by Jason Mather
She regretted what she had to keep from him, but she had no choice. She had to keep him monitored, as much for his own protection as for information. She believed his story about the delivery, knew he would never knowingly engage in contact with high-level criminal activity. But he was involved now, a nasty unknown in an already volatile situation. He would do what he wanted, and damn the consequences, just like he always did. Hans was grit in the gears at the best of times. Very smart in some ways, surprisingly naïve in others. He knew she’d kept things from him. The files on the portable were meant to satisfy his curiosity and scare him with the scale of what he was involved in. It wouldn’t matter. He blamed himself for the nurse, probably for Carlton. Grit normally found his old-fashioned chivalry rather adorable, if somewhat useless, but he was severely out of his element here. Maybe he’d see sense and go home.
She doubted it.
— «» —
The transport pulled off the ramp and onto a poorly maintained road, once a major thoroughfare. Six lanes, large overgrown median, crumbling retail surrounding. They had the whole road to themselves and drove up the center, ignoring the ancient street signs.
The commercial district here was a testament to man’s impermanence. Probably abandoned about the time of the last exodus to the inner city, forty years had wiped parts of it almost completely away. Structures toppled and crumbled as nature destroyed them from the ground up, taking every opportunity to grow and thrive. Animals, both indigenous, like the foxes and deer, and invasive, such as the roving packs of feral dogs, were moving in and settling. Attempts to cull their numbers were largely unsuccessful. The folly of man’s sense of self-importance. He loved it.
The portable Grit had given him contained two text files, both written by her. Short briefings for high brass, probably.
Name: Illiyana Petrovich
AKA Kaori Li
AKA Onyx
Hans recognized the handle. Most citizens of Denver had heard of Onyx, though no one had ever seen her as far as he knew.
Age: 30-35
Born: Hong Kong
Information from Hong Kong is sparse, as the city’s lockdown on its citizens in the wake of the nuclear terrorist attack in the early ‘00s makes intelligence difficult. She is believed to be the illegitimate daughter of a Yakuza official and a Russian ballet dancer, her age being estimated from a likely encounter when the Russian National Ballet gave a series of official performances for Hong Kong royalty. Born outside Hong Kong, she traveled with her mother for a series of years, before losing her mother in a terrorist attack by unknown sources.
Afterward she stayed in Hong Kong with her father. Information becomes nearly non-existent at this point, the few pieces we have questionable. She fled for unknown reasons, with no information on her whereabouts for nearly four years. She surfaced in Denver five years ago.
Onyx shows an extraordinary amount of intelligence and savvy in the running of her organization, and appears to inspire extreme loyalty among her followers, making it nearly impossible to infiltrate her organization or predict her next move.
The vast majority of her business involves underground technologies, such as high-level encryption and the cracking of the same. At some point, she introduced a virulent virus into city-wide networks, its sole purpose to seek and destroy any information, pictures, video, or anything else related to her. Currently we have been unable to combat it successfully.
Despite her abilities and technological prowess, at this time I do not consider her a primary threat. To the best of our intelligence she engages in no traffic of drugs, illegal body mods, banned weapons systems, or human beings. On numerous occasions her organization has provided my officers with information as to where these activities are taking place, enabling us to step in and prevent them. Also, though they are highly trained and armed, her followers do not represent a significant offensive force, as they seem to be used only for the protection of her physical and technological property.
I would say she considers herself an honorable criminal, actively fighting or undermining other organizations that do not live up to her code. At some point, she may step out of line, as most organized crime eventually over-reaches itself. Until that time she and her organization appear to be happily innocuous. Removing her would create a significant technological power vacuum, one that could easily be filled by less scrupulous individuals.
In summary, Onyx, though definitely engaged in criminal activities, seems to be a calming influence on the crime rate in the city. My recommendation is that we leave her be for the time being, until other, more pressing, problems are dealt with.
Commander Greta Ricker
— «» —
There was a deep respect between the lines. Still, if Grit had given this to him she must know or at least suspect Onyx to be one of the parties involved in the failed exchange. If her technological kung-fu was so great, maybe she was the creator of the thing that nearly killed him. If so, then who sent the one that protected him? Onyx? Why would she try to kill him and then protect him?
He was still mulling this over when something came through the armored windshield and took the driver’s head off.
— «» —
“Grit,” Gino chirped in her comm.
“Yeah.”
“The signal just came back online again.”
“Where?”
“The other side of the city.”
“See if we have anyone nearby. Gather who you can and bring them to the garage. Follow my signal.”
“You going after Hans?”
“Yeah.”
— «» —
There was no noise in the cabin; the truck had shut itself off. Hans knew how to drive, but he doubted it would start for him.
Whatever had taken out the driver had made a neat, inch-wide hole in the windshield. No spider webbing on the window. Almost no noise. Just a short crack and the driver’s head jerked back violently. Hans hadn’t even bothered to ask the guy his name.
Another casualty.
It took him a minute to recover from the shock, an easy target in the passenger seat. He needed to move. Don’t look at the driver. He’d never been good with blood and gore. Grit used to tease him about it.
Hans opened the door and quickly crept around to the back of the vehicle, with no idea if it would offer any protection. He sat for a moment on the cracked asphalt and tried to stop shaking.
Grit might believe that they were after her, but so far there had been two attempts on his life in two days, both of which resulted in other deaths. Anger gave him the strength to move.
Hans left the car and half ran/half loped his way to a pair of vine-covered buildings. His legs were still a bit shaky, adrenaline keeping them working. No second shot.
Formulating a plan, a crazy plan. Grit would call it stupid and bull-headed, but it only risked one life, his. He left the portable she’d given him on some crumbling steps, knowing she’d use it to try to track him, and he wondered briefly what the other file was. Too late now.
— «» —
“Half a mile behind you,” Gino said in Grit’s comm.
“OK. Any readings from the transport?”
“The driver’s tag went offline about a minute ago. Not a good sign. No reading from Hans, either.”
“Shit.”
She pushed the transport hard on the rough roads, motor complaining, shocks creaking. Gino came back.
“Grit, we’re getting a clear signal from the portable. It’s about a hundred yards from the vehicle. “
“Moving?”
“No.”
She tried to get more speed, teeth rattling in her head. Had to back off on the throttle.
“We got two loaded jumpcraft coming inbound from the city center,” Gino said.
“Ours?”
“Yeah. I called ‘em.”
“Good. Send one to investigate the other signal, bring the other to our location.”
“Roger.”
The
transport hit a large root sticking out of the road, causing the right side of the car to be momentarily airborne. Grit unconsciously turned the wheel to the right to keep the car from rolling. Despite every instinct, she let up on the throttle a bit. Damaging the vehicle and killing herself would not get her there any faster.
— «» —
Hans moved as quickly as he could through the unchecked growth of the side streets and alleys. He was thankful that Denver was not in a tropical region. Most of what hindered him was waist-high prairie grass, easy enough to walk through if you weren’t recovering from being dead. He did not know how far he was from the city center, but he could see the spires of the city skyline from where he was. Ten miles, maybe, before the first real civilization.
He had made it two blocks when he ran into another grisly surprise.
Another vehicle was sitting in the street, obviously capable, possibly armed, and blocking his path, with four dead men on the road. He did not get any closer, pretty sure what he would find, and he’d had enough death for a lifetime. These men may have been waiting in ambush for him. Something had killed them. End of story.
He gave the vehicle a wide berth and headed down another overgrown street.
— «» —
Grit sat in her transport, watching. Hans’ vehicle was a few hundred feet ahead; engine stopped, passenger door open. Her nerves were strung out, but training would not let her investigate alone. Too easy to ambush. The odds that the driver was alive were almost nil. She forced herself to wait for Gino.
She drove the transport through some tall grass and up against a building, leaving very little room to maneuver when she exited the driver’s side. Making her way around to the back, she opened the hatch and unlocked one of the assault rifles with a voice command. Its grip softened momentarily in her hand and then solidified in an optimal grip, thrumming as its generator warmed up. She crouched down by one of the rear tires and called Gino.
“Where are you, Gino?”
“I can see you.”
Grit turned her head to see the second transport trundling up the street toward her position. Gino had made sure to bring one with a mounted railgun on the back. It stopped in the street across from her and unloaded three soldiers. Two were armed and took up positions on either side of the vehicle, and the third climbed up to the mount in back and powered up the railgun. Gino exited the driver’s door quickly and crab-walked over to her.
“What’s the situation on the tracking scanners?” she asked.
“Nothing as far as we can tell. There are no signs of any hostiles, vehicles, or anything else as far as the city’s internal system is concerned, but you know it can be unreliable out here.”
“I’m going to make my way to the truck alone. Everyone else stays here.”
Gino’s eyes were concerned, but he was too well trained and had too much confidence in her to question the order. Modern weapon systems allowed snipers a range of six to seven miles if they knew what they were doing, and sometimes the only way to make sure was to risk it. Better if only one life was risked at a time.
Grit stayed in a crouch and made her way to the back of Hans’ transport, the hairs on her neck crawling, listening for a shot, though she knew she would never hear anything if it hit her.
She made her way to the open passenger door. A quick glance inside told the tale clearly. No Hans. A hole in the window, driver dead and missing most of the back of his skull. She didn’t need to see anything else.
“Gino?”
“Yeah?”
“Where did you say Hans’ signal was coming from?”
“In front of the building just to your right.”
She turned and made her way to the edge of the street. The portable was not hard to find. Hans had left it sitting on the lowest step of the building’s entrance. She guessed he was alive, at least until she found him. She checked its log. No calls had been made, no messages left.
“What’s the ETA on those jumpcraft, Gino?”
“About three minutes.”
“Tell them to call for more and prepare themselves for a manhunt.”
“Will do.”
— «» —
Hans was already tiring. He figured he’d probably made it a mile or so. In that distance he’d come across two more vehicles, both in the same shape as the first. Twelve dead men and counting. Why had someone sent such a huge force to kill or capture one untrained, still partially crippled civilian? They must blame him for losing whatever was in that package, something he would rectify.
— «» —
“Commander Ricker?”
“Yes?”
“Lieutenant Owens, Commander. I am currently heading toward your position. “
“What’s the situation?”
“We are observing what seems to be a large enemy force surrounding you.”
“How large? And what do you mean ‘seems’?”
“From speaking to the other two jumpcraft, we count upward of twenty armed enemy vehicles in an arc of about two miles just south of you. It looks like a massive ambush, or would be if they weren’t all dead. We have also confirmed at least two snipers, both also deceased.”
“Twenty vehicles? What make?”
“Military transport, not sure of the specifics.”
“All dead?”
“We can’t confirm one hundred percent, and the cover around here could hide many more, but currently we track no human life signs around your position.”
“Thank you.”
“Roger.”
Jesus. Twenty vehicles, four men apiece, eighty dead bodies littered around her. How they hell could a force like that have moved in so close without being discovered? Were they after Hans? Or was the killing of the driver merely a ruse to bring in her and her forces? It would have been a slaughter. Something had killed them to the last man, quietly and at speed.
“Lieutenant?”
“Yes, ma’am?”
“I want you to pull your jumpcraft back to what you consider a safe distance, and assume that there are more forces and that they may have anti-air.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
Grit turned and walked back to the transports. Gino followed without speaking. She wanted to find Hans, but the first priority was getting her soldiers out of danger.
— «» —
Hans had made it another half mile, but he was rapidly losing steam. He wouldn’t make it much further. He stopped to rest under the overhang of an old gas station. At least he would die somewhere outside of the city. He’d rather be eaten by animals than be put into a recycler.
There was a vehicle coming up the street in front of him. He was looking for a quick place to hide when he realized he was hearing the sound of an internal combustion engine. They were extraordinarily rare, illegal within most city-state borders. Neither the military nor the local police force used them. It had to be an outlander like him. He had no choice but to take the risk.
He stepped out into the street, wobbling on unsure legs. What he saw brought a smile to his face. It was the type of vehicle he’d grown up with, a heavily modified, heavily patched, four-wheel drive that wore its extensive repairs and modifications like old war scars. An older man sat behind the steering wheel, sunglasses covering his eyes, cigarette adhered into the corner of his mouth. A golden chariot pulled by angels would not have looked as good. Hans waved his arms and the vehicle pulled up in front of him.
The man leaned out the driver’s window and gave him a once over.
“You military?”
“No, sir.”
“You just wear them clothes because you like ‘em?”
Hans realized he was still wearing the military coverall Grit had given him when he left the hospital.
“Sure, why not?”
The man chewed a bit on the end of his cigarette, saying nothing.
“I could use a ride.” Hans said.
“You look like it.”
“Just to the city border.”
“Can’t go in the city in one of these. Don’t really like getting that close anyways.”
“I know that. If you could just drop me off nearby I would sure appreciate it.”
The man pulled his sunglasses down, revealing gray eyes so pale they almost faded into the whites. The effect was startling.
“You sure you’re not some spook?” he asked.
“Until someone tells me otherwise,” Hans replied.
He waved Hans around to the passenger side. Hans moved as quickly as he could.
— «» —
Grit’s frustration was palpable. She’d been forced to wait while reinforcements arrived in the shape of more military transports, then forced to wait again as the ground team and air teams made a long sweep of the terrain in front of her. Her fears that Hans was lying dead had to be suppressed while she made a proper sweep. She would not risk her soldiers’ lives unnecessarily.
Lieutenant Owens spoke through her comm. “Commander, we show no sign of active enemy forces. Multiple spectrum scans are negative, and the ground forces have only found bodies.”
“No trace at all of what killed them?”
“Ground forces report finding entry wounds but no exit wounds. The holes appear to be too big for the projectiles to have not exited. We are hypothesizing stab wounds at this point.”
“Thank you, Lieutenant.”
She took a moment to get her head together. As of right now the count was one hundred and five dead bodies, none shot, all most likely stabbed. No sign of what did it, though she had a theory.
“Lieutenant Owens.”
“Yes, ma’am?”
“Any sign of my brother?”
“No sign of anyone alive, ma’am, though so far he’s not among the dead, either.”
He couldn’t have traveled more than six miles at maximum. It was twelve to the city border. There had been no vehicle contacts, ground or otherwise, and it was hard to conceive how he could be evading scans. She held out hope.
— «» —
His savior didn’t have much to say on the drive in, but conversation wouldn’t have been possible even if they had been more friendly, as the vehicle rattled and banged like an ancient clock tower. The man hadn’t even offered a name. He drove the vehicle capably over mounds of earth, through small crevasses, and around impassable vegetation.