by Ron Bender
“You’re in AlphaPlaza One? Hold on a second….” I hear him cancelling appointments with his secretary. The background noise hints at a busy street. “If you’re at AlphaPlaza, it can’t be good. Have they said anything about what’s happened?”
“David. I—” I can’t think clearly. “They keep asking questions about Baylen.”
“Of course they’re asking about Baylen.” David stifles his rising voice. “He’s insane, you said yourself that he’s unstable.”
I fight for a breath. I feel my eyes welling up again. I did say those things, in anger. “No, David … you’re not helping. I need you to be helpful, not make things worse.”
“I’m sorry, Nessa. I’m sorry. I’m on my way there right now,” David says more calmly.
Basillio flicks his fingers across the displays. The polarizing on the table keeps me from seeing anything he’s doing.
“David, I have to go.”
“Okay,” distantly I hear him say. “I’ll be there as soon as I can. I love you.”
I hesitate. This is a recent development between us, and I’m unsure. I may be just latching on, but in the moment, it feels real. “I love you too. Please hurry.”
I look up at Basillio, feeling foolish for feeling like I should be apologizing. I glance at the un-named guard; I think guard, because he couldn’t be anything else. His face is a mask, his eyes glowing embers.
Basillio smiles patiently. “I need to know more about Baylen.”
“What are you doing to get Maggie home?” I ask.
“We’ve confirmed the vehicle’s flight path. Sadly the governing body of the Grand Republic of Free Texas won’t help us.”
“Texas?” My mind races for connections that aren’t there. I stare blankly at him.
“We’ll have to go in and get them both. However, that means a covert operations team,” he says calmly. “I can’t put the team together until I have the information from you. Tell us everything you can about Baylen.”
There was no way around it. “I met him just after I’d entered my master’s program.”
“In cyber-psychiatry?” His expression loses some of its animation, listening.
“Yes.” I can barely finish the sound.
“There’s a note in your file that says you’re cyber rejective.” His eyes narrow. “No implants or cybernetic systems installed at all, is that correct?”
“What does that have to do with anything?” I’m offended. “That’s private information.”
“In the event of an emergency with any of our contracted corporations, we can access the profiles of everyone working there. Please answer the question. You’re rejective?”
I can feel the heat of my anger flush across my face. “That’s right.” I fight to keep my fists from clenching. I’ve fought for everything in my life against people who are augmented. Against people who have every economic advantage. I don’t care if my tone is bitter. “Corrective surgeries for everything. That’s my expensive, limited future.”
The guard flicks his gaze to the boss. Basillio taps on the table screen and a serving-bot brings us ice water to drink. “So Lee was the subject of your master’s thesis?”
“Yes. I was working as an intern at a small outreach center that covered an area north of the city. He wandered in from the dust one day. He was suffering from depression. I was trained in cognitive therapy and since the unit was short-staffed, he agreed to let me work with him. That’s how I found out who he was.”
˜˜˜
I leave Picasso in the hallway and make my way to a breakout room. The screen goes live as I drop into a chair. I watch as David Hall is escorted into the support room. He looks more out of place than I do in my combat fatigues. His lanky frame, sharp jaw, and wide hands with elegant fingers don’t fit with the expensive suit he’s wearing.
He moves right to her. They sit together and finally her tears come.
Hildebrandt’s body, her face, even her mannerisms are Raven’s. Hair, major personality traits, style, background, everything else – completely different.
I know Jen is listening, waiting for me to start. “Do you get any indication of implants or augmentations?”
“No,” Jen replies. “She has no latent signaling at all, neither input nor output.”
How many more like her are in the wild, embedded until they get activated? “Are Raven and Brios in the Plaza?”
“Yes. Alexander is waiting for approval from you to insert them on a reconnaissance mission in the Central European Block.”
“Approved. Do we have an update on the VTOL?” I pour myself a glass of iced cucumber lemon water from the pitcher on the side table.
“It took the expected flight path into the Grand Republic of Free Texas. I have plotted a narrowing arc of locations they can reach with a typical load of fuel.”
“Have Orbital run preliminary imaging on those locations. As soon as scope narrows to a location with a ninety percent probability, have Alex mobilize a covert scout team.”
“Understood. A second update has just come in. Based on information gathered from inside Baylen’s field truck, there is evidence to suggest that he has been sending a short-burst emergency signal once a week for the last several years.”
“A beacon.”
He was looking for other members of his unit.
“Our in-depth signal analysis indicates that the LEO’s ACP system locked onto the signal from Baylen’s truck and altered the vehicle’s trajectory to intersect with his location.”
I lean my head back and take a deep breath as the implications stack. “The automated copilot changed course because it was reacting to Baylen’s signal. If the signal is a covert operations code used exclusively by the Hercules in Space Command, then the vehicle and its crew have to be part of the unit or at least familiar with one another’s protocols.”
“I agree with that analysis.” Jen’s voice modulates strangely as she tries to impart the seriousness of the ramifications with her tone. “A recorder recovered from the truck is in the technical forensic lab. Preliminary reports indicate that the LEO broadcast an encrypted reply. Within a second of the LEO’s reply arriving at the truck, Baylen turned off his truck’s com system.”
“Top of the list: crack that encryption. I want to know what message the LEO sent.” It bothers me that after years of looking, he shuts off his receiver the instant he gets a reply. Unless…. “I want a registration for the craft. I want to know every place it landed or took off from as far back as you can manage.” I list everything I need. “I want to know what platforms in orbit it docked with and what kind of cargo it hauled. And the pilot. Get me intel on the pilot.”
“This is an extensive list. It may take time as large amounts of the information are currently in foreign databases and may be secured by physical means or treaties.”
“Do what you can and keep me informed.”
If it wasn’t vital to find him before, finding Baylen Lee is a priority now.
There may be more than just random survivors of the old government hiding out there. I try not to let the revelations and connections get the better of me. I’m watching the first pieces drop into place on a massive puzzle, but I’m holding little more than a corner piece.
“Forward a copy of everything we’ve got to Ops Room One, and brief Alexander when he comes available.”
“Yes, sir.”
I watch Vanessa interacting with David.
David alternates between muted attempts at masculine anger and capitulation to her words. He’s all well-meaning bravado, but it seems to stabilize her emotional state.
If she has psychological programming that could be activated by the flip a switch like our Raven, I’d never know. Mr. Hall could even be her controller and she might not ever realize it.
Doctor Hildebrandt, just by her existence, screams manipulated memory. Is anything she’s feeling ‘real’? They’d be real enough to her. And for her, that’s all that would matter….
; Keeping her around is going to be dangerous. I need a plan to dig deeper. A controlled test to see if I can find those switches or a way to justify a full medical examine while she’s unconscious.
First, I have to get rid of David, keep her isolated and off balance. I need to get him out of the way, and it needs to be his idea to leave.
“Time to meet Mr. Hall.” I make my way back to the support room.
David stands as Picasso and I enter. He’s ballsy enough to come right over. I know Picasso has me covered and Jen is monitoring the room.
“Mr. Ferdinand, I’m David Hall. I’m Vanessa’s partner. Do you have any news about Maggie?”
“We’ve confirmed that whoever took them has entered Texas airspace.” His hand is cool and uncomfortably damp as I shake it.
“Texas? What were they doing here?” David looks earnestly between Vanessa and I. “Do you know why they would take them?”
“I don’t think the governing council of Texas is involved. It looks as though the kidnapping could have been a snap decision based on the events as they unfolded.” I return to my previous seat. “What do you know about Baylen Lee?”
“Baylen.” David almost spits the name. “Nessa told you that he’s crazy, right? He’s an obsolete war machine who reacts violently to anything negative said about him. For all I know, he paid these guys to show up so he could take Maggie away from her.”
Jen comes on my internal link almost as soon as he opens his mouth. “Mr. Hall has experienced a pre-combative surge throughout his body. Proximity to you may be triggering an abnormal response as an attempt to impress the doctor.”
He’s puffing himself up and irritating the hell out of me while doing it.
“At this time, Mr. Hall, I’m not convinced that Baylen is involved in anything other than being in the wrong place at the wrong time and trying his best to protect his daughter.”
Vanessa blinks at both of us. She looks uncomfortable at David’s behavior.
“He has psychoses. A lot of them. He’s threatened both me and Nessa before.”
“Well—” Vanessa begins, but David speaks over her.
“He can’t live in the city and even the Tribes only tolerate him on their fringes.” Angry color floods his cheeks. “What does that say about him?”
“It says that, like everyone, he has a set of circumstances that he does his best to live with.” I take Vanessa’s hand and start to drive the first wedge. “David can wait here. I need you to look over some of Baylen and Maggie’s things and then take a look at some images to see if you can provide any additional information.”
At her nod, we leave. David’s complaint is cut off by Picasso moving toward him and the door closing behind us.
3.05
Hercules Landing
My telltale chimes. I wake with my optics already prepped and running. My left lens array might be a problem. Air has gotten in behind the goggles, and I can feel the lenses sticking.
The sun is high overhead and the VTOL must be running out of fuel. It’ll set down soon.
I know I’m on approach to the old naval yards outside of Kingsville. I can see a huge derelict facility spreading out and down into the new harbor.
The map I memorized is at least a decade old. It can’t take into account the continual rise of sea level, the shifts in continental rainfall, or in the case of this location, the intervention of humanity. This facility, even abandoned, is new to me.
Acres of concrete are littered with all kinds of craft. It’s a breaker yard. Everything I see is in some stage of decay and deconstruction. Tankers, yachts, old airplanes, VTOLs, and battered old LEO are lined up in rows interspersed with wide roadways, derelict cranes and massive outbuildings.
Old tech is brought here to die, dismantled and recycled, scattered.
Now I’m here. Just another ancient piece of gear.
The craft under me banks in a narrowing slow spiral, testing me to see how I’ll react. The pilot’s smart. He’ll get over the landing area before beginning a fast straight-down descent. He’ll try to limit the time I have to act on a plan and give me no cover around the craft to work with.
There are a few bursts of com static: scrambled signal with an encryption style too new for me to crack on the fly. A long low structure with huge rolling doors dominates one end of the concrete landscape. A handful of recovery rigs and wheeled jumbo cranes are tucked here and there.
A single strip of roadway disappears beyond the breaker yard between clusters of mesquite trees and brush. The buildings have faded paint markings on their roofs. I map and memorize the aerial view just in case Maggie and I have to run.
As I pan my vision along the building, my left eye jams up. Leaking goggles…. The problems with my eyes have gotten worse since replacement parts for the lubrication system started getting scarce. Without optical lubricant, my vision jams, lenses binding on the glide-rails.
The last thing I see that’s in focus with both eyes is three open-top vehicles sprinting to meet us, each one loaded with well-armed and armored men.
I toggle my personal beacon to maximum output. I put out a single pulse on every channel, on anything I can reach: open wireless systems, public frequencies, N-code repeaters, unshielded com-links, and low orbit communication satellite links. I imagine the com-ops crewmen inside the VTOL feeling surprise and disappointment at the realization that I’ve utilized every channel of open communication I can. It doesn’t matter if no one else understands the strange burst of static slicing across their systems. As long as the right people hear it and act on it in urgency, I may be all right.
Now I have to decide. The way the pilot has set up this descent makes rescuing Maggie and escaping unlikely. I have no way to know if anyone heard my distress signal. Whoever these guys are, I’m counting on the idea that they didn’t bring me here just to kill me. Otherwise why take Maggie?
If she’s dead, I’ll kill as many of them as I can. If she’s alive, they’ll threaten her to get me to stop killing. The time it takes between now and the ramp opening is my window to act and cause as much damage as I can.
I remember what General Nelson used to say to us at the end of every mission briefing. “Well, there it is, gentleman. Embrace the Suck.”
The Heckler begins a rapid straight-drop descent. At two hundred feet, I pick the slowest car at the back of the line.
The VTOL pilot makes a single mistake in my favor. He points the back toward the approaching cars, intending that the reinforcements will cover me and the ramp.
He hasn’t thought it through. Landing this way keeps the belly gun away from me during my assault. I stand, sprint to the tail, and leap off, heavy rams pushing me hard into a wild wind-milling fall.
In the last moment, I straighten and lock my body for impact.
The men in the rearmost car never see me coming. From one hundred and ninety feet, I knife into them, feet first.
I weigh a lot. The driver, front passenger, and two of the four men in the back die instantly. The other two die right after that as the fuel cells rupture. I roll through the flames and over the rear bumper. The wreckage, smoke, and fire provide good cover. I don’t worry about my smoldering clothes.
The second car swerves and brakes hard, trying to gain LOS for the men in the rear of the vehicle. My working eye dials in. The mercs get their guns up as I start my rush. Their rounds shred the remains of my vest and hole my shirt before hammering into my chest plates.
There’s a burst of static on the channel they’re using. I pump more power into my built-in jamming program. I need the VTOL and anyone in the building to be in the dark about what’s happening out here until I’m ready.
I vault in among the troops. Some of them still try to fire on me and hit their companions. Slamming my fist into the nearest guy’s face, I grab his rifle, crush one man’s temple with the butt end and plug two more with fast bursts. The men in the front seat bail out. I snap fire, catching them as they run.
The lead
car swings wide and stops, troops jumping off in every direction.
Gunfire intensifies around me. The car takes a beating, light armor deforming under the hail of bullets. I switch rifles, grab another, and jump out.
My return fire is off target since my left eye is still jammed. I’m effective enough to keep the mercs in cover. A full frontal assault with a high body count is my plan. Waiting in cover isn’t an option.
I start another rush with an arm up to shield my face. I’m peppered with rounds as I move. It won’t slow me down unless someone hauls out a bigger weapon, or they concentrate fire on specific joints.
The VTOL pilot finally figures out what’s happening. He jumps the craft up fifty feet and spins it, bringing its gun to bear.
I sprint to close the distance, but the pilot has learned his lesson. He backs the VTOL up hard, and the belly gun rips a line out of the concrete across my path.
“Drop the damn rifles, Soldier,” a smooth-drawling Texan accent says. A lot of Texans are good people. But like everywhere else, the higher up the chain you go, the worse the egos get. This guy sounds like he’s the headman around here. “Put’em down, and I won’t have a reason to hurt the girl.”
I toss the rifles aside.
“On your belly, hands clasped on the back of your head.”
I obey his request.
The VTOL finally lands. The engines chuff with a lack of fuel as they spin down.
Maggie and I can’t escape in the VTOL unless it’s fueled.
Extra troops arrive, and I’m swarmed and restrained.
In the afternoon heat, against the heat distortion of salvage wreaks, I watch Maggie being hustled into a car by a tall guy in a dun-colored long coat. He makes sure I can see the gun in his hand.
I activate a chipdrive buried in my torso. It starts the long process of sifting through identity profiles. I’m hoping for a match. The search is probably pointless because the data is pre-collapse, but if there’s any chance, I’m taking it.
“Daddy,” Maggie yells and struggles against his grip.
He lifts the gun and hollers at me. “Tell her to behave, or she’s gonna get hurt.”