds of them swimming through the open wall of the train track
s!”
“Start converting them,” I damn near shout.
“There’re too many,” Puo says. “Get in position so we can blow this candle.”
“Roger, that,” I say. “Panda, you copy?”
“Copy, that,” Panda says. “I’m almost there.”
Lights from a group of squiddies flash as they barrel up a set of escalators to the upper floor. “Uh, Toady?”
“They’re ours,” Puo confirms.
Almost there. My squiddie turns the corner off the main arcade to a smaller arcade where the main entrance and ticket counters are, as well as the security office.
Helmet lights! Four sets of them at the main entrance.
“Stop!” I scream at Puo. “The wet teams are in the building!”
Then too many things happen at once.
The squiddie I’m holding onto pivots so fast the appendage rips out of my hands and I get tangled up with one of my balloon bags before starting to drift down toward the bottom.
Horribly screeching, loud metal-on-metal sounds crash down from the platform above announcing the squiddie battle has started and is raging in the upper levels.
All four helmet lights zero in on me. A soft pop of pressurized air comes from the wet team’s direction, followed immediately by zoof, a wicked fast air bubble shooting by three feet to my right—a super-cavitating fléchette.
They’re not fucking around.
Hopefully, that was a warning shot. I don’t move.
“Toady!” I yell. “Toady!”
No response. Only then do I notice the silence. No low classical background music playing.
Jammed.
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
THE BALLOON BAG I tumbled into when I fell off Puo’s squiddie is now overinflated. It now buoys up my midsection as I drift downward, making me a nice, dumb, fat target for the frogmen.
But no additional shots come, as the helmet lights steadily approach.
The sounds of the squiddie battle raging up above filter down the open stairways. Clanking and metal crashing together abound. It’s eerie not to hear Puo’s brand of not-swearing and not-cursing as they go to war.
My knife and the handheld sonar were on the DPV I dumped. And the stunner is in my equipment bag on my back. Not that the knife or stunner would help me—I’m pretty sure any sudden movement will bring increasingly closer fléchettes.
I take a deep breath as I watch the frogmen approach. I haven’t absolutely lost until the prison bars slam closed on me. They still have to get me to the surface. And they still have to get me to a secure facility.
I’m suddenly aware of the small silver chain of Winn’s necklace pressed against my skin, a slight pinching sensation. I activated the pearl pendant digi-scrambler when putting on the dry scuba suit—the necklace really was the perfect gift for me. It should buy me a few extra moments to do something stupid to try and escape before they get an image of me once they drag me to the surface.
The bastards are probably going to take the necklace away. And then all I can think is: Damn, that’s not fair.
The helmet lights are close enough I can make out four black helmets behind three black DPVs—two of them are sharing one DPV. At least my stabby efforts back in the stairwell weren’t completely in vain.
The lead frogman has an underwater rifle propped up on the DPV pointed at me. Silt dusts up behind them.
Liáng emerges on his DPV behind the frogmen from the narrow corridor the security office is down. His two balloon bags are missing. Where did he dump them?
Liáng eases out into the corridor, hiding in the silt cloud from the frogmen’s passing, and heads straight for them. The whine of his DPV is lost amid the other four frogmen, a perk of sound traveling too fast in water for our ears to locate sound underwater.
Oh, good—I won’t have to wait to get to the surface to try something stupid.
Liáng’s helmet lights are off—I wouldn’t have seen him through the silt if it weren’t for his motion.
He’s going to try and sneak up on them? And then what?
I don’t know what he’s thinking, but I do my part and not focus on him. Instead I slowly move my arms to give the oncoming frogmen the one finger salute with both hands.
Whatever Liáng’s going to do, he needs to do when the frogmen are close to me if he wants me to help—because floating here like a dumbass with a balloon bag buoying up my midsection does not lend itself to quick movement.
Liáng is creeping up on them; he’s closed half the distance.
One of the two frogman sharing the DPV farthest from me starts to turn around.
Whooshing sounds suddenly fill the smaller arcade: squiddies.
Squiddies come barreling down the stairs, tumbling from around the corner, heading straight for the frogmen—Puo!
Great silt clouds billow up from the squiddies’ mad dash.
The frogman with the gun starts popping off shots at the squiddies.
A metal ka-thunk sounds off as one the fléchettes hits it mark. One of the squiddies goes limp in its forward progress and drifts to the silt-covered tile floor.
The other frogmen cease their forward progress and reach for their handheld guns.
Squiddies zoom between me and the frogmen, kicking up a silt storm to hide me.
One of the squiddies slows as it approaches me, clearly wanting me to grab on—don’t mind if I do.
Pop, pop, pop. The super-cavitating rounds bubble in the water around me. The bastards are firing indiscriminately.
Ka-chunk. Another one of the squiddies is hit.
The squiddie I’m hanging onto drags me back the way I came, away from the trigger-happy frogmen, ducking around the corner. I use the opportunity (and leverage) to return the overinflated balloon bag around my waist back to the proper level.
The sounds in the small arcade change. A scuffle. Liáng.
I let go of the squiddie as it rushes ahead.
Puo must be paying attention because it stops immediately and turns back to me.
I motion back toward Liáng and the frogmen.
The squiddie uses an appendage to shake “no.”
Liáng came to help when he didn’t have to. If he were working with Shǐ to screw us, he could’ve just let the frogmen do their job.
I motion back toward Liáng and the frogmen.
I can’t hear Puo, but I can imagine his growl of begrudging acquiescence. The squiddie moves slowly at first to pick me up and then picks up steam as we head back into the fray.
The small arcade is a mess. Silt invades the space like a thick fog, swirling as looming, dark masses move within it.
Multiple sounds dominate the space from squiddies dragging their metal appendages across the tile, stirring up as much silt as possible to the pop, pop, pop and bubbling zoofing from super-cavitating fléchettes.
My helmet lights are still off; I try the nightvision. Nothing but silt clouds.
The squiddie carrying me skirts along the edge of the small arcade, zigging every few seconds.
Several sets of helmet lights up ahead are dancing around in quick furtive motions—like roving spotlights at the entrance of a club.
The dark, looming forms resolve themselves into five forms.
Liáng is struggling with one of the frogmen, embracing him—using him as shield from super-cavitating fléchettes.
Another frogman is lying at the bottom of the small arcade, motionless. A third frogman is trying to get to his fallen comrade and get a shot at Liáng with his underwater handgun.
The fourth frogman is above the fray keeping watch, aiming an underwater rifle—at me!
My squiddie shoots downward the same time I hear a pop, and a zoof whizzes by so close I can feel the water turbules between my neck and shoulder.
Another squiddie flies out of the silt toward the frogman with the underwater rifle.
My squiddie interjects itself into the mass, zooming between the third frogman with the handgun and Liáng. And leaving
me staring directly at the frogman. Like, suddenly face-to-face with the frogman three feet away, who is holding a handgun.
Uh, Puo?
I lash out to kick away the frogman’s gun that’s swinging toward me—pushing my fins sideways through water takes a lot of the oomph out of it. But before I connect, my leverage against the squiddie’s appendage shifts under me, jerking me around.
I whiff on my kick and am suddenly dumped into the struggle between Liáng and the frogman he’s hugging.
I promptly start stomping the frogman below me using my heels, while still hanging onto my squiddie. I think the frogman’s hard suit and piping and valves do more damage to the bottom of my feet than I do to him.
But it works. Liáng is able to separate a few inches. Then I see what’s in his hands: a stunner.
I’m able to get my legs out of the way when Liáng tries to shove the stunner against the frogman’s chest.
The frogman deflects it, and backs off quickly.
Liáng uses the free second to grab one of my squiddie’s appendages and as soon as he’s on, the squiddie takes off with both of us as if that’s what it had been waiting for.
The squiddie drags the two of us down the way we came, away from the security office.
We turn the corner, out of the line of fire. But we need to go in the opposite direction to get to the security office to get out of here.
Low classical music comes back on the line.
“Toady!” I yell, “Do you—?”
“I hear you!” Puo yells back excitedly. “They dropped the jamming. I’m dropping their jamming as well.”
“Why?” I ask.
“Quid pro quo,” Puo says. “They probably think that their own jamming is cutting themselves off.”
“But why now?” I ask. The squiddie is dragging us down the main arcade. The sounds of the squiddie war up above gain and fade as we pass between stairways. “And where are we going?”
“Anywhere but here,” Puo answers. “And I don’t know.”
“I do,” Liáng says. “I stunned one of them—” The frogman motionless on the ground. “—They probably need to call for help.”
The Elgin Deceptions (Sunken City Capers Book 2) Page 22