Third Transmission

by Jack Heath

  Other than its weight – 60-plus kilograms – the cannon’s only drawback was that it was tough to reload. But nothing ever survived the first shot, so that wasn’t much of a problem for the user.

  Neither Sammers nor any of his soldiers were looking at the desk, but none of them were looking directly away from it either. Six licked his lips, nervous. This was probably his best chance to climb out undetected. If he waited too much longer, they would point the camera at the warhead and then he’d be stuck there until they finished filming the announcement.

  Six pressed his hand against the underside of the desktop, and the drawers rolled slowly forwards. He kept the knife in the gap, so he could see if any of the disciples was looking. But they seemed absorbed in their task.

  ‘When I say the word “salvation”,’ Sammers was saying, ‘pan over to the device. Understood?’

  Six paused, in case the cameraman decided to do a practice pan.

  He didn’t. After a moment, Six kept pushing. The drawers were nearly completely open.

  ‘And I want you to cut,’ Sammers said, ‘after the phrase “See you in the heavenly kingdom”.’

  ‘Yes, sir,’ the disciple with the digicam said.

  Six stood up, very slowly. No-one glanced his way. Sammers’ blazing green eyes were still fixed on the camera.

  Six could see the warhead on the table – an unimposing grey cone with a keypad, a timer and a yellow sticker with the nuclear symbol on it. There was an arm button next to the timer. There were no other keys. No apparent way to disarm it. Inside, Six knew, there was a capsule filled with fissionable plutonium-239, waiting for an electrical signal to split the nuclei so it could unleash enough gamma radiation and explosive energy to turn millions of people to toxic dust.

  Don’t look, Straje, he thought. Keep watching the camera – there’s nothing happening over here.

  He wanted to grab the nuke, but he couldn’t – it had been on Straje Sammers’ video. Taking it now would mean changing history.

  Six lifted his right foot over the wall of drawer frames, and placed it on the floor. Blood thundered in his ears.

  ‘Is the direct upload ready yet?’ Sammers asked.

  ‘Fifteen more seconds,’ the cameraman said.

  Six drew his left leg up, swung it slowly out of the desk, and lowered it next to his right.

  He was out – but he needed to close the drawers. Otherwise the disciples would notice the change, and they would sweep the lab again.

  Six put his hand on the top drawer. Slid it shut.

  No-one looked at him. He reached for the next drawer down, not taking his eyes off Sammers and his men.

  ‘Ready in ten seconds,’ the cameraman said.

  ‘Sir,’ one of the disciples said.

  Sammers glanced at him. ‘What is it?’

  Six slid another drawer shut. Two to go.

  ‘I’d like to call my wife,’ the man said. Six saw the Adam’s apple bob in his throat. ‘To say goodbye.’

  ‘You will see her in the next life,’ Sammers said. He turned back to the camera.

  ‘Five seconds,’ the cameraman said, holding up an open hand.

  ‘But …’ the disciple with the wife began.

  Six closed the second-last drawer as quickly and silently as he could. Don’t look, he thought. Don’t you dare look.

  ‘Four,’ the cameraman said, curling his little finger.

  Sammers drew a pistol, put it to the temple of the married disciple, and fired. A painted sunrise of blood appeared on the side of the nearest server as the disciple collapsed. Six flinched.

  ‘Three.’ The cameraman curled his ring finger, as though nothing had happened.

  Six could feel the wood under his fingers. But the last drawer was stuck. Six’s eyes widened. Come on, come on!

  ‘Two.’ The cameraman held up two fingers.

  Six jiggled the drawer slightly, trying to loosen it. It wouldn’t budge.

  Instead of saying ‘one’ out loud, the cameraman held up one finger. Then he nodded to Sammers.

  Six felt the drawer come loose. He slid it back along its rollers.

  ‘My friends,’ Sammers said, his voice bold and theatrical, ‘I offer the key to your salvation …’

  Six dived away from the desk, heart in his mouth, towards the cover of the nearest databank. His feet scrambled silently across the floor.

  He pressed his back against the black obelisk. Had he got out of the way in time? Had they seen him?

  ‘The faithful among you already know of the many delights that await us upon our departure from this life,’ Sammers continued.

  Six exhaled softly. He’d made it.

  ‘Rejoice,’ Sammers said. ‘For I am taking you to them. Not forty years from now, not tomorrow, but right now.’

  Sammers was approaching, leading the camera closer to the warhead. Six padded away past the rows of databanks.

  He had to find the hostages. He hadn’t seen them when he was fourteen, but they were here now, which meant something must happen to them before his fourteen-year-old self arrived.

  There! Huddled in the corner of the server farm, black bags over their heads, hands flexi-cuffed behind their backs – about twenty of them. Six approached them quietly.

  When he was about a metre away, he whispered, ‘Be absolutely silent. I’m here to help you.’

  The hostages stiffened. Six could see the outlines of their heads, turning under the bags. But they made no sound.

  ‘I’m going to take off your blindfolds,’ Six whispered. ‘Stay still.’

  He pulled off the bags of the nearest two hostages. They stared at him with absolute terror.

  ‘Who are you?’ Six asked, as he reached for another bag.

  ‘Elean Dhaey,’ one of the two whispered, almost inaudibly.

  ‘I mean why are you here?’ Six demanded. ‘Why did he take you?’

  ‘We work here,’ Dhaey said.

  Six sliced through her flexi-cuffs with his knife. ‘Help the others,’ he whispered.

  She nodded, and started taking the bags off the other hostages.

  Sammers’ voice echoed out across the server farm. ‘To the unbelievers, I say: you brought this on yourselves.’

  Six slit through another pair of cuffs. ‘Listen carefully,’ he said. ‘In about twenty-five minutes, someone is going to break through that door.’ He pointed at the barricade. ‘And he’s going to go that way.’

  ‘How do you know that?’ someone asked nervously.

  Because it’ll be a younger me, Six thought. ‘That’s not important,’ he said. ‘What’s important is that once he’s in, you sneak out the same way. But don’t let him see you. Got it?’

  ‘Is he one of the good guys, or one of the bad guys?’ Dhaey asked.

  ‘He’s kind of a jerk, but he’s on your side,’ Six said.

  ‘Then why –’

  ‘Just trust me. Once you’re outside, get to the Northmoon Shopping Centre. In less than two hours, ChaoSonic is going to bomb this whole postcode back to the stone age. Northmoon is one of the few buildings that will remain standing. Encourage everyone you see to go there too.’

  ‘No way. ChaoSonic would never do that,’ a man said.

  ‘They will. They’re sealing the area as we speak.’ Six handed over the knife. ‘Get everyone’s cuffs off. Then put some eye-slits in the bags and put them back on. Keep your wrists together, like you’re still restrained. You don’t want the soldiers knowing you’re loose.’

  Dhaey wasted no more time – she started sawing at the cuffs of the nearest person.

  ‘Thank you,’ someone said.

  ‘Stay quiet,’ Six replied.

  ‘This warhead has a yield of eight kilotons,’ Sammers was saying. ‘Enough to smash the Seawall, flood the City, and deliver us all into the arms of the Lord.’

  Six started to move back through the forest of databanks.

  ‘Where are you going?’ one of the hostages demanded.

 
‘I’m going to steal that bomb,’ Six said. He slipped away.

  He caught glimpses of the disciples through the gaps between the obelisks. They were still standing around Sammers, too close to the nuke for Six to get at it. He hovered behind a databank.

  He had to hope that once they’d finished making the video they would move away from it. Then Six could take it, and – then what? How would he escape?

  He could follow the hostages out. But they had a much better shot at escaping if he was elsewhere, distracting Sammers. If Six was with them, carrying the stolen warhead, they would be in a lot more danger.

  ‘Be at peace.’ Sammers’ voice was softer now. ‘The filth that has infested this City is about to be washed away. See you in the heavenly kingdom.’

  ‘And … cut,’ the cameraman said. He unplugged the firewire cable.

  There was a pile of backpacks propped up against one of the obelisks to his left. Must be where Sammers and the disciples had left their things.

  He remembered talking to King and Vanish at the mission briefing.

  He exploded. Right in front of me.

  Six remembered the mist of blood that had sprayed the walls as Sammers spontaneously combusted. He remembered being blasted backwards, slipping, falling to the floor, shocked.

  There was a small explosive charge in his backpack. I don’t know who put it there.

  He stared at Sammers’ backpack. That explosive charge could be in there, right now. And Six couldn’t stop it from going off – but he might be able to work out who planted it.

  Six ran silently over to the pile of backpacks. He rummaged through until he found Sammers’. Unzipped it.

  Inside there was a holy book, two pistols, and detailed schematics of both CVHQ and the bunker that had housed the warhead.

  No bomb.

  Impossible, Six thought. Then who –

  I don’t know who put it there.

  Six looked down at the remaining lump of Semtex on his belt.

  No way, he thought. It can’t have been me. Can it?

  Sammer’s voice boomed throught the server farm. ‘Ninety minutes until ascenscion.’

  I have too many lives on my conscience already, Six thought. But if I’m not the one who killed Sammers, and the bomb isn’t in the pack yet, then there’s somebody else in here. Someone with an unknown agenda. Someone who might want the warhead for themselves.

  Six unbuckled the Semtex. His fingers trembled over the timer.

  It was Chemal Allich’s voice in his head now.

  Choice is an illusion. And Tiresias takes the illusion away. That’s its curse.

  Six pushed the button. The timer was set for twenty minutes. He dropped it into Sammers’ backpack, and zipped it up.

  On the other side of the row of databanks, Sammers said, ‘Let us pray.’

  SAVIOUR

  The fourteen-year-old boy slammed the gearstick into fifth. The car screamed down the street, the engine drowning out the horns of other motorists.

  There hadn’t been such a thing as a driver’s licence in decades – ChaoSonic only cared about selling cars, not road safety. Just the same, the sight of a teenager behind the wheel was unusual enough that the cockroaches might try to pull him over if they saw him go past, especially given his speed.

  He would have liked to slow down, be less conspicuous. But according to King, he had less than eighty-eight minutes to save the City.

  If this video is genuine, and the nuclear warhead is operational, then it could kill every single person on this continent. There’s not a second to waste, Agent Six. Go.

  No time for a full briefing. No time for a plan. Just get in, get the bomb, and get out. Any way he could.

  Agent Six of Hearts swung the wheel, and the tyres shrieked against the blacktop. ChaoVision Headquarters was at the top of the hill. There were hundreds of cars coming the opposite way, speeding away from it – not that it’ll do them much good if that bomb goes off, Six thought. Even if they escaped the fallout, they’d drown when the Seawall collapsed.

  His phone was ringing. He touched the speaker key. ‘What?’

  ‘Six, it’s Two.’ The other agent sounded on edge. ‘I’ve mobilised a half-dozen Hearts to back you up. They can be onsite in ten.’

  ‘I don’t need backup,’ Six snapped. He swerved to avoid a lumbering 4WD.

  ‘You can’t do this alone!’

  ‘Watch me.’

  ‘Listen to me –’

  ‘No,’ Six said. ‘You listen. Sammers has twelve soldiers in there. They’re heavily armed, and he’s carrying an APFSDS cannon. They’re all prepared to die for their cause, and they’ve got a bomb with a higher yield than anything anyone has used in a century.’

  ‘That’s why –’

  ‘That’s why you can’t send in a bunch of Hearts. They’ll be outnumbered and outgunned and they’ll screw it up. We’ll all die. On my own, I’ve got a chance of sneaking in under the radar.’

  There was a pause. The road was jammed with cars up ahead – Six drove the car up onto the footpath to get past them.

  Finally, Two said, ‘We’ll be waiting outside when you’ve got the bomb.’

  ‘Good,’ Six said. He hit end.

  Eighty-seven minutes. He spun the wheel and swerved back down onto the road.

  CVHQ was just ahead. Satellite footage from half an hour ago showed thirteen people breaking in the front doors, using lasers to slice holes through the huge sheets of glass to get to the handles. Eleven of those people had been present on the video, one was dead on the floor, and the remaining one was the cameraman, most likely. This meant that all the hostiles were in the server farm on the top floor – but they’d almost certainly chained the front doors of the building shut behind them.

  Six could probably pick the locks. But that would take time. Time he doubted he had.

  He hit a key on his phone, and it dialled his last called number.

  ‘King.’

  ‘It’s Six,’ Six said. ‘Have you tracked down the schematics for CVHQ?’

  He heard the clacking of a keyboard. ‘Got them onscreen,’ King said. ‘What do you need?’

  ‘Are there any security stations on the top floor?’

  ‘No,’ King said, after a pause. ‘Just the server farm and a reception area.’

  CVHQ was growing larger in the windshield. Six swooped the car sideways around a truck abandoned in the middle of the street.

  ‘So the hostiles won’t be able to see anything happening in the lobby?’ he asked.

  ‘Probably not. Why?’

  Six flattened the accelerator against the floor. The car roared forwards, thick wheels bouncing up over the kerb. Six felt his brain rattle around in his skull, but he kept his foot down.

  The front doors of CVHQ were 20 metres away. Now 12. Now 3.

  SMASH!The glass exploded into a million shimmering needles as the car plunged through. The chains smacked into the windshield, cracking it, doorhandles still attached. Six slammed his foot down on the brake, and the tyres squealed as the car slid sideways across the lobby floor inside.

  Six was rocked sideways as the car shuddered to a halt. Outside his window, the last fragments of glass were tinkling to the floor.

  He grabbed the phone out of the holster. Pressed it to his ear as he shoved the car door open.

  ‘King,’ he said. ‘I’m in.’

  Sixteen-year-old Six was staring at Sammers and the circle of disciples. They were on their knees, heads bowed, hands pressed together. Every few seconds, Sammers would speak softly – always some phrase about ‘the final reckoning’, or ‘the day of judgement’ – and then the disciples would murmur in unison, a short phrase that Six couldn’t make out.

  They were still very close to the nuke. But he was running low on time. He didn’t know if he would find another opportunity to take it before the younger Agent Six arrived. And the other me must find it missing, Six thought.

  The disciples’ eyes were closed. It would have to
do.

  Go. Now.

  Six crept out from behind the cover of the databanks. His eyes never left the circle of soldiers.

  Left foot, right foot, left, right. Inching closer to the desk with every step. His teeth were clenched so tight his jaw ached.

  ‘May thy will be done,’ Sammers said.

  The disciples chanted their strange response.

  Six had reached the desk. He stretched out his hands and placed them fat against the sides of the cone. Then he lifted the warhead.

  It wasn’t as heavy as he had expected. An object capable of ending so many lives should be much harder to carry. Six held it with both hands anyway – dropping it would alert the murmuring madmen or, worse, crack the casing and spill plutonium onto his feet.

  Six walked backwards away from the desk, still watching the disciples, holding the bomb close to his chest.

  As soon as he was out of sight behind the row of servers, he unzipped his own backpack, placed the warhead carefully inside and zipped it up again. He wouldn’t try to disarm it in here. He’d wait until he was outside.

  He slung the backpack onto his shoulders, and started threading his way through the aisles of servers towards the door. He went the opposite way from the hostages, so if he was spotted, he wouldn’t draw attention to them –

  – the chanting had stopped.

  ‘How dare you!’ Sammers roared.

  Six whirled around. The cult leader was right there, pointing the APFSDS cannon at Six’s chest.

  ‘How did you get in, heathen?’ Sammers demanded.

  Six was about to jump aside, out of the line of fire, when he saw a disciple taking aim at his chest from a few metres to his right. If he dived right or left, the disciple would shoot him. If he ran forwards or backwards, he would get an Armour-Piercing Fin-Stabilising Discarding Sabot through his chest.

  Got to stall him, he thought.

  ‘I was here before you were,’ Six said. ‘I knew you were coming.’

  Sammers’ eyes narrowed. ‘No-one knew we were coming.’

  ‘I did,’ Six said. Another disciple had appeared to his left, and two more behind Sammers. He wondered momentarily where the other eight had gone. Turning his head, he saw that none were standing in the aisle behind him – presumably so Sammers could fire without hitting them. The aisle was clear all the way to the wall at the opposite end of the room, 40 or 50 metres away. But if Six tried to run, he’d be dead before he hit the ground, impaled and bullet-ridden.