Ravagers [05.00] Eradicate

by Alex Albrinck

  Cyrus started nodding. “And you figured we’d need to siphon data off the prime internet pipes to tap into everything, which we could do without drawing attention unless someone knew they should be looking.”

  “Exactly,” Micah said. “I knew I should be looking. What would seem irrelevant to most became bread crumbs I could trace, until I could finally manage to sneak in deep enough to build a channel invisible to the outside world that let us communicate.”

  Cyrus sighed. “Can’t say that makes me happy; you still shouldn’t have been able to find us. But you’re right; there’s no reason we would have considered your approach possible.” He shrugged. “I have my answer, then. Now… I think we’re supposed to exchange intel on our evil would-be overlords?”

  Micah chuckled and pulled a rolled up sheaf of papers from a pocket deep inside his clothing. “Based upon our previous communication and initial intel swaps, we’re in agreement that there are thirty members of Phoenix controlling everything. Strategically, the plan then is eliminating those Thirty, minimizing damage and casualties elsewhere, and reclaiming control for the masses.”

  “Exactly. From what we’ve learned, a massive proportion of the population has already died. We can’t casually kill more in an effort to chop the head off the monster.”

  Micah found a clear space on a work surface and set down the stack of papers, smoothing his hands across the sheets to flatten out the rolls. “Much of our intel on the identity of the core group—which we now know numbers thirty—came through Roddy’s efforts. He underwent significant physical and mental transformations, literally forgetting who he was, to put himself in position to get inside the inner circle.”

  Cyrus snapped his fingers. “I thought he looked familiar. He’s Oswald Silver’s pilot, isn’t he?”

  “Was Silver’s pilot. Once Roddy figured out Silver’s true nature—even deprived of his memories before he began his mission—he rebelled and… well, he and Silver had a bit of a falling out.”

  Cyrus laughed. “Silver tried to kill him?”

  “Not directly. Roddy came to Silver’s attention because Silver suspected Roddy could do exactly what he’s now doing for Miriam and the others. He tried torturing Roddy to get the information, but Roddy’s mind had been deprived of that knowledge until recently.”

  Cyrus frowned. “Wait. If he had his memories removed… how is he…?”

  Micah noted the subtle facial twitches, which his vast database of human reactions could decipher in an instant. “You’re concerned he never knew and is in some way here to cause trouble, perhaps as Silver’s agent.”

  Cyrus turned red. “Well… maybe not exactly… but…”

  “Reasonable conclusion.” Micah nodded. “But incorrect. Roddy managed to return home to his parents, though he didn’t know that’s what he was doing. They restored his lost memories, including the identity of his wife—who is currently en route to the space station to find a means aboard for the rest of us—and the understanding of the powers he’d developed and the means for awakening them in others. I don’t know the process, but there’s nobody better to help out. He’s actually the son of Jeffrey and Desdemona Wiley; Roddy Light was a new name chosen for him after his memory alteration.”

  Cyrus let out a low whistle. “I recognize those names. If he’s their son…” He nodded. “My concerns are now gone.” He glanced back at the stack of papers. “Those are who you believe to be the Thirty?”

  “We’re confident to varying degrees. I suspect wherever our lists match we’re likely correct. And we can figure out after discussing the rest if the number is wrong, or which names we need to remove from consideration for termination.”

  “Any other intel sources?”

  Micah nodded. “Sheila Clarke recently visited the space station and grabbed control of the Ravagers from the Phoenix elites. In so doing, she gave me access to a private server on a network used exclusively by our target audience.”

  Cyrus laughed. “So you hacked in and snooped on the private communications on the most secretive of the Phoenix elites.”

  “I did.”

  “Well, that saves a lot of time. And your list is more likely accurate than ours.”

  “No reason not to check and compare notes.”

  Cyrus grinned. “If we can hack individual accounts, we could gain access and send communications to the larger group with the identities of people we terminate. Keep them unaware of what’s happening.”

  Micah smiled. “I like the way you think, Cyrus.”

  Cyrus retrieved the list his team had compiled, and after twenty minutes of comparisons and discussion, they’d found only two discrepancies.

  “James Delaney was upper tier, top aide to Oswald Silver,” Micah said. “But I don’t think the evidence supports him being part of the Thirty.”

  “You’re saying the last member of the Thirty is Damien Hyel instead?” Cyrus frowned. “But Delaney and Silver were inseparable.”

  “That’s an argument against him, actually. The entire modus operandi of this group was to keep isolated from each other, to be in the same place only when absolutely necessary, to offer no indication of deeper relationships. Delaney is too obvious. Hyel, on the other hand, shows as the most isolated of the larger group of elites, hidden in plain sight even better than the other twenty-nine.”

  “Makes sense,” Cyrus said, nodding slowly. “And it’s good news, actually.”

  “How so?”

  “Hyel, by all accounts, was a nasty piece of work. Probably thought the Ravagers killed people too quickly, didn’t allow a chance to enjoy their suffering. Intel suggests he was on the island where the Elites go to vacation, over in the mini-ocean in Eastern lands, when a rogue missile hit and spread active Ravagers. Lots of people died. There has been no communication from him since.”

  Micah nodded. “He was there, but nobody’s heard from him since the Ravagers wreaked havoc… which means he’s very likely dead.” He chuckled. “So the identity of the thirtieth person doesn’t matter, then. Because James Delaney is dead as well.”

  “You’re kidding.”

  “Silver told him to take Light and find Silver’s daughter. Apparently, Deirdre didn’t catch the flight off the planet before the Ravagers went live.”

  “Well, that’s a real shame!”

  Micah noted an odd look in Cyrus’ eyes, but chose to ignore it. “Terrible thing, the ship crashed and Light survived. Delaney… not so much.”

  “So that’s twenty-nine left.”

  “Soon to be twenty-four, I’d wager. We dropped a Special Forces assassin near one of the Ravager-proof fortresses on the way here, the one Roddy’s parents work at undercover. Seems five from our list showed up a few days ago. Our assassin has infiltrated the premises. I don’t envy them their fate.”

  “Crying shame for them. Hope your guy survives.”

  “Likewise.”

  “Which ones is he targeting?”

  Micah pointed them out, and Cyrus set the images aside, along with the images of both Delaney and Hyel. “Down to twenty-four. Twenty-three, actually. My hacking confirmed that Delilah Silver died in the explosion that nearly cost us Sheila Clarke’s life as well.”

  “And we’re certain from monitoring comms from the Enclave that the Ravager attack on that island took two more from our list as well.” Cyrus pulled out two more images and set them aside, along with the image of Delilah Silver. “We have an asset en route to another fortress, one called New Phoenix.”

  “I think I know about where that would be. Why there?”

  “Intel suggests four allies of Oswald Silver are there prepping things for Silver’s arrival.”

  “So if that is successful, there are… seventeen left? Sixteen, if your assassin is able to take out Oswald Silver as well?”

  Cyrus glanced down at the pictures, and Micah was once more left with the impression that Cyrus was keeping something hidden. He didn’t push it; he wasn’t giving Cyrus everything, either. �
�Very dependent on whether Silver shows up given all of the other festivities we’re planning. He might hang tight where he is, aboard the space station.”

  Micah nodded. “I suspect most are there, and will remain there until the last Ravagers stop work in the East.”

  Cyrus rubbed his chin. “Think it’s worth sending anyone to the East, or locate any other fortresses in the West?”

  “I doubt it. We probably need to keep someone here as a central point of contact for those working at New Venice and New Phoenix, perhaps a few extras in the event we need to send people to assist the solo assassins or extract them. But I think the best place for the rest of us remains the space station. I suspect our elites aren’t interested in testing their fate until it’s certain there’s no risk in returning to the surface.”

  “I’d tend to agree,” Cyrus replied. “And the space station is pretty big; they can spread out there, hide better. We need as many people there as possible to find them all.”

  Micah reached out and shook Cyrus’ hand. “Agreed. Let’s go find the others and update them on what we’ve learned.”

  * * *

  There was a physical change in the group, whose faces looked like children who’d just opened the greatest gift imaginable. There had been an uneasiness in the group when Micah and Cyrus had held their private meeting. Now, they moved with the confidence of someone knowing they couldn’t lose.

  Discussions regarding assignments were intense. There was general agreement with the merged list of Thirty identified by Cyrus and Roddy. Cheers went up as names of the confirmed dead were announced, along with the nine or ten—depending on how you classified Oswald Silver—already targeted by designated assassins at the two fortresses.

  There was some leeriness about an assault upon the space station, even with the advantages of the hidden fleet of flying spheres the group maintained. When Roddy made note of the fact that the weapon that had deprived them of their powers on land did not work aboard the space station, though… the looks of pure joy made the previous excitement look like mild indifference. All of them wanted to board a flying sphere and make way to the space station. None of them worried that Silver and the others would have had plenty of practice exercising powers while theirs had remained dormant.

  Micah, with his deep knowledge of the space station’s layout and network hacking abilities, would join Miriam and her team in raiding the space station, interfacing with Mary, John, and Sheila to identify the proper insertion points.

  Cyrus, who gained nothing from being aboard the space station or remaining on the surface, was nominated to head to New Venice to seek out Wesley, assist him in his assassination efforts, and extract him safely back to the Old Timers’ hidden home.

  Despite protests, Roddy was chosen to remain on the surface. He’d go to New Phoenix to play a role similar to what Cyrus would play at New Venice. He’d argued that his wife was already in space and he wanted to be with her. But his powers operated best on the surface; ironically, he’d be at his most powerful here.

  Left unsaid: by splitting he and Mary up, they’d probably increased the chances that their children wouldn’t be orphaned in a single incident.

  Cyrus took the images matching the names sent by Roddy, and Micah transmitted an image of Wesley over so the Old Timer would recognize the friendly assassin on sight. He moved to a ground car and set out at once for New Venice.

  Roddy found the images for the four targets in New Phoenix. He didn’t need help remembering Oswald Silver.

  As Miriam, her team, and Micah began heading toward the fleet of flying spheres, Roddy realized something. He caught up to Miriam before she boarded. “You forgot to give me an image of your asset working in New Phoenix. I don’t want to hurt them accidentally.”

  “You don’t need any images from me, Roddy.”

  “What? Why wouldn’t I?”

  “You know her all too well.”

  He felt a chill. “No. Tell me it’s not… no…”

  “Yes, Roddy.” Miriam looked apologetic. “She came here after escaping your parents’ capture at New Venice, and we sent her to New Phoenix to destroy her fathers’ friends before he arrives.” She offered a grim smile. “Good luck.”

  And then she was gone.

  Roddy stood there for a moment, jaw hanging open. Then he grabbed a cooler full of water and sandwiches and raced for the ground car he’d been assigned, urging the vehicle to take whatever risks necessary to get to New Phoenix as fast as possible.

  He hoped he was wrong.

  But he couldn’t help but feel that in sending Deirdre to New Phoenix, Miriam had ruined any chance of maintaining secrecy about their assassination efforts.

  Chapter 16

  New Phoenix

  Deirdre moved through the facility trying to project a confidence she did not feel.

  She was certain that at any moment, someone would leap out in front of her, point, and accuse her of traitorous intent and activity, confirmed through communication with New Venice and her father. That they’d dump her down that decontamination chute again, and this time, just leave her in there.

  She lifted her head high and tried to adopt a look of entitled impatience at the delay in reaching her destination, hoping that her glistening brow would be excused away as an effect of her brisk pace rather than her tightening nerves.

  She followed the overhead street names and arrows pointing toward landmarks, occasionally muttering loudly about the odd names and inefficient layout. She passed shops, work areas, public dining spaces, even the kitchen. The human traffic thinned out as she neared the space with private dining rooms. The rooms, available only to those requesting and receiving permission from the director of the fortress, showed little sign of usage. Deirdre found that odd, until she remembered that elites like her didn’t usually spend time here. Most of the people working for the Phoenix Group didn’t know its true motivations; they thought they were saving humanity and other living species by eradicating everything on the surface to eliminate a rogue virus capable of wiping out all life on the planet. Perhaps that scenario, and the realization that they were among the few survivors of a self-inflicted near genocide, gave the people here a heightened sense of the importance of human interaction, leading them to prefer dining among larger crowds.

  She found the door with the room name for her meal, and in character, ignored the man standing guard outside as she opened the door and moved inside, wondering as to the greeting she might receive.

  She saw the four people in the room she’d been sent to kill, and her heart skipped a beat. She glanced around at the attendants, those who’d set the table, serve the food, and clear their dishes. She hoped none of them sampled any of the extras she’d brought for the meal. They didn’t earn that fate.

  Which was more than she could say for the rest of them. Including her.

  “Deirdre!” She heard her name fill the room, as each of the four approach to offer a cordial embrace, a platonic kiss on the cheek, idle prattle about how good she looked and jokes about how she ought to start her own fashion line. That was for public appearances, and she had no doubt the attendants believed there was a deep friendship among the five diners. Deirdre used to believe that, too.

  Now, though, she noticed what she’d never noticed or wanted to notice about these people, these close friends and colleagues of a man named Oswald Silver she’d long thought a hero and role model. She noticed eyes drifting and lingering downward, hands during embraces lingering a bit longer than necessary and trending in directions they shouldn’t be, the kisses on the cheek that endured, drifting away in a manner that brought the kiss closer to her mouth.

  It took all her nerve to avoid vomiting, having finally recognized them for what they were. Disgusting, despicable people. And she’d grown up thinking them brilliant, energetic people she’d willingly emulate.

  She wouldn’t mourn their loss nor regret her part in their imminent deaths.

  The head waiter motioned them
into their chairs around the circular table and held Deirdre’s for her, sliding it in as she lowered herself into the seat, listening as the idle chatter continued. Current events dominated the conversation.

  As the glances in her direction mounted, Deirdre realized that the glances were, in this case, motivated more by curiosity than… interest. And she understood why. “I suspect you’re surprised to see me here.”

  “Only slightly less surprised than if Will Stark himself had walked through the door,” Samuel said, smirking. The others booed the mention of the name, then laughed at the attempted humor.

  Deirdre smiled. “That makes two of us. I’d expected to be a bit farther off the ground right now, but…” She lowered her head and took a deep, shuddering breath, willing the tears to come to complete the facade. To her great surprise, she felt the moisture seep out onto her cheek. “My… my husband…”

  Eager for gossip more than desirous of an opportunity to defend a woman they’d known since birth, they all offered their full attention. “What happened?” Samuel asked, breathless with anticipation.

  “He…” She swallowed. “He went over to the other side.”

  “No!” The shouts came from every voice around the table; even the head waiter, who’d taken their orders to be expertly heated up for near-immediate consumption, looked angry at the news of traitorous behavior.

  “You are talking about Oswald’s pilot, right?” Yancey asked.

  “No, moron,” Jason said, rolling his eyes. “She’s talking about her other husband.”

  “She has two husbands?”

  Mark shook his head and leaned forward. He tried to look sympathetic to her plight, but she could see the hunger in his eyes and didn’t know if that hunger was driven by a desire for gossip, or…. her. “Ignore them. What happened?”