Her plans hadn't progressed much beyond going back for her son and escaping to the forest. Once they were out of immediate danger, she would worry about the specifics of finding the rumored outlaw communities. Although a group would offer better odds of survival, she had no idea if they would be trustworthy, and she'd yet to think of a way to find out without exposing herself, even if she managed to find them.
She reached a smooth concrete slab with a hatch in the center. Removing a small cover revealed an aperture, where she plugged in the security key from her toolkit. After she answered the query to her implant with the correct security code, the hatch hissed and clicked once. It opened easily at her touch, despite its considerable weight.
The opening revealed a shaft with a ladder reaching fifty feet underground, deep enough to avoid detection of the network hub from orbit while offering protection from anything but a targeted bombardment.
By the time she reached the bottom, her arms and legs burned with exertion. Darkness veiled her surroundings until she activated a work light and stuck it to a wall. Her work space measured exactly twelve by twelve by seven feet, most of which was claimed by the six four-foot thick cables leading out through the chamber's walls. They came together inside a round structure with a display unit facing the ladder. She activated it and accessed the system.
A few commands later, she had what she wanted: access to the entire communications network in the sector. The display dutifully tallied and categorized volumes of data passing through the hub. Much of that data fell under the category labeled "LAW ENFORCEMENT." After another security query and an insistent warning that unauthorized use would incur severe penalties, she gained access to the data. The right maintenance command here would shut down the grid, limiting communications to whatever the backup system could handle. Most of the remaining bandwidth would be dedicated to the needs of automated systems, so law enforcement would have a hard time coordinating anything. Their priority would become restoring the grid, not looking for one runaway worker.
"Let's see if you're looking for me yet," she whispered.
Her name and number yielded no results. She searched for Ermolei, Kirill, even the auditor, Koldan. Nothing came up. She felt unease instead of relief. With her clearance level, encryption was bypassed. If anyone had mentioned her in the last hour, she'd see it there.
She glanced at the edge of the display, where a small table continued to track the volumes of data moving. The volume had doubled since the last time she'd glanced at it. Somebody was talking about something.
"Since you're not talking about me..." she muttered. Her fingers twitched in the control glove, calling up random messages flowing through the hub. One by one, they popped up on her display.
MSGID 77#G54 FROM SECTOR Q9 DIRECTOR TO FIELD OP ID 4872:4998 DESIGNATED MUSTERING POINT COORD 129.45 - 74.30
She frowned and tried to think of a reason why over a hundred Auditors would need to be in any one place. Several more messages to other groups of Auditors came through, directing them to a number of mustering points, without specifying the reason. Finally, another message appeared:
RPT MSG. ENEMY BREAKTHROUGH IMMINENT. SYSTEM DEFENSE COLLAPSING. INITIATE EXPED EVAC - PLAN Q. DO NOT NOTIFY GEN POP. SEC ORDN 44.
EXPECT INVASION 1900. DEPARTURE WINDOW CLOSES 1600. RPT MSG.
She read the message again, then again. "They can't be serious," she whispered. She looked for more information. Every message that popped up on her display added nauseating detail to the impossible truth: the floaters had come to Marshal.
Everything was about to end.
She tore her hands from the control gloves and covered her face. Panic boiled in her mind, battering her with images from her nightmares. Alien monsters in her home. Taking her son.
Her fingers seized her hair. "No!" she shrieked, her throat raw. "Not now!"
I have to get back.
When the thought formed in her head, she could move again. She abandoned her tool kit, stuffed the stun gun in her pocket, and ascended the ladder two rungs at a time. She wouldn't sabotage the grid now. It was obvious no one was looking for her anymore, and she couldn't bring herself to act against her own kind now that the enemy had come.
The sky had turned a dangerous grey, and wind tore at her clothes. Without pausing to close the hatch, she flung herself into her aircraft and overrode the take-off prep. As soon as the engines powered up, she wrenched the vehicle into the air and headed for her apartment.
Chapter Nine
Khariton watched the guards file into the assembly room. He'd assumed it would be good form to arrive a few minutes before the briefing time, but until now he'd been the only one in the room. Some fifty men and women entered, walking single file down the aisle between the chairs as each broke off to take their seat. He wondered whether standing up when the guards entered would have made him feel less intimidated.
He'd spent much of the night going over First Squad's personnel records, and he recognized each of the guards as they came in. Talent Demyan, the squad's somber leader for almost two years, led the way for his guards. His perfect posture and ruggedly handsome appearance would be the grace of any recruitment poster, save for the ugly scar running from his scalp down his right cheek. His record noted the low casualty rates in his unit, along with a concern he might be too reluctant to send his guards into danger.
Volunteer Nikifor followed, ice blue eyes locked forward. Khariton looked away as her slight frame passed him by. The squad's demolitions expert was lab-born, like him, and her blue eyes were the result of a manufacturing defect. Her record noted several violent incidents between her and other labs. She also had a knack for placing ordnance, bringing down structures that should have been impenetrable. Khariton intended to stay out of her way.
"Hey, you catch your breath yet?" the next guard called over his shoulder, his tone two notches past amiable. "You were sweating like a rookie earlier."
This was Volunteer Radomil, the squad's other sniper besides Moisey, who happened to be walking behind him. Radomil's stout form was shorter than all his squadmates, but he'd once killed nine floaters single-handedly while defending a medical post that got cut off in a hasty retreat. Injured himself, he'd stayed when the medics fled and left the wounded behind. Seven witness statements were attached to the guard's file, each speaking in reverent tones of his desperate struggle with the last two floaters after they penetrated the position. Since then, he'd had over a dozen violent altercations with other guards, virtually guaranteeing he'd never advance in rank.
Whatever exertion had showed in Moisey's face previously had been replaced by a stony mask. "You should try it, chubby. Just don't get in my way, I don't want to trip over you."
"Somebody get Niki on a treadmill, maybe she can work that stick out of her ass!"
Khariton didn't see who made the comment. He did see Nikifor, sitting a few rows down, turn her head and hurl a disdainful glare down the aisle. "Why don't you come get it out for me, big boy?" she said with a lazy drawl. "Then we'll see who needs to work out." As she turned back, she paused to give Khariton a withering glance, making his heart jump as she turned away.
"Settle down, kids," said a deep voice, and Khariton looked over to see the hulking form of First Squad's second-in-command and heavy weapons expert Specialist Faddei stride into the room. "It's time to work." She'd signed up for guard service after Illarion fell to the floaters, where her three children died in the fighting. She'd been promoted for keeping her cool under fire after only six months, and great things were expected from her.
The guard behind her almost matched her bulk, if not her height. Volunteer Naum was the other heavy weapons expert, and by his file, he was considered a model guard. Aggressive and creative in combat, obedient to authority, and not prone to conflict with his comrades. During a floater raid on Arkhip when he was seven years old, his community complex had been caught in the impact of a stray railgun shell from a Commonwealth ship. His entire family and everyone
he'd ever known had perished in the disaster, and he'd broken every bone in his body. The tragedy had left him with an intense hatred for floaters, and a deep frown that never left his heavy brow.
Med tech Taras came in next, her muscled frame hunched forward and her dour eyes locked on the deck. As a guard regular, she'd been part of the garrison at Oriel outpost when the floaters captured the base. When the Commonwealth took back Oriel seventeen months later, they found her alive, the last survivor of a desperate effort by the surviving guards to sabotage floater operations. At her debriefing, she claimed amnesia, leaving the details of her comrades' deaths a mystery. Her transfer request to the advance guards was approved regardless, and she became a medic in the 114th.
Gerasim entered with the last of the guards, and gave Khariton a nod as he passed by. He returned it with a smile that faded when the other lab-born sat down three rows over.
Another guard plopped into the seat next to his. "So who'd you piss off?" she said in a flat voice.
"Uh." It took a moment to put a file to the delicate face and its resigned stare. Volunteer Manya, a former doctor caught altering fitness reports to excuse people from military service. After enduring seven HROS assaults, being the sole survivor in three, her commanders had realized her worth and sent her to be a medic in the advance guards. "I don't know," Khariton said. "But that's not why I'm here. I volunteered."
"Volunteered," she repeated. "That's funny. That's my rank, you know. Volunteer." She gave a cold chuckle. "I never volunteered for any of this shit."
"Guards ready!"
The guards sprang up from their seats in perfect unison, Khariton following a second later. Raisa marched by, heading towards the display unit in front of the rows of chairs. "Sit."
She activated the display before facing the assembly. "In two hours, we will arrive at Matrix. It's a class eight planetoid that holds a research and mining station. Gravity is .81, stronger than you'd expect because of heavy metals in the crust. It's very cold and there is only a thin atmosphere of nitrogen, so suits will be in environmental mode. Four days ago, floaters came by and dropped off a strike force that penetrated the facility's perimeter. Space forces then departed, and were later sighted at the Pack, seventeen light years away. The enemy controls most of the facility, but the research team and a handful of guards are still holding a fortified position inside. We'll make our descent beyond the horizon, then follow the terrain to a landing zone about one kilometer from the outer perimeter. We'll enter the facility through the existing breaches and eliminate the enemy inside. First Squad will try to link up with the remaining defenders. Third Squad will guard the perimeter. Let's see the layout."
A three-dimensional rendering of the facility and surrounding terrain sprang to life over the display. The entire landscape consisted of sharp peaks and ridges, part of Matrix's equatorial mountain range, and the landing site was one of only a few available. The facility sat at the junction of two rocky slopes, with a defensive wall spanning the distance between them. The open space between the wall and the facility held two landing pads with airlocks leading inside. Instead of forcing these, the floaters had simply blown a hole in both the defensive wall and the exterior of the building. Khariton leaned closer and studied the internal layout, trying to pin down what bothered him.
"After the briefing ends, you'll have an hour to internalize the map and tactical data, and forty minutes for prep and ordnance loading. After losses taken in the initial assault, it's estimated at least a hundred floaters are inside the facility. Our objective is to eliminate the enemy with minimal damage to the station." Raisa crossed her arms. "So here's what makes this interesting. Matrix has seventy-one hour days, and sunset for the combat zone is less than five hours away. I told you it was cold, but after the sun goes down it sinks well below ACS tolerance. Which means we'd better be done by then, else we can look forward to shacking up with a bunch of angry floaters for a few days."
A hand went up. "Are we in communication with the defenders? Do they know we're coming?"
"We have exchanged messages, but what we get from them is fragmented. They're not in control of the comm relay that connects to the satellite, so they have to contact us directly, and they're getting interference from the heavy metals in the ground. Most likely, they are receiving our messages with the same interference, but I don't think our arrival will come as a total surprise. First Squad, just make sure you call out before you approach the defenses."
Another hand. "Will the interference affect local communications?"
"We have no reason to think so. If we lose contact, squad leaders will pursue their objectives independently. What little data we have indicates the floaters are all inside, but just in case, Third Squad needs to take root on that perimeter. Don't let anything in, or you can make the call and tell the fleet stew that the 114th needs to be rescued. Because I'm not doing it."
A few guards chuckled. "Uh, yes sir," said the guard who'd asked.
Khariton wished he had something worthwhile to add. He couldn't isolate what had him worried about the operation, and he'd begun to wonder if there was anything there at all. Everything he'd ever wanted was here in the same room with him, yet he'd never felt so apart in his life. He resented his intellect and his insight for failing to help him understand this simple thing that everyone else seemed to get without effort. His excitement for the upcoming mission had turned hollow.
An hour after the briefing ended, the unit gathered in the same room to gear up. Squads in formless, off-white underclothes formed up in lines in front of the transparent, tubular tanks that held the Adaptive Combat Suits when not in use. Guards stepped up to the tanks, put their hands under the nozzles, and the liquid suits poured out. The metallic substance spread out across the guards' bodies, covering everything except their faces. Clad in grey, the guards moved to the weapon racks and retrieved their arms. The compact Magnetically Accelerated Projectile rifle, along with stacks of magazines containing its tiny shells in explosive, armor-piercing, shock charge, and inert varieties, compact guided grenade launcher, stubby, short-ranged sonic destroyers, canteen, field rations, all equipment disappeared into the suit, to reappear as a smooth outline on the guards' backs. Faddei and Naum each took two additional weapons: the heavy-caliber, multi-barreled Reaper version of the standard MAP rifle, and the sleek, meter-long Prowler missile launcher. Their load equaled four times their body weight, and without the suit to support it, they wouldn't be able to walk two steps.
Khariton had joined the back of the line for First Squad. When the suit flowed across his skin, he felt exposed and on display. The guards probably hadn't expected him to don a suit, and now that he had, they wouldn't expect him to be effective with it.
His body entirely covered, a chime deep inside his ear alerted him the suit had connected to his implant. Green numbers and a diagram of his body appeared in his vision. Next time he spoke, his words would be transmitted to every other suit wearer within simulated audible range via the common frequency. If he wanted to speak to Raisa privately, he'd have to access a separate frequency.
He carefully stepped away from the tanks and looked for Raisa, finding her among the grey guards by the nametag projected over her form by his implant. "Chief, should I arm myself?"
She hesitated. "Have you practiced with weapons at all?"
"No. Just basic suit operations."
"Take a rifle," she said, eyes roving the proceedings. "You shouldn't be defenseless, but I don't want you to cause an accident."
As he walked to the weapons rack, he cursed himself for failing to ask her how to incorporate weapons into his suit. He recalled the relevant sections of the training manual, but they mostly covered the particulars of the mechanism instead of action required by the operator. Trying his best to appear nonchalant, he reached for a rifle. Even with the suit assisting his movements, the dark, dull metal felt much heavier than he'd expected. Before he had a chance to freeze up and panic, the material covering his hands st
retched to cover the weapon. He felt its weight shift as the shape traveled up his arm, then down his back. Another chime confirmed it had settled into place, and a new indicator appeared in his vision, showing the status and ammo count of his only weapon system. He collected a few magazines and watched the count increase.
"Load up!"
The guards lined up and trotted out the door towards the landing bay, starting a low, two-toned chant that kept the pace. Khariton couldn't make out the words and followed at the end of the line, the only one silent.
Five landing craft waited on the flight deck. Bulky and angular, all the vehicles' surfaces were the same dark, dull grey, lacking any protrusions. Guards smoothly climbed in through open hatches on the flanks, projecting their suits to seize handholds and pull themselves up.
Five sets of engines began powering up before he made it halfway to the landing craft, drowning out all other sounds with a mixture of high-pitched whine and bone-shaking roar. As he climbed inside, the noise hammered his eardrums. The pain subsided after the hatch closed behind him, but the sound remained an overwhelming distraction. He took the seat next to Raisa. "How do you deal with the noise?" he yelled.
She tapped her head with one finger. "The suit's configured for ear protection. Just visualize and execute."
He sat back. She'd quoted him the suit operator's mantra, and he suspected she'd just put his claim of learning quickly to the test. The suit communicated with the implant in his brain, translating thoughts with intent into action. There was no limit to the shapes the suit could assume, but specific functions had to be pre-programmed. He pictured a circular, multi-layered honeycomb structure covering his ears on each side, and twitched his finger. The material on his head shifted and the noise sank into the background. Raisa gave him a nod. "Com check," she said, her voice clear in his ear. One by one, the guards checked in. Khariton added his own voice, pride and nerves battling in his stomach.
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