He steps forward, holding his breath. There’s no response from the sentry guns, but maybe they’re scanning him, checking whether he ought to be here. There’s only one way to find out. Here goes nothing. Kilgore exhales and marches across the yard, expecting with every step to hear the characteristic whirr of the miniguns spinning into life as they get ready to unleash furious streams of hot metal into his body.
He checks his energy level. Shit! It’s running low already, visibly draining as he watches. It must be something to do with the severity of the threat the shield has to deal with. He increases his pace. He has to clear the guns and fast. He breaks into a jog and his energy level drops even faster, but he can’t slow down. Adrenaline courses through his veins, pumps through his muscles. It blanks out his rational thoughts, and a crowd of fearful doubts floods in to take their place: What if his energy level fails completely and he’s stranded in front of the guns? What if Will turns AIPR0N off now? What if he stumbles or thinks the wrong thought and deactivates the shield by accident? He tries to take a steadying breath, but his chest is tight, his throat dry. He’s panting now, his muscles cramping, screaming for oxygen. But he can’t stop now. His threat detector shows he’s still in the sentry guns’ field of fire. I’m not going to make it.
But then he sees the door. It’s set flush against the wall on one of the buildings opposite, and it’s made from steel, the same dull gray as the concrete. He hadn’t noticed the door earlier, but if he can make it there he’ll definitely be out of range of the sentry guns. He’ll be safe. He’ll be able to rest and let his energy levels recover. He heads for the door. It’s only five yards away. Three. He can make it. He slows down, jogging to a halt. Yes! He slumps against the door, breathing hard, and checks his HUD. Thank Christ for that! His threat detector is finally green. He’s made it past the miniguns. Now he just needs to get his energy back, and quickly. He’s deep in hostile territory, and anything could happen at any moment.
AIPR0N, deactivate shield. The mod complies, and Kilgore takes a deep breath and presses his hand against his chest. He should report back to Will now, but that can wait until he’s had a rest. He looks at the door. There’s no hidden keypad here—no retinal scanner or handprint panel—just a plain metal handle alongside an old-fashioned combination lock with metal buttons. He purses his lips. Everything around here seems antiquated. He tries the handle, but of course, it’s locked. The combination lock is electronic, but can AIPR0N hack something so outdated? It’s worth a try, and he accesses the security interface and sets the program running. In seconds, the interface does its job, and the lock disengages with a single bleep and a metallic click. Kilgore pushes the door open slowly. “Jesus Christ,” he whispers. “I don’t believe it.”
CHAPTER 17
So Be It
WILL PACES BACK AND FORTH along the top of the ridge, grinding the soles of his boots into the dust. Has he placed too much faith in the kid? Can he be trusted? “Why did I have pick such a hothead?” he mutters. Crossing that first yard is dangerous, but it’s what comes immediately afterward that is absolutely critical; he knows that from bitter experience. And yet the kid has chosen this moment to cut the voice channel.
Why keep me in the dark unless he’s planning to double-cross me? He stops pacing and stares at the ground. That must be it. The kid assumes he’s got all the time in the world so long as Will doesn’t know what he’s up to. “He thinks I’ll just stand here cooling my heels like a damned idiot,” he growls. “Well I’ve got news for you, kid—you’ve had just about long enough.”
Will calls up AIPR0N’s master menu, and it flashes into his mind. He trusted the kid with his prize possession. He gave him a chance. If the kid only played his cards right, he could be rich beyond his wildest dreams. And how does he repay me? Will spits on the ground. “If the little bastard wants to play hardball, so be it.” It only takes a moment to find the command that will take AIPR0N back from the kid. It will leave Kilgore almost defenseless and trapped in hostile territory, but the idiot has brought that on himself. He should’ve thought of that before he tried to screw me over. To hell with him. The kid doesn’t deserve his trust, and he definitely doesn’t deserve AIPR0N. Will takes a breath and lets the necessary command edge into his mind.
Suddenly, his earpiece emits a harsh crackling burst of white noise, and what he hears next, makes his heart beat double-time.
“Will! I’m in. Jesus Christ, man. I just walked into the armory.”
CHAPTER 18
Three Point Five
KILGORE CLOSES THE ARMORY DOOR behind him and takes a moment to stand and stare. He’s vaguely aware of Will saying something over the voice channel, but he doesn’t take in a single word. This place has too much that demands his attention.
The room is maybe fifteen feet long, but it feels small, its interior crammed with a bewildering array of weapons. The walls are lined with racks of assault rifles, and above them, the rows of shelves are covered with a range of neatly stacked boxes. Will walks forward, running his fingers over the weapons as he passes. Here are the light machine guns, the grenade launchers. Above are the cartons of ammo and sets of drawers carefully labeled with the types of grenades they contain. And all of it is better quality than he’s ever owned. The guns are the latest models, and many bear modifications he could never hope to possess: top-of-the-line night vision scopes, laser targeting systems and some with gleaming scopes he doesn’t even recognize. “It’s too much,” he murmurs. “Too damn much.”
“OK, Sarge, take it easy,” Will says over the voice channel. “And while you rest, you may as well stock up. Take what you need, and get ready to move out.”
“Yeah, yeah, yeah.” Kilgore stops walking. There, at the end of the room, hanging from a horizontal rail is a row of body armor. “Oh my god,” he whispers. “Can it be?” He crosses to the rail and pulls out a brand new set of armor. He turns it slowly in his hands, drinking in every detail. Yes. It has to be what he thinks it is. But when he sees the maker’s mark, his heart skips a beat. “Titan 3.5?” he murmurs. “I didn’t even know there was a 3.5.”
He holds the armor up against his chest. Why not? Will told him to stock up, didn’t he? He props his rifle against the wall and unfastens his own armor, dropping it to the floor. It looks shabby and worn out, lying there on the pristine floor tiles, and he kicks it to one side. He pulls the new armor on, and it fits him like a glove. His nametag automatically appears, emblazoned in gold letters on his chest. It’s a bit flashy, but when you’re wearing Titan, you want people to know it. It’s so light, so perfect. His eyes are shining as he adjusts the straps and checks the fastenings. He has his back to the door, and when it opens, he doesn’t hear a sound. “Now I’m going to get me a decent gun,” he says, and turns around.
“Put your hands on your head! Do it now! Put your hands on your head!”
The shouted commands run through Kilgore like a hot knife. He staggers back and stumbles over his discarded body armor. He flails his arms to regain his balance and grabs onto the metal rail for support. He stares at the two men standing just inside the door, their faces blackened with camo paint, the barrels of their guns pointing squarely at his head. He blinks as the flash of a laser sight flickers across his eye.
“Stand up! Put your hands on your head! Now!”
Kilgore pulls himself up and puts his hands on his head without taking his eyes off the men. Who the hell are they? And how had they got so close without him knowing?
The men look him up and down. “What do you think?” one of them asks.
The second man adjusts his aim. “He’s not GDL. What the hell. Shoot him anyway.”
“Wait!” Kilgore shouts. “Will! Can you hear me?”
The soldiers’ reactions are like lightning. They cross the room and grab Kilgore’s arms, pinning him back against the rack of armor. “Cut your comm!” one of them hisses. “Cut it now, or we’ll take you apart.”
Kilgore doesn’t hesitate. He pulls
his scrambled thoughts together for just long enough to shut down his voice channel. “OK,” he tries to say, but his voice cracks, lets him down. He tries again. “OK, I’ve done it, all right? I’ve cut it. I did what you said.”
The men relax their grip a little. “Tell me now,” the man on his left says, his voice urgent, demanding. “Do you still have it? Do you still have AIPR0N?”
Kilgore nods slowly, and at last, a few more pieces of the puzzle fall into place.
CHAPTER 19
That’s New
THE MEN HOLDING KILGORE EXCHANGE A LOOK, a brief nod. Kilgore looks desperately from one to the other, hoping for some hint at what they might do with him. But the men are hardened soldiers, their faces grim as death, their eyes cold as stone. Kilgore opens his mouth to speak, but the man on his left fixes him with a glare and speaks first. “Shut up and listen,” he snaps. “We’re going to let you go now, then we’ll talk. But keep your hands where we can see them or we’ll put a bullet in your head. We won’t hesitate. Got it?”
Kilgore does his best to look the man in the eye. “I’ve got it,” he says. “From what I figure, we’re in the same mess, right?”
The man on Kilgore’s right chuckles softly. “He’s smarter than he looks,” he says, and Kilgore realizes the man has an English accent.
Moving in unison, the men release him and step back, but at the same time, they swing their rifles back around, pointing them at Kilgore’s chest. The man on the left speaks first. “OK, we don’t have long. My name’s Dale, and this is Jamie.”
“Nice to meet you,” Jamie says with a lopsided grin.
“Yeah,” Dale says. “He’s got some kind of Brit sense of humor. Don’t encourage him, for Christ’s sake.”
Jamie raises his eyebrows. “Yes, well, let’s get to the point. We’ve got to be quick.” He glances at Kilgore’s nametag. “Listen, Kilgore. Unless you tell Will that everything’s going according to plan, he’s going to take AIPR0N away from you, and we don’t want that.”
Kilgore nods. “That’s what happened to you guys, right?”
“Got it in one,” Jamie says. “So we want you to call in and tell him you’re getting ready to move out. Say you need a rest to build up your energy levels. That’s probably true, right?”
“You went through the same thing?” Kilgore asks.
“Yeah,” Dale says. “Until that son of a bitch left us for dead.”
“We’ll cover the details later,” Jamie says. “Dale, you keep an eye on the door.”
“Got it.” Dale turns away and crosses back to the door. Meanwhile, Jamie stands perfectly still, watching Kilgore expectantly.
He told Dale what to do, Kilgore thinks. He must be the guy in charge. And there’s something about the Englishman: he gives off an air of confident authority that draws Kilgore in, holds his attention.
“Call in now, and keep your voice level,” Jamie says. “We need Will calm and relaxed. He’ll want to know why you shouted. Tell him you saw a GDL patrol running through an exercise in the yard, and it gave you a fright. Tell him it’s OK because they didn’t see you. Let him give you his instructions, and then say you want radio silence for a while.” He pauses and gives Kilgore a reassuring smile. “Have you got all that?”
“Sure,” Kilgore says. “I’ll call in now.” He takes a breath and opens his voice channel. “Jeez, Will, that was close.”
“What the hell happened?” Will asks, and his voice is strained and edgy.
“Aw, no problem, man. There was a patrol came by—GDL. I thought they were looking for me, but they were just running through a drill or something out in the yard. I made myself scarce and cut the channel just to be on the safe side. But no sweat. They didn’t see me.”
“You’re sure? You’re in a secure location?”
“Yeah. Don’t worry, Will. I’m still in the armory. I found a place to hide. I need to rest up. My energy levels are shot to hell.”
Will sighs in relief. “OK. That’s good. Listen, I’ll tell you what’s next.”
“Go ahead.”
There’s a pause, and a sudden doubt flutters in Kilgore’s chest. Does he know something’s wrong? Did I sound too enthusiastic? “Unless you want me to figure it out myself,” he adds. “It shouldn’t be too hard.”
“For Christ’s sake, kid,” Will mutters. “Take this seriously. This is the hardest thing you’ll ever have to do. You’d better listen carefully, or you’re as good as dead. All right?”
“Sure. You’re the boss, Will. You’re the boss.”
“We’re in this together, kid. But I know what’s ahead, and you don’t.”
Kilgore shakes his head. “OK, Will. I’m listening.”
“All right. When you go out of the armory, I want you to head east. You’ll cross another yard, but there shouldn’t be any sentry guns from here on in. After a while, you’ll see a building on your right. It’s a GDL barracks, and there could be quite a number of men in there. Use AIPR0N to protect yourself, and deploy a swarm of nanobots to take them out. You’ll see the commands in AIPR0N.”
Kilgore frowns. “I don’t know, Will. Nanobots?”
“It’s the only way. There’ll be too many troops to fight your way through, and the barracks is there to guard the only path into the main building.”
“The main building?”
“That’s your target. It’s the largest building on the site. There’s a large red door.” Will pauses. “Here’s the thing—the lock is purely mechanical. AIPR0N can’t hack it. You’ll have to blow the door. Take some C4 charges and detonators from the armory.”
“All right. I know what to do. But, Will, I want to have radio silence for a while.”
A pause. “Why?”
“Because,” Kilgore snaps, “I can’t concentrate with you blabbing away in my ear all the time. I always play alone, remember? It drives me crazy to hear people jabbering when I’m trying to do my thing. It sets me on edge, and I’m liable to make a mistake. You don’t want me to screw this up, do you?”
“All right. Cool it, kid. You can shut the channel, but you’ve got to call me up as soon as you clear the barracks. OK?”
“Sure. We’ll talk real soon.” He cuts the channel and looks at Jamie. “Good enough?”
Jamie nods grimly. “You mentioned nanobots. What did he tell you to do?”
“I’m meant to find the barracks and deploy a swarm of bots to clear the place out.”
“That’s new,” Jamie says. “Our old friend learns fast, I’ll give him that.”
Over by the door, Dale grunts and shakes his head. “Jesus Christ! Those guys will be fried alive. Nanobots are bad enough at the best of times, but in here...”
“Yes,” Jamie says. “The poor sods won’t even be able to log off. The neural damage will almost certainly prove fatal.”
Kilgore shifts uncomfortably. “He used them before, when we were pinned down. I always thought the GDL were automated, just part of the game, and that’s what Will said too. But there were screams. It sounded real.”
The men stand in silence for a moment. Jamie speaks first. “It wasn’t your fault,” he says. “You know, most of the time you’re right—the GDL troops are just computer generated. But when you get to the more advanced levels, there are some players batting for the other team.”
“What?” Kilgore asks.
“What he means,” Dale says, “is that there are real people out there, people like you and me, and they’ve enrolled in the GDL. It’s not widely known, and it’s a tough outfit to get into. Mostly, it’s men and women with some kind of combat experience.”
Kilgore stares at Dale. “You mean veterans?”
Dale nods, and Kilgore thinks of his dad. Whenever he asks about his dad’s days in the military, the old man just shakes his head and says he doesn’t want to bore him with it; claims he worked behind a desk, saw nothing but paperwork. Thank god for that, he thinks. Thank god for that.
“Those guys Will took out,” Da
le says, “they were real players for sure. Computerized GDL aren’t programed to scream.” He pauses, takes in the look in Kilgore’s eyes: a rabbit caught in headlights. He softens his tone. “At least they were on the other side of the minefield—they could’ve logged off. It would’ve hurt like hell—shaken them up pretty bad—but they’ll live.”
Kilgore looks down at the floor. He gets the feeling Dale is putting a gloss on it, letting him down easy. Those poor guys, he thinks. And once again, he hears their screams, recalls their moans of agony.
Jamie clears his throat. “Don’t take this the wrong way, but what are you doing here?”
Kilgore looks up quickly, glad of the change in topic. “Same as you, I guess.”
“No, I mean what’s your special skill?”
Kilgore shrugs his left shoulder. “I’m pretty good at solving problems.”
“There’s got to be more to it than that,” Dale says. “Will picks his people carefully. Me, I was special forces. Jamie here was in military intelligence. I’d guess, from the way you talk, in real life you’re pretty young, right?”
“I’m good enough to make it this far,” Kilgore snaps.
“Yes, we know that,” Jamie says. “Although it has to be said—we caught you with your trousers down rather easily.”
Kilgore tilts his head to one side. “What are you even saying?”
“He means we got the jump on you,” Dale says. “You were alone in hostile territory, but you were like a kid in a candy store. You weren’t watching your six. That’s a rookie mistake right there. But Will wouldn’t have sent you if you were just some dumbass game-head.”
Kilgore stares at Dale for a second, thinking. Of course, it all makes sense now. Kilgore’s shoulders slump. “Aw, man, I should’ve known,” he grumbles. He looks from Jamie to Dale and back. “He didn’t pick me at all. He just wanted my HUD.”
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