Guerilla

by Mel Odom

  The gate just ahead of the aircar was a pair of massive tungsten rectangles four meters tall by eight meters wide.

  The bashhound flicked on the PAD and scanned it into his own reader. The information contained on the PAD Mato had given him contained well-­entrenched lies. There was a Captain Achsul Oretas, who served on General Rangha’s personal staff and who had sometimes been a go-­between for the general and Erque Ettor, the Voroughan black marketer, but he had not given permission for anyone to visit the storage bay tonight.

  So far, news of Ettor’s death had not reached the Phrenorian embassy. Mato had flagged the being’s name so they would know if anyone picked up that news in the media, or if the name was searched for through Phrenorian channels.

  Zhoh was certain the general would be searching for word of Ettor before long. The visit to the storage bay in Cheapdock would guarantee that.

  “Your pass is accepted, Captain Oretas,” the bashhound said, returning the PAD, “and your presence has been logged.”

  Mato took the PAD and stored it between the seats.

  The bashhound passed over a small beacon. “Clip this to your outerwear and keep it on your person at all times. Keep your group with you. If your group separates, anyone not with you will be arrested or killed. If you lose the beacon or stray from the areas you have been cleared for, you will be arrested or killed. Do you understand this?”

  The security was much more strict than Zhoh had expected, but it was nothing he had not eluded before. Not only that, but he intended to comply with the rules. All he needed was proof of General Rangha’s extracurricular activities.

  “I understand.” Mato clipped the two-­centimeter-­square blue beacon badge to his armor. A small ruby light winked as the security system pinged the badge.

  “Do you require any assistance?” The bashhound didn’t sound interested.

  “I know the way,” Mato said. Ettor had given them the location of the storage bay where he had arranged for Rangha’s weapons to be kept secure.

  The bashhound stepped back and the massive gates to the starport swung open soundlessly.

  Mato engaged the magnetic drive and the aircar lifted a half meter from the ground. He eased forward. As soon as they had cleared the area, the gates swung closed behind them.

  The plascrete road that led to the starport had been refinished lately, but not replaced. Another layer had been positioned over the top of the one already in place, but it had been so thinly done that the cracks and imperfections that had scored the previous one remained as irregularities. The aircar passed smoothly over the road, but a large cargo crawler in the other lane bumped and rocked as it approached. The aircar’s windshield tinted automatically as the crawler’s high beams flickered across the surface.

  Warbur traders clung to the crawler’s sides. Their wide skulls, large mouths, blue fur, and arms that were longer than their legs identified them easily. They wore savage tribal markings that scarred their broad faces and had only flaring slits for nostrils. All of them carried assault rifles and bandoliers of extra charge magazines.

  Mato swore as the trade crawler rumbled past. The bitter, salty stench of the Warburs hit Zhoh like a physical blow. He held his breath until they were gone.

  “Those creatures are filthy,” Mato declared.

  “They’re also dangerous,” Zhoh reminded him as he studied the rows of storage units ahead. The Warburs didn’t wear their scars as decoration. They had a reputation for being low-­end transport for cargo, but they fought to defend their business. “They probably got trade rights for air or water and are supplying the mining colonies out in the asteroid belt.”

  Once Makaum was secure, Zhoh intended to take over Lodestone and the surrounding asteroids. The large planetoid drew in a lot of wayward meteors rich in ores that could be used to build Phrenorian ships. Getting control of that would be a good thing. Zhoh had already been planning on depriving the miners of their limited spacecraft and opening negotiations with them. If they objected to working for the Phrenorians for air, water, and food, Zhoh would cut those things off as he had before in similar situations. In days, everyone in those rocks would be dead. Removing the bodies could be easily done as the miners were replaced from the slave population left on Makaum.

  Knowing the Warbur were out there changed the dynamics of the situation in the asteroids. The Warbur worked for credits. They could be bought off, but if they couldn’t be, cutting off their source of income would send them on their way.

  Either way would serve.

  6189 Akej (Phrenorian Prime)

  Mato drove through the rows of storage bays. The one Ettor had given them the number to was located in the back north row and halfway down. Drones maintained security but the jungle encroached on the units more than Zhoh would have permitted had he been in charge.

  Someone had been through the area recently in an effort to clear away the jungle. Ash, charred roots and branches, and soot shadows on the broken plascrete offered mute testimony that the Green Dragon Corp had tried to fight back the jungle. Only a few meters away, huge burn pits showed where more trees and brush had been shoved in and burned.

  The smoky residue choked Zhoh as he climbed from the settled aircar. He was conscious of eyes on him as he approached the storage bay. The line of units stood twenty meters tall and was at least forty meters deep, judging from what he had seen during their approach. Ettor had stated that several weapons of varying origins were inside.

  Drones cycled on rounds overhead while armed Green Dragon bashhounds occupied rooftops with sniper rifles.

  The dull metal lock face was programmed in Brootan, the language of one of the dead worlds the Empire had left in its wake as it conquered its enemies. That in itself pointed to a Phrenorian renting the storage bay because the symbols were used only in the Empire these days, and then only for mathematical research regarding plasma engines. The Brootans had excelled in math and music.

  Mato joined Zhoh at the door and set a bag of tech gear on the plascrete at their feet. Mato knelt, opened the bag, and withdrew a small, sophisticated unit that fit neatly into his lesser hand. He checked it briefly, powering it up so that an amber light glowed strongly, then extinguished.

  “This will tell us if any surprises were left in the lock mechanism.” Mato removed the lock cover and attached four leads to the circuitry within.

  “You will find any potential traps with this?” Zhoh didn’t like snooper tech like the device Mato used. He preferred a battlefield, a plasma rifle, and his patimong for close fighting. He would win back his honor and his place among the Empire with those. But he appreciated Mato’s knowledge.

  “If I do not find them, triarr, you will be the first to know.”

  Zhoh smelled the sweet pheromones from Mato that told him the warrior was pleased with himself. Zhoh was not amused. He did not want to die tarnished in the eyes of his family.

  Mato punched in the code Ettor had given them with one of his lesser hands.

  Although he did not wish to experience any anxiety, Zhoh felt himself grow tense as Mato entered the last symbol.

  The locking mechanism cycled, clicked hollowly, and ratcheted as it opened. The recessed handle popped out. Carefully, Mato took the handle in one of his lesser hands and pulled. The three-­meter door opened, grinding in the grooved tracks in front of the bay. Ash and bits of bark popped and snapped as the door cut through them.

  “Wait.” Mato knelt again, put the first device away, and took another from the bag.

  The new device was cube-­shaped and threw out a light spectrum that Zhoh could scarcely see. Mato eased into the room with the device extended before him and a maze of lights the size of Zhoh’s chelicerae created an interwoven pattern throughout the bay.

  “This is a trap.” Mato’s scent changed dramatically. The pleasant pheromones disappeared, replaced at once by the dry, bitter s
tink of concern.

  “What kind of trap?” Zhoh asked.

  “What would you put in a place you did not want anyone to find out about?” Mato countered.

  “A plasma charge. Something that would get rid of everything I did not want seen.”

  Mato moved the cube around and took care not to break any of the light beams. He picked up his bag and slowly walked to the left. After a moment spent examining the wall, he took out a device that activated with a hum, and a section of the wall slid away to reveal another keypad.

  Mato looked at Zhoh. “Ettor only gave us one code.”

  “Perhaps it was for both keypads.”

  “Should I enter it?”

  “Can you bypass it as you did the other?”

  “This one is more complicated. It will take longer.”

  “Bypass it. As much pain as Ettor was in, I do not see how he could keep from telling me everything, but it is possible.” If Zhoh had been about to die and had knowledge that would ensure his killer would die with him, he would have made sure that happened.

  Mato took the first device out again and set to work. Almost as soon as he started, a red light flashed on the keypad and a digital viewscreen opened up.

  Cursing, Mato stared at the keypad. “It’s counting down.”

  TWENTY-­EIGHT

  Outside Cheapdock

  Makaum

  0237 Hours Zulu Time

  The security fence is no problem, Top,” Corporal Pingasa said as he surveyed the seven-­meter-­tall plascrete barrier only centimeters away. Even in armor, he was a small, compact man with a soft voice. He held his hand out and a blue light field stood revealed only a few centimeters above the surface of the sec wall. “I can bypass a section of this wall easily enough.” He pointed to two small boxes at the top of the wall that were twenty meters apart.

  According to Halladay, Pingasa was the best sec tech at the fort and usually worked on the drones and automated systems. He’d grown up in a village outside Llongwe, Malawi, where his father had worked as a cybernetics professor at the University of Malawi. Pingasa’s mother had designed security programs. He’d had no problem getting them past the first layer of security outside the starport.

  “Sounds good.” Sage had used foolies on similar sec architecture himself. As he stood waiting, feeling the pressure of time passing by, he also felt fatigue creeping over him. He’d been up, more or less, for sixty-­nine hours straight except for the quick nap in the med center. He was running on empty, but he didn’t want the stim the suit’s near-­AI regularly recommended because the payback for that would drop him like a rock in a few hours and he didn’t know where the present op was going to lead. “So what’s the problem?”

  Pingasa reached into his chest pouch and removed four drones about the length and thickness of his forefinger. As he held them in his palm, the drones opened and spread small rotors that doubled their size. The rotors spun over the skeletal body that was left and they deployed with an almost silent hiss. A pair flitted toward each of the small sec boxes and the other two stayed together.

  Two of the drones landed on the boxes while the second pair met in midair and started spinning a single gossamer strand between them. They worked slowly and Sage chafed at the delay, feeling exposed even in the underbrush. As the strand elongated, the two drones flew in opposite directions.

  “The problem is that this network is also wired into drones and into the bashhounds walking perimeter.” Pingasa moved his hands in front of him, twitching and gesturing, controlling the drones. “It’s a three-­deep system: stationary, mobile drone, and mobile flesh-­and-­blood. We have to take a drone and one of the guards walking this perimeter as well.”

  Sage pulled up Pingasa’s faceshield vid and saw the intricate visual representation of the work being done. All of the corporal’s work manipulated the drones, pulling them together.

  “The drone and the guard have to be taken at the same time, and they can’t get any farther than twenty meters apart when we shut them down.” Pingasa continued working and his hands flashed more quickly. “They’ll be wired to each other. If one signal goes down, the other is alerted, and if they’re separated, the general alert goes out and we’ll be eyeball deep in bashhounds. Green Dragon doesn’t mess around when it comes to sec.”

  “Understood.” Sage dropped out of Pingasa’s feed, overwhelmed by the layers and layers of images the corporal was sifting through. “How do we get by that?”

  “I’ve got a foolie for the drone. Someone will have to take out the guard. Without killing him. If his vitals crash, then the alarm is triggered. I can’t work around that.” Pingasa dropped his hands.

  On the wall, all four drones had joined up. The gossamer strand stood taut between them only a few centimeters above the barrier. They scuttled over the sec boxes and cut through the cover with small lasers.

  Pingasa held his hand out again. The section of wall in front of them remained dark, but the sections on either side still glowed with blue energy. The strand also glowed blue.

  “Okay, now we can climb the wall, but you and I will go first, Top.”

  “How are you planning on taking out the bashhound without crashing his vitals?” Kiwanuka asked.

  “With a Pacifier,” Sage replied. The paralytic drug rounds were used to knock down civilians during an urban firefight and keep them out of harm’s way so soldiers could do their jobs. They were often used in cases when opponents used human shields. The paralytic turned the hostages into limp, dead weight, allowing a sniper to shoot the hostage taker.

  “A Pacifier round isn’t going to penetrate armor,” Kiwanuka said.

  “It won’t have to,” Sage said.

  Before Kiwanuka could ask him what he meant, Noojin spoke up. “The guard walking this perimeter is smoking drequeurn. I have smelled it both times he has been by.”

  “That’s right,” Sage said, impressed by the girl’s alertness. Drequeurn was a mildly narcotic local plant that was one of the first trade goods the corps had insisted on.

  Noojin turned her head to look at Sage but her faceshield showed only darkness. “You have opened your faceshield to know that.”

  “I did. The first thing you learn about an AKTIVsuit is that it can’t completely replace a soldier’s senses or translate a battleground.”

  Noojin glanced at Jahup and crossed her arms. Her body language suggested that he had said something over private comm that she didn’t particularly care for.

  Sage chose not to intrude on that conversation. He opened the Roley’s action and started to insert a paralytic round.

  “Not to demean your skills, Top, but I’m a sniper.” Kiwanuka readied her rifle.

  “Agreed. Go.” Sage pocketed the Pacifier round. He was getting tired. He should have suggested Kiwanuka make the shot. He was running a team, and some of these soldiers had more skills than he did.

  Slinging her rifle over her shoulder, Kiwanuka surveyed the bypassed barrier and stepped to a section where the verdant growth hung low over the wall. In another few days, the tree branches would have to be cut back so they wouldn’t foul the security. Sage made a stirrup of his gloved hands and she stepped into them. As he lifted her up the wall, she popped short claws from the palms of her gloves and the toes of her boots, then climbed slowly to the top of the plascrete barrier.

  Sage opened his faceshield slightly and the redolent, sickly sweet odor of the drequeurn drifted into his helmet. The bashhound was circling again. His circuit was fifteen minutes long. If they missed him this time, they’d have to wait another fifteen minutes, and every minute they stood there was risky.

  After Sage gave Pingasa a hand up, the man climbed to the top of the barrier as well. He reached into his chest pouch and took out another drone, then sent it off, staying clear of the bypass strand. As he waited, he removed another device, this one as large as
a deck of playing cards, from his chest pouch as well.

  Kiwanuka reached the top of the wall and locked on with her left hand, the cyber limb easily managing her weight. Slowly, she eased her sniper rifle into position atop her arm only a centimeter under the strand. She held her position, moving only slightly to follow her target.

  Tense, making himself breathe naturally, emptying his lungs and drawing air back in to keep his oxygen levels up, Sage accessed Kiwanuka’s and Pingasa’s vid feeds. He didn’t allow himself to think of all the things that could go wrong in the next few seconds. They had their exit strategy in place.

  The starport was a thousand meters distant through jungle that was already nearly a meter high, growing in the gray ashes of the latest burns. Three hundred and seventy yards to the southeast, a pair of powersuits trekked through the jungle, burning down a taller section of the growth.

  A shuttle flared through the sky as it descended and the crackling thunder of the solid fuel engines washed over the area. On the tarmac, two shuttles were busy unloading and taking on cargo. In addition to their black-­market dealings, Cheapdock also did legal business with small corps and individual companies and haulers.

  Automated units as large as crawlers beeped and flashed as they resurfaced the tarmac over gray ash where plant growth had been burned. Maintaining the starport against the encroaching jungle was a full-­time job.

  Thirty meters away from the wall, the flat, black circular drone hovered two meters above the jungle growth and moved ten meters behind the bashhound smoking the drequeurn stick. The bashhound’s faceshield was raised just above his top lip, providing just enough room to smoke. The coal flickered bright blue for an instant, then dark purple haze spewed from between his lips.

  Kiwanuka’s sniper rifle reticule centered on the sliver of the bashhound’s face revealed through the raised faceshield. Her voice was calm and steady when she spoke. “Ready when you are, Corporal.”