by Ron Bender
Dzur, the man who owned Living Memories was over a hundred and twenty years old. He’d been slowing down his activities for months, getting ready for his retirement. Most of his corporate officers had manipulated their way up the food chain into their positions. I wonder who will be their face in the council tonight.
It didn’t really matter that much. Jen’s digging over the last months had confirmed what Alex and I had already guessed. They all directly or indirectly had contact or with or had worked for Phillip Townsend.
Phillip who died on an international airship, Phillip who had died in our NeoDetroit incursion. Phillip, who had messed with the people of this city…. Agents of his had been quiet for too long and this incident is a perfect opportunity to rally public opinion against me.
I glance up the wide carven stairs.
Facial recognition software highlights a young woman approaching me from the top step. Her personal data flag floats next to her just as she meets my eyes.
‘Taylor, Yolanda, CitOne, Legal Division, AlphaTek Global Security.’ I blink away her extra data and look over her track record. I hadn’t realized how concerned I was about who legal was sending until now. Trust is harder for me when dealing with people from a non-military backgrounds.
An ID confirmation tag from Legal Division arrives a second later.
I extend my hand to her as she stops two steps above me. She looks up at me and takes my hand. “Mr. Ferdinand —”
“Ms. Taylor.”
“Legal sent me…” She hesitates and looks around at the crowd.
“Of course. I understand.” I motion the way back up the steps. “Let’s find a break-out room where we can speak in private.”
“I’ve already asked for a room to be set aside.” She sidesteps to let me pass and says. “Your security team hunted through it, looking for… unwanted extra electronics.”
“It’s standard operating procedure around here.” I say.
The first of the InfoStreaming hosts arrives beside us. I don’t change pace and Ms. Taylor is keeping up fine.
“Mr. Ferdinand? Sir? Do you have any comments on the events unfolding just beyond the Lunar orbit, past the Shackleton Tower Complex?”
“Mr. Ferdinand has no comment for your organization.” Ms. Taylor pushes her short frame between the interviewer and myself. “Excuse us.”
She motions for me to keep moving. She quietly reiterates what I already know. “Ignore them. Say nothing, don’t acknowledge any of them… even they’re your best friends. Let me deal with them. It’s my job.”
“This isn’t my first walk around the block.” I ignore her flash of controlled emotion. Maybe she’d forgotten who she was with, or maybe she’s more into micro managing her client’s behavior than her records indicate.
I let her do her job; five more interviewers get the same treatment from her before we enter the building.
The foyer is lit a golden hue. Massive one story tall sconces capped with frosted glass throw light over polished stonework. The place had been built to make people feel small, insignificant in the face of the Corporations. To my mind it was simply a giant theater where those who thought they knew, or thought they had the right, dictated to the population how they would live.
I was here because I needed to be… for now.
We head around one sweeping curved hallway, through the wide marble corridors and past patterned brass doors.
We don’t speak until we step past an AlphaTek security team and into the debugged silent room and closed the door. Ms. Taylor relaxes, seats herself at the conference table, and breathes out hard.
Everything someone might need for a short meeting is packed carefully into the space. These rooms and the foyer are the only spaces where any signal gets in or out. The rest of the building is a carefully crafted cage. Once we were in the meeting there would be no outside help.
Ms. Taylor looks up at me. “I have an idea what happened, but I need to know exactly, in your own words, what you’ll be telling everyone. Also, if I can, I’d like an assessment from you about how bad you think it is, and finally, anything you can offer about who we’ll be speaking to in chambers.”
I sit on the table edge.
“Jen?” I know she’s listening.
“Ms. Taylor has clearance for everything up to, but not including black and covert operations. She is one of our best ‘clean’ lawyers.”
Clean lawyers…I suppress a wiry smile. The idea that some lawyers needed to be kept in the dark deliberately so that passive scans done in public spaces wouldn’t ruin our Corporate image was a relatively new thing. Passive brain scanning wasn’t deemed an invasion of privacy in Corporate America. It allowed for better targeting of advertising and helped with product development… that had been the line at the time.
The truth is darker and far nastier. It’s why I spent as little time in public places as possible and had signal disruption available if I needed it.
I answer her. “AlphaTek received intelligence from a trusted contact that a separatist group from the asteroid belt had hidden an explosive device on the Speedwell.” I push off from the desk and sit in the chair next to her. “We determined that since a good ninety percent of the passenger list were top end CitOnes and the explosive device was placed to damage Origin Oasis that we should try to remove it as quickly and quietly as possible.”
If she’s flustered by my being this close she would be useless in council; the seating was tight and elbows were unforgiving. She either doesn’t care or is in control of her reactions.
She calmly asks, “Were either the ships owners, or Origin Oasis, informed of any of this?”
“No.” I reply, meeting her eye-to-eye. “We had a second team looking for the people responsible and weren’t sure how deeply they were nested in the Liberty Transfer Platform infrastructure. We didn’t want any possibility of tipping them off. We had planned to be off the Speedwell and in position to round up them up when they found their explosives didn’t detonate.”
She scrutinizes my face. “I see that you’ve done this kind of thing before. You don’t have any kind of unusual pupil dilation, respiration, galvanic temperature shifts, or blush responses. That’s a lot of modifications…”
“Like I said outside; this isn’t my first time….” I smile and motion to my face. “It comes in handy for these kinds of meetings.”
I wait for any other comments.
“Anyone else in there sporting the same gear as you?” She looks down at her hands then back at me. I haven’t looked away.
“About ninety percent of them.”
She sighs. “Alright then. I suspect that there is far more to this story than I want to know, or should know. I respect the fact that you want to try to protect me as an asset to the corporation, so thank you for giving me only what I need.”
I nod and lean away.
She continues, “The story will work in the media but I think the people you see twice a month in the chamber are going to suspect even more than I do. Most can probably guess exactly what happened. Some of them may already know the truth and are waiting for you to hang yourself with a lie.”
“Point taken.” I give her a tight smile. “But I’m not changing anything at this juncture.”
“Fine,” she replies. “Just be ready for it if it happens.”
“I’ll consider myself warned,” I say. “Thanks.”
“May I ask a question Mr. Ferdinand?”
“Sure.” I lean back.
“Why am I here? I mean you have a handle on all of this. What role am I filling here?”
Honesty is the best policy with her. She’ll be more effective if she understands exactly what I need. “The council is used to seeing me here on my own. I never bring anyone with me to these things. These meetings are for the most part, a huge waste of time and resources. Aspects of AlphaTek run themselves with very little need for my direct oversight. Like a fire and forget weapon. Pull the trigger and it works. Because I’m own
the company, I have in many ways, the most available time to spend on things like council meetings. I have specialists who can fill every role as well or better than I can. Fire and forget.”
“And me?” she asks.
“No one expects me to have an extra person along, and you’re a specialist. You’re well spoken, capable of holding your own in a debate and you don’t fluster easily. All traits I admire. I wish more of my personnel had similar qualities but for their roles maybe they don’t need your skillset. Bluntly, you are an unknown to everyone else here. And that is why you’re here; they don’t know anything about you except that you’re here, and I look like I trust you… they’ll be focusing on figuring out who you are and why you’re here. You’re my distraction.”
“You’re using me to pressure them into second-guessing their actions.” She laughs. “So, you’re the man behind the curtain?”
“I’m not sure of the reference, but, yes. Almost everything that happens in council is an act. One we have no rehearsal for. We know our marks, can adlib our lines, but I need you to fill that role. Pull them off me so I can see the bigger picture and act without distraction.”
I know Jen picked her because she’d be okay with a blunt assessment of my needs and be okay with filling that position.
She nods. “Thank you, sir. I appreciate the upfront answer.”
“Plan for what you think you can and be ready for it to be blown apart. Hold your ground and nail anyone who pisses in our direction.” I check the time. “Our show starts in five minutes and we have to think on our feet for the next hour and then we can regroup for tomorrow.”
“And about tomorrow?”
“You and I are going to become very familiar with each other’s needs. Tomorrow is a different game, different players, different goals. Let’s get through this one first.”
A knock on the door makes both of jump and grin a little. The sound is unexpected. No one knocks on doors anymore. Except here in the council building.
She opens the door. “Yes?”
One of our security says, “The council is convening.”
She looks over her shoulder at me and I join her at the open door. “Showtime.”
3.23
The Setup
I watch the doc struggling with the basics of a night march. I got respect for the vets I see on old footage… getting by without good gear or packing along hunks of crap-tech bolted to their helmets so they can work at night. It makes me glad for my gear. Our trail is bright as day for me.
We head up the coast and then cut inland following a wide shallow water course. The ground starts to get swampy. Wide pools of interconnected water weave between the trunks of gnarled trees. Brush springs up in thick clusters out of the dark water. The stink of weedy stagnation and rot grows as we move north east, away from the coast.
An hour into the hike and I’m having to reminding myself the people around me aren’t prey. My gut aches with a hollow need. If this Bransen clown really is sending men now would be a good time for them to show up.
I slow, listening to the doc shambling along behind me. It’s not my job to tell anyone that my built-in sensors can pick up individual heartbeats three hundred feet out day, night, or even hiding in rubble. It is part of the array I had installed months ago. The system weeded out all the extraneous noise, and even resolved a range to target on my marquee.
What Sal’s doing here with the kids would be good enough for the typical kinds of trouble the tribe would run into out here. But I’m pretty sure I’m the only one here geared up enough to go head-to-head with the tech-riddled flesh-bots that Basillio figured will be coming.
“Picasso.” My Control, Lexi, slides into my brain through the com-link at the base of my skull.
“Picasso here.” I subvocalize my response.
“Orbital is tracking five air vehicles,” she says. “They are approaching the main tribal encampment from the north and east sides. Two craft will be passing south of you, following the coast.”
“Friendlies?” I ask.
“No, they were tracked inbound moving at high speed. Their lift point is being backtracked.” Her voice stays completely flat. “They have slowed to troop deployment speed.”
The incursion troops are being dropped close to the camp. “The vehicles are staying in the area, possibly for an air support role. Our Air Tactical division reports eliminating two Heavy AVs that had been inbound for the camp. Other units are engaging with a ground deployed convoy.”
“Is Orbital tracking anything close to us?” I get ready for disappointment. The fight I want won’t happen like this.
“No.” Her reply is blunt. “Also, Alpha-Wolf Actual is unavailable to assist at this time. He has left discretionary powers for the sphere of operations up to you.”
“Great.” I’m in charge on the ground and co-Control. That means having to change my focus from pleasure hunting to directing fire and sightlines for a bunch of kids. Fuck. “Link me to a live visual feed.”
“Shooting has just started in the main camp.” Her voice fills with a sad resolve. Maybe she has a soft-spot for civilians, or maybe nomads?
My left eye blanks out as the feed starts up. I have a clear top down overview of the camp. “Damn,” I say in surprise.
“Orbital has had a number of significant upgrades over the last year,” she adds.
I can see four sets of glowing figures moving around; the nomads and the three drop troops. Some of the figures have additional data streaming beside them, suspected gun types, ammunition types, and estimated ammo counts. I can watch the heat trails of individual bullets flickering back and forth. The picture dims as a flower of light blossoms near the middle of the cluster of trailers.
I look in the direction of the camp. Through the treetops of the everglade, I can see the brilliant red para-flare hanging in the sky.
The sound of a collective groan from the kids hits my ears in a wave.
“You all know what that means. Now’s the time to stay focused,” Sal says. After a moment he adds, “Your job is here. There’s no point fretting over what’s going on over there. We have orders and until something shakes loose we keep to them.”
Orbital compensates for the flare’s light. The visual feed becomes clear once more. I watch as the nomads start a flanking push. The drop troops roll back to face them and drop as some sort of explosive traps take a large toll. The other drop troops begin a flanking action to get between the trailers. The body counts on both sides climb. The nomads dig in. It starts to look like a standoff. Then Bransen’s air support rolls back into view. The lines from the outgoing rounds are thick. Pop-up buildings, trailers, and motorhomes start to fly apart. There’s another flash of light. Two of the AV VTOLs are shot down, but it’s not enough.
“What’s going on?” Doc hurries to overtake me.
“I got a visual feed on the fighting at the camp.” I ignore her sharp breath.
“It’s bad, isn’t it?” she asks, her voice louder than I’d like.
I kick myself for saying anything to her about it. I let my expression harden.
The kids nearest me droop.
“Keep moving. We’re almost where we need to be.” Sal’s voice is thick.
“Which is where?” I ask.
“We set up a location earlier today,” he replies. “Sight lines, firing lines, hard points, explosives, and ammo dumps are all located. All we need to do is get there.”
Lexi’s voice pipes in loudly. “Picasso, the incursion teams are withdrawing.”
“Where are they going?” I grab Doc by the hand and start to pull her forward in a trot.
“They’ve discovered that Dr. Hildebrandt isn’t in the camp.” Her voice is tight.
“How?” I don’t subvocalize, I don’t care about being subtle right now.
“At this time, I’m not sure.” She pauses. “The remaining troops are in-bound to your location.”
Shit. “Have jamming drones deployed into the battle-space
. Block all frequencies, even if that means we lose our own Com, understood?” AlphaTek troops could work without com. Maybe Bransen’s men aren’t as well trained.
“Understood.” I know she’ll do her job.
“If anything slips sideways I’ll signal via visual directly to Orbital OPs.” We’re almost running now. Doc’s boots save her ankles a few times. “In the meantime, do what you can to make’em work for it.”
“Understood.” Lexi is grim. “You have less than two minutes before they redeploy into your zone.”
“Roger that.” I realize I’m answering the swirling static of a jammed frequency.
I yell, “Sal. We’ve got less than two minutes.”
He nods. “Everyone. Book to the ambush point, hustle up everybody. Hustle up. Go.”
Through the trees I can hear the echoing approach of the AV VTOL. My software IDs cheap, under armored, over armed, Chinese made Dragon class troop carriers. Perfect for long range support. Not so good for a hot LZ drop.
“How far?” I yell forward to Sal as we run.
“Those back-to-back ridges.” He points as he replies. A hundred yards….
The kids, not burdened by having to pull a second person along, range ahead of me; they may actually get to cover in time. I can see more of them already in position. Shandra is doggedly pulling up rearguard. “Shandra, get up there,” I yell.
She shakes her head. “She’s my orders.”
I let go of the doc and push her past me.
“As of now – Fuck those orders. Those AVs could wipe your ass everywhere unless you’re in cover.” I pull out my heavy handgun. My other hand rips a sticky charge off of the webbing under my coat. The moment I get a clean throw the air support has to go.
One of the vehicles roars into view. I cock my arm back and lock the throw onto an engine intake. I bellow, “Grenade out.”
It’s a clean toss.
Ahead of me the kids still moving drop into crouches and keep moving to the ridge lines.
The whump, mixed with the roar of the craft, is double thunder. The light cast by my explosion rolls as a fireball sweeping past overhead. The pilot, in the instant before he crashes, struggles to set the craft down to the rear of our location. Only our wild forward momentum keeps us from losing people under it as the VTOL falls from the sky.