by Jake Bible
“Nothing,” the operator replies.
“That sound right to you?” Wallace asks Bryan. “We should see something.”
She brings up her own IRIS and looks at the readings from the sat images. She zooms in until she is staring right at their position. Slowly, she stands up and then looks up into the sky. The image of her in her IRIS does the same thing, but a split-second behind.
“Shit,” she says as she sticks her arm out and waves it around. The image of her mimics the motion, but not in real time. “We have a lag. There shouldn’t be a lag, not one my eyes can detect. An AiSP may see it, but not a human.”
“The sat images are being filtered,” Bryan growls. “Fuck. Fuck! How stupid are we?”
“Stupid enough to think we had control of our own systems,” Wallace says. “We’re fighting tech with tech. We need to shift gears.”
“Yeah, we do,” Bryan nods. He stands up and looks out at the approaching army then looks back at the remaining transports. He cups his hands to his mouth, “Gear down, people! Static weapons only! IRISs off, sat links off, no more tech!”
There are some grumbles, but everyone complies.
“Now what?” Bryan asks Wallace. “We have fifty operators left. They have close to a thousand troops. How do we take on those numbers?”
“By reducing them,” Wallace says.
“With what?” Bryan asks. “They already have a plan to counter any transport attacks.”
“Do they?” Wallace grins. “I don’t think they do.”
45
Spread out with twenty meters between each one, the GenSOF transports hurry towards the Clean Guard army. Just as before, the troops stop then shift positions, opening the way for their cannons. They wait until the transports are well within range then open fire.
The explosions are massive. Energy concussion waves rip through the Clean Guard troops, crushing men and women inside their white armor then fusing that armor to their demolished bodies. Bodies are thrown everywhere, their limbs twisting at impossible angles, spinning wildly until the joints can no longer hold and arms and legs begin to fill the air like grotesque confetti.
Without a sound, fifty GenSOF operators pick themselves up from their positions several meters back, shaking off the dirt they had covered themselves in, and begin to rush towards the broken and confused army. Static blasts fill the air and the Clean Guard troops still on their feet turn to face the attackers, but they are torn apart, large portions of their bodies vaporized upon contact.
Bryan, leading a squad of eight, changes direction and runs parallel to the army, his men firing continuously as they flank the Clean Guard troops. Two of the GenSOF operators are hit by return fire, but the others make it to their positions and instantly kneel down. They sight along their rifles and begin to pick off troops one by one, taking perfect and careful aim.
As soon as the Clean Guard troops zero in on them, the operators jump up and keep running, becoming moving targets, enemies on the go. They repeat this tactic again and again, only losing one more man before they are all the way around the other side of the Clean Guard army and coming at them from the rear.
“Push in!” Bryan yells and waves his men forward.
They stop running parallel and head straight into the mass of confused Clean Guard troops, cutting a line through them like a static scalpel.
On the opposite side, Wallace, with eight operators, including Lewis, Maloch and Buntu, begin to chip away at the Clean Guard troop count by cutting the army down into more manageable groups. They look for the weak points in the ranks, the rows where troops have spread out too far and they slice off those ranks, trooper by trooper, until the army is no longer one giant mass, but a bunch of smaller masses, and easier to handle.
A static blast whips past Wallace’s head and she dives to the side. A woman screams and one of her operators stands there, her belly scorched wide, her smoking innards hanging from her gloved hands. A second blast hits the operator and her head is taken from her shoulders in a flash of blinding, bloody light.
Wallace rolls up to a knee and fires until her rifle powers down. She tosses it aside, grabs a static baton from her belt, and snaps it into a new rifle, barely missing a beat as she takes up the assault once more.
Buntu kneels down next to her just before a static blast flies by, right where her head had just been. She settles herself at an angle to Wallace, making sure she’s covering area that Wallace can’t.
The two women keep firing, ripping into the Clean Guard ranks, slicing off chunks here, hunks there, guard after guard, trooper after trooper.
Two other GenSOF squads dive into the Clean Guard army. They take heavy fire, their numbers cut in half before they get more than a few feet, but they never stop fighting. Once inside the thick of the army, they switch up their tactics from rifle fire to hand to hand combat and static blade fighting.
The crowded battle turns bloody fast as scorched flesh from static blasts gives way to arterial spray from blade slashes. Despite having battle armor, many of the Clean Guard troopers end up with dangling arms and snapped legs as the GenSOF operators fight on with ruthless abandon. Dozens of guards fall against the desperate ferocity of the operators’ attacks. Bodies pile up twenty to one until the GenSOF operators are finally overwhelmed and taken down in a scourge of static fire.
“Fall back!” Wallace yells, jumping to her feet.
She dodges two static blasts then returns fire, obliterating two guards’ chests, searing their lungs with static energy before the blue flame burns out their backs and vaporizes their spines.
“Fall back!” she yells again, waving her free arm as she snaps her rifle into a pistol for ease of firing on the run.
Buntu is right next to her, her rifle swinging left and firing, swinging right and firing. She spins about and drops three guards that break off and try to pursue them. She drops another four guards before her rifle powers down.
“I’m out!” she yells as she keeps pace with Wallace, the two women sprinting as fast as they can to a small hill only a few meters away.
“Here!” Wallace yells, handing over a static baton from her belt. “That’s my last one! Don’t waste it!”
Buntu snaps it into a rifle then tucks her shoulder and dives to the ground. She rolls and turns, coming up facing back towards the army. She takes careful aim, making sure each shot counts, and kills as many guards as she can get in her sights. Her static fire begins to dim and she snaps it back into a baton, saving the last of the power for when she may truly need it. She’s back up on her feet and chasing after Wallace in seconds.
Skidding up and over the hill, Wallace and Buntu flatten themselves on the ground as static fire flies over their heads. Wallace rolls onto her back and looks down at the two dozen operators that have already taken cover.
“Where’s Bryan?” Wallace yells. “Have you seen Bryan’s squad?”
The operators all shake their heads.
“Shit,” Wallace says.
“Guess that puts you in charge of this shit show,” Buntu says. She looks about at the blood and dirt smeared faces below her. “Where the hell are Lewis and Maloch?”
“They must still be out there,” Wallace says. She snaps her fingers at the other operators. “I want a gear inventory now! Make sure you check every fucking pocket on you! If you have a paper clip that can jab out one of these bastards’ eyes then I want to know about it!”
46
The corridor doors slide open and Red stops in his tracks. He doesn’t need to hold up a fist to tell the others behind him to stop since they can easily see what fills the corridor in front of them.
Cooties. Naked cooties. Blood-soaked, teeth-bared, chests heaving, ready to fight naked cooties.
“I count fifty,” Ton whispers from directly behind Red’s right shoulder.
“I get that too,” Red says. “Paulo?”
“I got the civvies,” Paulo says, grabbing Jersey and Tanya by the arms and pulling them back
down the corridor, away from the open doors and the twitching mob of cooties.
“I’m hardly a civvie,” Tanya responds.
“You’re hardly an operator,” Paulo says. “Neither are you, Jersey, so don’t argue.”
“Wasn’t going to,” Jersey says, her eyes wide with fear at what is about to happen.
Then it happens.
The first cootie, a man with half his face looking like a melted puddle of flesh and open sores, screams with rage and charges at Red.
“Bottleneck them!” Red yells as he fires.
The shot is at such close range that the cootie is ripped in half. But even that barely stops the man from still screaming and swiping his hands at Red as if he can will his body to continue fighting despite its lack of legs.
Ton, Nick, and Blaze move to Red’s sides and take aim as well. They systematically sweep their rifles back and forth, picking off the closest cooties, sending them to the immaculately clean floor of the Control corridor. The floor stops being immaculately clean in exactly two seconds. Instead, it becomes covered in filth and blood, grime and offal.
The bodies stack up, but the cooties do not slow or stop, they continue their attack, desperate to get at the operators and rip them limb from limb. In less than a minute, the bodies are stacked up high enough that the operators stop firing and snap their rifles into pistols. Taking careful aim as they wait for a cootie to show its head when it scrambles up over the corpses. One by one, as easy as target practice, the operators take out the cooties.
In less than three minutes, there isn’t a living soul in the corridor in front of them and the operators just stand there and stare at the mound of dead.
“Do we have to climb that?” Nick asks. “Or can we shove it over?”
“No way we can shove that over,” Ton says. “We’ll need to climb.”
“I believe I can help with this situation,” Tanya says, stepping away from Paulo and moving next to the operators. She studies the pile and points at a stray arm that straddles the threshold of the corridor’s doors. “If you could move that then I can take care of this with just a couple of words.”
Red frowns at her, but doesn’t argue. He lifts the arm and tosses it onto the pile of dead then steps back. “Go ahead.”
Tanya reaches out and closes the doors. They slide shut and then she presses her palm to a panel on the wall.
“Control override master command alpha zed alpha,” Tanya says. “Voice match authorization.”
“Voice match confirmed,” an AiSP’s voice responds. “Welcome back to Control, Control.”
“That has to be confusing at briefings,” Blaze says. “Glad I always just called you mom.”
“Quiet,” Tanya scolds then clears her throat. “AiSP? Identify current corridor.”
“You are currently occupying Corridor Three Sixty-Eight on Main Level Five,” the AiSP replies.
“Identify corridor directly in front of me,” Tanya orders.
“That would be Corridor Three Sixty-Seven,” the AiSP responds.
“Shit, how many corridors are in this place?” Paulo asks.
“Quiet,” Tanya hisses, looking back and giving him a glare almost as deadly as a static blast.
“Sorry,” Paulo mouths then turns and grimaces at Jersey who just rolls her eyes back at him.
“AiSP, initiate contagion purge protocol in Corridor Three Sixty-Seven only,” Tanya says. “Full cleanse with ash removal, please.”
“No contagion is detected in Corridor Three Sixty-Seven,” the AiSP responds. “Please adjust order to fit proper purge parameters.”
“Oh, he’s clever,” Tanya says. “He’s reprogrammed the contagion definitions.”
“Contagion is detected in Corridor Three Sixty-Eight,” the AiSP says. “Shall I purge that corridor?”
“No, you shall not,” Tanya says. “Full bio scan in Corridor Three Sixty-Eight. Identify my bio signature. Do not purge any corridor where my bio signature is present.”
“Scanning,” the AiSP says. “Bio signature of Dr. Tanya Crouch is identified, confirmed, and monitored as Control. Purge lock is in effect for current and all subsequent corridors bio signature occupies.”
“Thank you, AiSP,” Tanya says. “Now, please override contagion definitions and adjust purge parameters. Initiate contagion purge protocol in Corridor Three Sixty-Seven. Command order given, no exceptions to order should be noted.”
“I am sorry, Control,” the AiSP says. “I am unable to carry out your order.”
“Explain,” Tanya snaps.
“I cannot explain,” the AiSP says. “But a recorded message has been provided for you if you did ask for an explanation.”
A holographic figure appears in the center of the corridor. It wavers then solidifies to where it almost looks completely real. Everyone stares at the elderly man that smiles back at them.
“Hello, Tanya,” the man says. “I would call you Control, but that is no longer appropriate. Not that it ever truly was.”
“Hello, Maurice,” Tanya says. “You are looking as sickly as ever.”
“I am sure you just said something insulting, so let me inform you that this image is not an interactive simulation,” the image of Dr. Maurice Caldicott says. “Your quips and one-liners will have no effect on what I say.”
“One-liners?” Paulo whispers to Jersey. “Crazy lady has been holding back.”
“If you are here, finally returning personally to Control, then it means I have implemented my final strategy,” Dr. Caldicott says. “By now, you can see that immortality is within my grasp and the boring concepts of life as we knew it no longer apply. Humanity in its current form is not suited to continue. Bacteria have always been the dominant life form on this planet. It is about time that we as a species recognized that and joined them. With your help over the years, I have figured out the perfect combination of Homo sapiens and bacterium. You have more than likely encountered my first attempts at this while trying to breach the Control dome.”
The man smiles and everyone in the corridor shivers.
“From this point on, you will encounter new and different versions of what I have created,” Dr. Caldicott continues. “When you finally reach me, or what I have become, you will truly know the future of life on this planet. The simple, fragile bodies we have all been forced to live in will be obsolete. We will be fluid, we will be powerful.” He shrugs and his smile widens. “With me as the most powerful, of course. I wish you luck, Tanya. We have been at odds for so long that I will miss our conflict once it is all over. But I do believe you will see the reason in my ways when we meet face to, well,face, once again. Until then, my dear.”
The image fades out and everyone turns their attention onto Tanya.
“With your help?” Blaze asks his mother. “You helped that guy make all of this happen?”
“The bastard has been stealing my work since our early days at the CDC,” Tanya says.
“CDC?” Ton asks. “How old are you?”
“No time for that,” Tanya says. “I already said that I am much older than I look.”
“I’d like to know what he means by we’ve reached his first attempts,” Red says. “The cooties? What else will we see?”
“I have a couple of guesses,” Tanya says. “There were species on this planet that could house bacteria far better than humans ever could. Caldicott was known for his experiments with these species.”
“What about the bodies in the next corridor?” Nick asks. “Do we go around?”
“Worm?” Tanya calls out. “Worm? Are you present enough to handle a contagion purge protocol?”
There is no response, but a couple of seconds later a loud whump is heard from the next corridor. Tanya smiles and activates the doors. The operators stare as the last bit of ash is sucked up into the corridor’s ceiling, leaving it empty and nearly spotless. A few grey flakes of skin flutter in the air and stick to the statically charges walls of the corridor.
“Thank yo
u, Worm,” Tanya says. “Shall we proceed?”
Red looks into the corridor then nods and steps through the door. The rest follow him closely, rifles ready, eyes alert.
“Do you smell that?” Blaze asks.
“Smell what?” Ton responds.
“That stink,” Blaze says.
“Residual scents from the purge,” Tanya says.
“No, that’s not it,” Blaze says. He lifts his face and takes a deep breath through his nose. “It’s something else. A sweet smell, almost rancid, but not quite.”
“Sweet? Like flowers or fruit?” Tanya asks.
“Both,” Blaze says, sniffing again. “It’s not very strong. Like it passed by recently.”
“Direction?” Ton asks.
Blaze nods at the ceiling. “Up,” he says. “It’s stronger up there.”
Tanya looks at the ceiling and frowns. “Could be a residual scent from one of the new lifeforms Caldicott alluded to,” she says. “Stay alert.” The operators all sigh. “Yes, yes, I know you are always alert. You are GenSOF and GenWrecks. What I mean is that you need to be alert to things that you may never have encountered before. We may not be set upon by enemies that have two arms, two legs, and a traditional body.”
“We’ll be alert,” Red says. “Which way?”
“Continue ahead,” Tanya says. “We have eight more corridors to cover before we can begin our descent.”
They all nod and move forward, carefully opening the next set of doors at the end of the corridor. When they see the next corridor is empty, they cautiously step into it and continue their journey.
47
Captain Bryan stands back to back with three other operators. Their rifles are spent, their bodies exhausted, yet they continue to fight, taking swings at any of the Clean Guard that come close enough to hit.
“Don’t give up!” Bryan yells, knowing full well that will alone won’t keep them alive much longer. The guards are toying with them and it is painfully obvious.
Bryan throws a right hook at a guard, his fist connecting with the guard’s chin. The guard stumbles and laughs. He shakes his head, unharmed because of his helmet, and lunges at Bryan, stepping back quickly as Bryan tries to kick out at him.