Backstab

by Everet Martins

  “They knew we were coming…” Talos trails off, voice icy and coated in death. His gaze slides over to me. “String?” His hand grips his sword.

  My eyes bulge at him. “You think I had something to do with this? Fuck off, Talos.”

  Saber pokes his rifle through a crack in the door and looses another series of shots. “Doesn’t matter. They’re all downed now. Don’t think I damaged the computers.”

  Paragon bites her lip, eyes flicking between myself and Talos. “Let’s go.”

  Saber enters first, followed by Talos, who draws his sword to finish off any moaning guards. There were three in all, combat shotguns at the ready. It’s a miracle they didn’t manage to fire a single shot. Talos strolls around the room, driving the tip of his blade through their throats. He’s a fucking savage and is perfect for the job.

  The room is divided into three walkways whose walls are thick panes of ballistic glass, each bearing an etched logo of Wolf Microsystems, an open mouthed wolf’s head. The glass panels hem in rectangular servers blinking with thousands of LEDs. The ceiling within the glass rooms is an enormous ventilation duct for regulating server temperatures. The server towers, and thus the glass panes are illuminated in a cool blue light that shines through a floor of steel grating. The servers are aligned in perfect and beautiful symmetry. It looks like it’s all set up to produce an impressive photo for company marketing materials or to woo potential clients. They probably walk them through this room on tours.

  It’s wrong. It’s out of place being so immaculate, entrenched in this dusty tomb. The team was right. The server room should’ve been empty. I have no explanation to offer.

  Blood dapples the glass where the guards perished. A few rounds struck it, but the glass is clearly high-end material and only left a few spidering cracks.

  There are access panels set every ten feet for manually interfacing with the servers. They have a few ports, a uselessly small keypad, and a status screen.

  “This won’t take long.” Nightshade steps over a dead guard like he’s nothing but a trash bag. She connects one end of a wire to a panel and the other to the microcomputer clutched in her fist. Her eyes go glassy as she enters the Net. “Yes, yes,” she whispers.

  I shuffle from side to side, unsure of what to do with myself. Paragon eyes me warily. Talos covers the door we entered while Saber patrols around the chamber. The room mirrors the shape of the server towers, long and rectangular.

  “No, no. Leave me alone! I only work here!” a man shouts, panic heavy in his voice. Boots scuff and grunts sound as Saber returns, led by a horror-stricken worker with his hands raised. He wears grease-stained overalls topped with a tool belt packed in tight with gear. He pauses open mouthed to take us in.

  “Did I say stop?” Saber jabs him in the head with his rifle barrel.

  “Asshole!” The worker glowers back at Saber, staggering toward us. He looks like he’s ripe for retirement. His skin is deeply wrinkled beneath a spattering of white beard. I feel bad for the guy. He poses no threat, but I know he’ll have to die. He’s seen all of us.

  “Look, I didn’t see anything. Okay? I’ve been at this place for years, paying my dues and keeping my head down. I just want to walk away peacefully, okay? I was in the other room. I didn’t see shit. Alright, guys?”

  Saber looks to Paragon for a decision, finger resting on the trigger guard. Her lips form a white line. Ten heartbeats thrum in my skull. She gives the slightest shake of her head.

  “Turn around,” Saber commands.

  The man solemnly nods, seemingly resigned to his fate. But as he turns to face the wall away from the group, his whole body begins to shake. “No! Please, you can’t do this. I’ve worked too hard, too long.”

  “We are.” Saber rests his hand on the trigger.

  “Please! You can’t! Don’t do this!” He drops to his knees, sobbing hard into his hands. “Assholes! Bastards! Get it over with already! Fucking ass—”

  Saber’s rifle roars, and the wall is painted with gore. Blood wells from his head, quickly pooling around his body. He’s no longer yelling, no longer cursing.

  “Shit. Did you…” I trail off and finish in my head, have to? I don’t know why I ask myself this because I already know.

  “What the fuck?” Nightshade is back from the Net, walking over to us on groggy legs.

  “Couldn’t we have just knocked him out or something?” I blurt, and Paragon glares in my direction. I lift my chin. My suggestion is reasonable, although I suppose I can’t fault her decision. His knowledge could bring the downfall of her team.

  “We’re good,” Nightshade says flatly and cracks a smile. “We’re good. Got the data. So, can we get the fuck out of here?”

  Paragon grins at her with motherly pride. “Nice work, Night.”

  Our departure hazes past. Doors open and doors close. It feels like we’re scuba divers, silently gliding through crime-scene hallways, our breath the only sound. These grisly scenes couldn’t have been us. Someone else murdered all these people. Mothers, fathers, and children all just doing their jobs.

  I keep thinking about the executed facilities guy. Lights blend together like streaks of mud. Somewhere an alarm is still crying. Distant gunfire thuds over the wail.

  Saber crashes through the exit door and groans with a heavy breath. We all follow after him, finally emerging from the way we came in. Despite the dust, the night air is refreshing.

  Everyone looks tired. Blood cracks and dries from our forms, chasing after us like scarlet bread crumbs. It is a trail made plain for anyone bold enough to follow. None are.

  War still rages on the opposing side of the building. The distraction team fights hard. Gunfire bites the night.

  “Good, good.” Paragon nods at me. Her skin is a ghastly almond, and her eyes are slits. She pushes a hand through her hair, and it falls in strings about her sweat-lined cheeks.

  Even the unflappable Nightshade is moving differently. I think whatever work she had to do in the Net wasn’t easy. It took something from her. Her normally sure gait has become lumbered. I wonder if she had another run in with the Dark Oil.

  Talos and Saber march beyond the doors and stop at the edge of the overgrown parking lot. They both slowly lower their rifles. I think I hear the din of the team’s van calling over the filthy air.

  Everything is working. The plan is going well. I must admit that I’m impressed with my hire. I feel myself smiling, staring off at nothing.

  “What are you so happy about?” Paragon asks at my side.

  “It worked. It fucking worked.” I say, feeling childish.

  She looks away from me and at the sky, voice lowering. “Not good.”

  In the horizon, dozens of lights dance like fireflies. Wolf has called in the infiltration, summoning the Falcon to their rescue. It won’t be cheap for the company, but when the combat drones get here, it will be over in minutes. They don’t look to be more than a few miles away.

  “Let’s move,” Paragon barks. We don’t wait, making our way through the grass-choked parking lot.

  “I’ve got them, the other team. Range is limited.” Nightshade raises her portable and flips a switch.

  A speaker crackles to life. I wince as I recognize the voice, albeit strained. “Run! The fuck out—” It’s Sawyer, the leader of the first crew I hired. Gunshots roar from the speaker and bounce from the pavement a second before they carry over the building in an eerie effect.

  I feel the energy of everyone shift. I find enmity. I see now the guise of friendship has fallen away. It’s all business now.

  “Taking too much! Fall back! Get the fuck out! Fuck out!” Sawyer screams.

  My boot catches on something heavy, and I stumble, hardly catching myself before falling onto my face and landing on my side. No one bothers paying me a glance, plowing onward. I lay there for a moment, breathing, trapped in a forest of grass. It tickles my skin. It annoys me more than anything I’d endured thus far. I drag myself up and jog to cat
ch up with the team. Fuck grass.

  “We’re going to get through this damned door, or we’re not gonna get paid!” Someone else shouts over the hacked comms. I feel everyone’s eyes boring into my guts. I could hang my armor from their disdain.

  Sawyer shouts, “The job’s fucked. Falcon is on the way. On the motherfucking move or we’re dead! Motherfucking move!”

  “Idiots! What are they waiting for?” Saber growls. He hoists his rifle onto his shoulder.

  This isn’t anything new. They knew this would be the result. I brush debris from my chest and say nothing.

  “Could’ve just as easily been us,” Talos says quietly, shaking his head and crossing his arms, which looks awkward while he walks.

  “That’s a direct order. We’re out! Go!” Sawyer’s voice crackles. We wait another long minute.

  Nightshade flips off the speaker with an audible click. “There’s no way. How? Not going to outrun the drones in time.”

  “Can you help them?” Paragon looks at her wide-eyed.

  Nightshade scowls. “No. Not enough time and hardly enough for us. They’ll be here next, and here is where we shouldn’t be.”

  The buzzing of the drones reaches us. We all turn to watch in horror. They home in on the other side of the Wolf Microsystems building, slowly coming together to form a pincer. LEDs lining their bulbous bodies blink. Their size is only due to the vast quantity of ammunition they carry. I always thought of them as murderous insects in thoughts of jest, but it doesn’t hold humor now. They freeze in the air, assessing.

  The sky is sundered with a great roar. Miniguns spill their guts upon the already crippled team. Whirling death from a thousand cartridges rains down upon them. Tracer rounds slice lines through the dark. Muzzle fire illuminates the drones, their bodies armored with thick plates bearing the angel’s wings logo of the Falcon.

  “Fuck,” Saber whispers.

  “Fucking hell,” Talos says.

  The drones start to circle, raining molten lava in every direction. No cover is left unmolested by their onslaught. And just as suddenly as they started, they stop. They turn and fly off the way they came. They’re unfeeling, calculating machines, simply following their assigned programming.

  The silence settles hard on our backs. Dead grass whispers secrets. “Least they’re not patrolling,” Nightshade offers. She flicks on the hacked comms channel. Nothing but static emits from her speaker.

  The van meets us halfway through the field, rolling slowly at about five mph in autonomous mode. We get in and leave, wordless.

  15

  Cutthroats

  The team is pressed against the walls of the van, removing blood and sweat-soaked gear. It rumbles down forgotten roads, taking us back to the hangar. I’m vacillating between feelings of dizziness and mastering the urge to vomit, and among them all glimpses of sublime peace. Someone must’ve noticed and placed a bucket near me.

  It’s over. We got the intel, and I’m still alive.

  I settle down to sit and let my head loll back against the wall. When I close my eyes, my psyche is assaulted by replaying images of the Dark Oil. Its infinite tentacles are all consuming, beyond them a boiling sea of clouds. I let out a sigh that becomes a wan smile.

  We hit a bump, and I inhale sharply, opening my eyes and double-blink to check my AR. I see an urgent message blinking in the corner of my vision. It’s from someone in Erinas as they’re the only messages I’ve allowed to notify me. I brace myself as I read it.

  Desmond, Erinas is pleased with your work and has a bonus in store. We know you have the algorithm. Make the delivery at Mint tonight. I’ll find you.

  How do they know? I suppose there are a thousand ways. We weren’t exactly stealthy. I know for sure they have friends in the Falcon.

  I clear my throat. “I got a message from Erinas. They want us to deliver the goods tonight. They’ll make good on your payment.” The sign off uses the name Wedge. I blink off my AR. I don’t know who this person is, I presume someone at the currier level still paying his dues before climbing up the ladder.

  Paragon sits across from me, leaning her chest against her knees. One of her eyes is cut in a lance of white light as we pass under a streetlight. The corners of her eyes are tight, the side of her lip twitching as if some buried emotion threatens to well out of her. She stares at me.

  I don’t have the mental endurance to handle the pressure of her eyes. “What?” I blurt. “Didn’t you hear me? Everything is back in order, you’re going to get paid. We’re good.”

  She masters her expression. I feel like a bug under the watchful gaze of a praying mantis awaiting to strike. I realize the rest of the team has gone strangely quiet. I thought there might be some sort of banter to ease the tension after a successful job. Maybe this is the norm. Maybe I’m over analyzing.

  I lower my head to collect my thoughts, and then I see how stupid I’ve been. They’re pissed because of the other team. The novel stress of this situation has muddled my thinking. Again, I remind myself that they knew the score of the situation.

  “Great. Good. I’m so glad to hear you’ve worked things out in Erinas,” Saber says in a sarcastic tone.

  I shrug off his slight. I suppose I can’t blame him. It’s more real now that Sawyer’s team has been killed. The team stews in silence for the remainder of the ride, changing course for Mint.

  I ask Nightshade for a copy of the pilfered intelligence. She sends it to me via our connected ARs. It’s far too technical for my layman’s understanding, but there are a few summary documents that explain it for the executive types such as myself.

  My initial brief was accurate, even though the stolen encryption scheme isn’t just for any ordinary communication. It’s for communication between rockets and the systems that launched them. My eyes go a little wide at that, though I should’ve guessed it was something this heavy.

  It’s only a matter of time before another company figures out how to defeat it. It’s all another point in the endless arms race. One company leapfrogging over another, ad infinitum. This is worth a lot of Spectrals, easily in the hundreds of millions. This team is only getting a mere fraction of its worth. Nightshade likely knows this. I know it. Does the rest of the team? I let my eyes slide over the group. Everyone is relaxed and settled down in the van’s shadows. Eyes are closed, and breathing is easy.

  We arrive at Mint. It’s one in the morning, and the club is just starting to fill. It will serve as a distraction for watchful eyes. We’re to meet Wedge in a side alley where a few club goers are shooting up chems with hypodermic needles. They take one look at Saber and Talos and decide to find another spot.

  Wedge has selected a lovely spot. There is a rusted dumpster bearing spray-painted graffiti of a menacing dagger. Its top overflows with empty bottles and spent chems packaging. Puddles carry the stink of urine and mold. Wet trash clings to the brick wall’s edges. I shake my head at the filth and give a wry snicker. It brings back the salient memory of my time cowering from the three gangers.

  “Desmond? Something wrong?” Paragon asks.

  “Huh? No. Just not the best place to meet, with all this junk.” I’m taken aback at her attention to detail. She must be keeping a close eye on me to notice such a subtle reaction. Maybe there is still something between us after all. Like a dog to meat, I smell opportunity.

  Saber leans his back against the wall and crosses his arms a bit ahead of me. “Nothing else you’d like to share?”

  “No?” I say in the tone of a question. “Is there something you’re suspecting?”

  I must still be feeling the effects of all the killings from the job. I’m not normally this easily shaken. I’m fine. Everything is fine, I tell myself, although it’s not. It feels like a hand is squeezing my guts. Something isn’t right. I nonchalantly paw for the gun in my holster, only to find it’s gone, empty, left in the van.

  Paragon and Saber meet each other’s eyes for a moment, the meaning of it lost on me. I give a helpless sh
rug.

  A luxury autocar whispers to a stop before the alley. Its finish is a flawless glossy black, its shape all silky curves. There’s no question as to who that might be.

  I look to Nightshade standing with one foot raised to rest on the wall, hands fiddling with a gadget unknown. A blue LED illuminates her round cheeks. I expect that since she has the other copy of the code, she’ll deliver it to Wedge to collect their payment.

  “Go on,” Paragon says. Her tone is a command, her eyes obsidian.

  I don’t see why it matters. I point at my chest. “You want me to do this? Why?”

  She gestures good-naturedly toward the autocar. The rear passenger window cracks open. “It’s okay, Desmond. We trust you’ll do the right thing. I’d imagine the two of you have much to discuss regarding recent events in Erinas.”

  This is all wrong. The team should be delivering the goods, but yet again I find myself in a position of weakness. “Fine,” I say with a steely sigh.

  I look at Saber, who responds by raising his eyebrows, his eyes whirring below the high arch. What sits in his eye sockets is only glass, servos, and micro PCBs, but it doesn’t change the intensity of his stare. It’s not hostile, but not friendly either. I respect him. He’s someone I want on my side. He complements Paragon’s leadership well. He’s always been about the business, a professional. I nod at him.

  “Don’t forget the Spectrals, asshole,” Talos mutters as I pass.

  “Of course.” I shoot him a glare and manage to hold his stare. I’m proud of myself for that.

  I walk toward the autocar. My first step squishes into something moist. The thump of bass reverberates through the sound dampened walls to my right from the club. The window on the autocar slides down another two inches. My heart picks at my throat with its every beat. I try to calculate the number of times I’ve almost died today. My mind hazes when the number exceeds ten, and I label the task fruitless.

  The door opens, rising vertically to reveal a young man in a tailored pinstripe suit. It looks ridiculous, as if he’s trying to look like an old-school gangster. I wonder if he has a sub-machine gun with a drum magazine under the jacket. It’s quintessential of the young to make up for inexperience with a gaudy show of wealth.