by Piers Platt
That bastard stole my Forge.
He looked down at the hemobot extractor, but it was leaking fluid from several large shrapnel holes along the case. The display screen on top was dead.
“Ah, shit,” Rath said.
If I still have some hemobots in my system, the Group can still kill me remotely. And they’re undoubtedly watching footage of this. So why am I still alive?
“Corporal Friedman!” he heard one of the police shout.
Rath searched through his memory.
The cop I ambushed, what was on his nametag?
He pulled up the image. “Yeah, over here!”
“Are you okay?”
“I think so,” Rath said. “But my leg is bleeding.”
“Sit tight,” the cop told him.
One of the police officers had been injured by the grenades – his buddy was tending to his wounds now. The other two cops crossed behind Rath, weapons pointed at the fallen mercenary.
“I got you, check him,” the team leader ordered.
“He’s dead,” the other replied, after inspecting the body. The two jogged over to Rath’s chair. One kneeled and removed his first aid kit from his tactical vest. His name tape read Kitchener. He started cutting away Rath’s pant leg above the shrapnel wound.
“I’m Staff Sergeant Noland, team leader,” the other told Rath, slinging his weapon. “We got a ‘weapon draw’ notification on your sidearm, and when you didn’t respond to the radio, they sent us to check it out.”
“Just you guys?” Rath asked.
“Yeah, things are a little hectic right now – second car’s en route, though. What happened?”
“I don’t know,” Rath said. “I was at my duty station on the parade route this morning, and the next thing I remember, I woke up here, tied to this chair. I think they were going to torture me,” Rath said, nodding at the hemobot extractor still attached to his arm, “but they didn’t start yet, I woke up just before you guys showed up.”
“You were at the parade?” Noland asked.
“Yeah, I was helping with crowd control on the route,” Rath said. “But I never got to see the senator; these guys grabbed me before he showed up.”
Kitchener stopped bandaging Rath’s leg and traded a look with Noland. “It’s gotta be related,” he said.
“What? What’s related?” Rath asked.
Noland pursed his lips. “Senator Reid is dead,” he said.
“Oh no,” Rath said, looking crestfallen. “You think those guys had something to do with it?” he asked.
“Seems likely,” Noland agreed.
The medic finished bandaging Rath and stood up, addressing Rath. “There’s an ambulance en route, it’ll take you to the hospital.”
“Okay, good,” Rath said. “Mind cutting me out of here?” Kitchener had freed his ankles before treating the shrapnel wound, but Rath’s chest and wrists were still bound to the chair. Noland started unbuckling Rath’s chest strap, then paused.
“Corporal, before I let you out of here, I need you to give me the ‘all clear,’ ” Noland said, looking into Rath’s eyes.
“What?” Rath asked.
“I know you’ve been through a lot today, but I need you to concentrate. Remember your training,” Noland said, gently. “When an officer is taken hostage, there’s a code word we use to signify that you are who you say you are, and everything’s fine. What’s that word?”
Rath looked from the team leader to the medic, panic in his eyes. “I don’t know!” he blurted.
“It’s okay,” Kitchener said, patting Rath on the shoulder. “Take your time. Think.”
Rath shook his head. “Guys, you gotta believe me, I’m a cop … but I can’t remember the code word. I don’t know, I think they must have drugged me, I’m still not thinking straight.”
The medic took a step back, and Rath noted that his hand was back on his carbine’s handgrip. Noland stood up, frowning. “Okay, we’ll try something else – what precinct are you in, and who’s the commander?”
Rath pulled up the search query in his heads-up display, but the application wouldn’t run. It just displayed a message: Data error – no connection.
Shit. They cut my data connection when they disabled me. But that explains why they haven’t just killed me with the remaining hemobots.
He tested the bindings on his wrist experimentally, but they were still firmly in place. His shoulders sagged in submission.
“I was so close,” he said, half smiling.
“What?” Noland asked, confused.
“You guys couldn’t just let me hop in the back of the ambulance, could you?” Rath sighed. “I guess that was too much to ask for.” Rath looked up at them, and as he did so, he shifted his face and hair back into one of his standard cover identities. Noland gasped, and Kitchener pointed his carbine at Rath’s chest.
“A fucking guildsman!” the medic spat.
“You killed the senator, didn’t you?” Noland asked.
Rath nodded. “And I took Corporal Friedman and another plainclothes officer hostage, too.”
“Where are they?” the team leader asked.
“They’re both safe, for now. I need you to listen closely: the guys who were torturing me were Guild employees, too. The Guild wants me dead, so they – or a lot more people just like them – are going to come back for me, real soon. And they’re going to try to finish the job. But you’re not going to let that happen, are you?”
The medic snorted. “Why the fuck not?”
Noland put a restraining hand on Kitchener’s arm. “Because otherwise you’ll kill Friedman and this other cop you claim to have,” he finished for Rath.
“Yes I will,” Rath said. “But if you protect me, I’m going to confess to the senator’s murder, and take you to your missing comrades. I’m also going to tell you everything there is to know about the Guild, everything you need to take the organization down, and you, Staff Sergeant Noland, you’re going to be the one that gets all the credit. But to do that you’re going to need to keep me alive at all costs.”
“I need proof that the hostages are alive,” Noland said.
“Take out your phone,” Rath said, waiting until Noland had done so. “Open your browser and enter this URL,” Rath read it off from memory.
The medic kept his weapon trained on Rath, resisting the urge to peek at his leader’s phone. “What is it?”
“Video feed of some room, with two guys chained to a wall. This could be anyone,” Noland protested. “How do I even know this feed is live?”
“Press the ‘Talk’ button – there’s a speaker and a mic, you can talk to them,” Rath instructed him.
“This is Staff Sergeant Noland, Alberon IP Tactical Response Team Four. I’m negotiating with your captor and I need proof of life. Please state your names and ranks,” Noland said into the phone.
“Detective Martin Beauceron,” one of the men replied.
“Corporal Peter Friedman,” the other said. “Get us the fuck out of here.”
“Working on it, gentlemen. Stay strong,” Noland replied.
The third member of their team walked over as Noland put his phone away.
“How’s Wirtz?” Noland asked him, jerking his head toward the fourth cop, who was propped against an unbroken section of window next to the armored police cruiser.
“Through-and-through shoulder wound, hurting him a lot but he’ll be fine,” the man reported. His uniform marked him as a sergeant by the name of Eldoran. “Our backup team is on station, they’re orbiting the building right now waiting for instructions.”
“Okay, thanks. Are you following the situation?” Noland asked him.
“Yeah, Wirtz and I have been listening in over our audio pickups,” Eldoran said. He gave Rath an appraising look. “Doesn’t look like much, does he? I thought the Guild was full of steely-eyed killers.”
Rath ignored him. “Okay, Staff Sergeant, you’ve confirmed your colleagues are alive,” he said. “But there
’s a limited amount of time left before something very bad happens to them. So let’s get out of here before then, and before the Guild comes back in force.”
“No,” Noland said. “I need to call this in before we do anything else.”
“No!” Rath said. “Interstellar Police are heavily infiltrated with Guild agents. I know: I was recruited by a dirty cop. You pick up that radio, there’s a good chance you call a mole. The Guild doesn’t know I’m not dead yet, but the minute they do, it’s all over. I’m trusting you guys, but we can’t tell anyone else yet that I’ve turned myself in.”
“I don’t like it,” Noland said, biting his lip.
“You don’t have to like it. But if you radio any of this in, I will let your colleagues die. We’ve got about fifteen minutes before nothing I can do will save them,” Rath said. “So decide quickly.”
“This guy is fucking playing us,” Kitchener warned.
“I’m not,” Rath shook his head. “I need you; you’re the only thing keeping me alive.”
“Fuck,” Noland swore. He pulled his helmet off and ran his hand through his hair, sighing. Noland studied Rath, and then he reached his decision.
“Okay, Kitch, cut him loose, then cuff him.”
Kitchener opened his mouth to protest, but Noland held up his hand. “Just do it.” The medic knelt and started unbuckling Rath’s straps. Eldoran shifted to one side and covered Rath with his carbine.
Noland faced Rath. “Your turn to listen to me, asshole. You’re going to take us directly to the hostages, and Kitchener’s going to keep his sidearm pointed at you at all times, and he’s going to shoot you the minute you step out of line, got it?”
Rath nodded.
“Please give me an excuse,” Kitchener said, giving Rath a cold smile. He pulled Rath to his feet, twisted his right arm cruelly behind his back, and Rath felt himself being handcuffed.
Noland raised his voice. “Wirtz, you’re staying here – if you don’t hear back from me in fifteen minutes, you’re going to radio all of this in.”
From the window, Wirtz lifted his uninjured arm in the air, giving a thumbs-up. “You got it.”
Noland turned to Rath: “Now you have to play by our rules, or Wirtz is going to put out an all-points-bulletin to the entire Alberon IP Department, and then every dirty cop on the planet will know you’re alive, and where you are, too. Got it?”
Rath sighed, “Yeah, got it.”
“Okay,” Noland said. “Let’s go.”
Rath sat in the back seat of the cruiser, with Kitchener next to him. As promised, he drew his pistol and pointed it at Rath’s head the minute they were both buckled in. Eldoran took the driver’s seat, and Noland sat in front with him. Eldoran backed the cruiser gingerly out of the apartment’s broken windows, then spun the vehicle and hovered, glancing over his shoulder at Rath.
“Well?” he asked.
“Join the intra-city twenty-thousand-foot air traffic corridor,” Rath said. “Heading into the city center.”
Eldoran stamped on the accelerator, and the cruiser rocketed upwards at a sharp angle. Rath felt his stomach protest at the sudden G-forces.
“Where are we going?” Noland asked.
“We’re looking for a cargo truck,” Rath said.
“They’re in the back of a truck?”
“Yes. The auto-pilot is programmed to fly on a loop at twenty thousand feet, but the engine will shut off if I don’t log into the remote control interface every hour,” Rath said.
“Auto-pilots don’t shut off at altitude,” Eldoran said. “The truck’s got safety protocols to prevent that kind of thing.”
“Yup, it used to,” Rath agreed. “Care to guess if they’re still working or not?”
“How long has it been since you logged in and reset the countdown clock?” Noland asked him.
Rath checked the timer on his heads-up display. “Fifty-two minutes,” he said.
Noland held his phone up for Rath. “Log in now, and shut that timer off completely.”
“I can’t,” Rath said, shaking his head.
“Then just reset it for another hour,” Noland insisted.
“I can’t,” Rath said, again.
“Do it, asshole!” Kitchener pressed the pistol against Rath’s forehead. The ring of steel was cold against his temple.
“Look, I would, but I can’t! I programmed it to require a biometric signature when I log in. I can only send it commands via my internal computer, not your phone. And the Guild shut off my data connection. The only way to shut it down now is to get on the truck itself.”
“You want to climb onto a moving truck, at this speed and altitude?” Noland asked.
“No, I don’t. But it’s the only way,” Rath said. “There it is.” He nodded toward the windshield, and Noland turned to look. The cargo truck was several vehicles ahead of them in the traffic flow.
“The red one?” Eldoran asked.
“That’s it,” Rath confirmed.
“Boss, he’s just going to jump in the truck and fly off with the hostages,” Kitchener said.
“You expect me to outrun a police cruiser in that heap?” Rath asked him. “Look, you caught me – I’m done running, believe me – I’ve been doing it all of my life. I just want this to be over now. I’m trying to help you.”
Eldoran flipped on his siren and swerved around several other cars, closing in on the truck. “Why don’t we just open the container and get them out?” he asked.
“It’s welded shut,” Rath told them.
“Motherfucker,” Kitchener swore. “If you’re getting on that truck, so am I.”
“Are you sure, Kitch?” Noland asked.
“Not really, but I don’t trust this guy for a second on his own,” Kitchener replied. “We’ve got the rappelling gear, right?”
“Yeah, start getting your harnesses on,” Noland ordered. He took Kitchener’s pistol and covered Rath.
“I’m going to need these cuffs off,” Rath pointed out, turning in his seat so that they could see his hands, still bound behind his back.
Kitchener uncuffed him, but then reattached the handcuffs with Rath’s hands in front of him. “I’m not that stupid,” he told Rath.
The two men pulled on climbing harnesses, and Rath followed Kitchener’s lead as he attached his safety ropes to a karabiner clip mounted in the cruiser’s ceiling. Kitchener gave Noland a thumbs-up when he was set, and took his pistol back. Eldoran had piloted the cruiser to a position ten feet above the top of the truck’s cargo container, and as Rath watched, he maneuvered them closer, inching the police car down.
“Get ready with the clamp,” Eldoran told Noland.
“On it,” Noland replied, tapping the screen at his station. The police cruiser passed through the truck’s slipstream, and bucked upwards several feet in protest.
“Easy,” Eldoran said, clenching his teeth. He brought the nose down and tried again. The car thumped into the truck’s roof with a metallic clang, and Noland keyed the controls for the clamp.
“We’re attached,” he said. “Keep the engine running.”
“No kidding,” Eldoran said, wiping sweat from his brow.
“How much time?” Noland asked.
“A little under five minutes,” Rath said.
“Let’s get going, then,” Kitchener growled. The rear doors swung up on their hinges, and the roaring air buffeted Rath immediately, his thin shirt flapping painfully against his chest. It was bitterly cold. He swung his legs out into the air, and then twisted himself around, standing up on the narrow lip of the truck’s roof below him. He would have liked to hold the side of the car for balance, but with his hands cuffed, he could only hold the rope with both hands. Between his ankles, he could see the tops of the city’s skyscrapers, and a thin layer of cloud, thousands of feet below.
Why did I think this was a good idea?
He shuffled his feet along the lip, moving toward the front of the car. A particularly strong gust of wind caught h
im, and Rath felt himself being pushed out into the void. He pulled hard on the rope and fell against the side of the car heavily, sending a jolt of pain through the half-healed gunshot wound in his shoulder. Through the window below him, Noland gestured urgently at his watch with an expression of alarm.
Yeah, I got it: hurry.
On the far side of the car, Kitchener had already traversed to the front, and was waiting – he pulled Rath the last few feet past the hood, and then shoved him toward the truck’s cab. Rath took the lead, their safety lines dancing behind them as they leaned into the powerful wind.
There was a gap between the truck’s cargo container and the cab, and Rath eased himself carefully down into it, closely followed by Kitchener. A tarpaulin-covered bulk took up most of the space, but the ropes on the tarpaulin made for good hand-holds. It was somewhat sheltered in the narrow space, but still too noisy for normal conversation, so Rath pointed his hands toward the driver’s side of the cab.
“I need to go that way,” he shouted.
Kitchener nodded and made his way toward the passenger side. Rath watched him go for a second, and then slipped his safety rope out of the karabiner at his waist, detaching himself. He took a deep breath, and then climbed back out onto the side of the truck into the battering gale. He managed to grab the hand-rung outside the open doorframe with both manacled hands.
Don’t look down.
He stretched his leg up into the cab, feeling for the floor of the cab, cringing as the gash from the shrapnel wound tore open again. Finally he found his footing, and hauled himself up onto the seat. Kitchener was waiting for him, his pistol out.
“Shut the timer down now!” he yelled, shouting to be heard over the noise of the open door behind him.
Rath tapped on the truck’s control screen to wake it up. A fingerprint symbol appeared, and Rath held his thumb against the screen for a second while it was scanned. The screen flashed a green check mark symbol, and then the control menu opened up. Rath selected the auto-navigation settings, typed in several sequences, and then turned to Kitchener and gave him a thumbs-up.