AntiBio: A Post Apocalyptic Thriller

by Bible, Jake

“Hands are tied, Alton,” Captain Bryan replies, nodding at someone off screen then looking directly at Ton. “Comes from Control directly.”

  “The bug docs? What do they want with Zebra?”

  “Can’t say for sure,” Captain Bryan replies. “But since your squad has made the most runs to Control and back it makes sense they would request you, don’t you think?”

  “Yes, sir, it-”

  “Then I’m unsure where the confusion is,” Captain Bryan continues. “You will be able to tack on the lost leave time to your next rotation.”

  “That’s in six months, sir,” Ton says. “You are aware of what this will do to squad morale, right, sir?”

  “I do, Alton,” Captain Bryan nods, “which is why you are authorized to give each operator a ten percent credit bump once the mission is completed. I think that is more than generous.”

  Ton watches the man on the screen, his eyes searching for clues, trying to figure out what lies behind the lies.

  “Is that all, Lieutenant?” Captain Bryan asks. “Because I do have several other squads to deal with.”

  “Yes, sir, that is all, sir,” Ton responds. “Thank you for the credit increase, sir.”

  “Of course,” Captain Bryan nods then holds up a finger as someone off screen vies for his attention. “Ride safe, Alton. Godspeed.”

  “Thank you-” But the vid goes blank before he can finish.

  Ton looks about his stark and sterile quarters for something to punch. But there is nothing but gleaming metal.

  “Worm?”

  “Yes, Lieutenant Lane?”

  “Have you ever heard of a squad getting a credit bump before?”

  Worm is silent for three seconds. “No, sir, I have not. I accessed all pay records for the last two decades and could not find an instance of a credit raise for any squad other than the mandated increases.”

  “That’s what I thought,” Ton sighs. “Not good.”

  “I would think a credit increase would be a positive thing,” Worm says.

  “How about instead of the bright side you look at the dark side of this scenario,” Ton says. “Process that and give me variables.”

  “Without specific mission details it would be hard for me to speculate,” Worm says.

  “Do it anyway.”

  “Well, sir, a pay increase like this could be due to some hidden hazard,” Worm says. “Perhaps there is more danger to this mission than normal runs to Control.”

  “Don’t see why,” Ton responds. “We’ve hit some heavy Cootie action in the Sicklands on plenty of runs to Control. Never saw a hazard bonus then. Try again.”

  “I do not see any post or notice of your increase within the accounting protocols,” Worm says. “This could be because they will not be activated until you return.”

  “Or?”

  “Or there is no intention of honoring the promised increase,” Worm says.

  “That would really punch morale in the face,” Ton says.

  “You are fixated on punch in the face metaphors this morning, sir,” Worm states. “I am unsure of the health of that fixation.”

  “That’s because you’ve never punched anyone in the face,” Ton says. “When you do, you’ll get it.”

  Ton sighs and looks down at Snorts.

  “Ready to get back to work, girl? Go kill some Cooties on our way to Control?”

  Snorts growls low, her eyes bright with anticipation.

  13

  “That was not three hours,” Blaze grumbles as the lights come on in his quarters. “Gorge? Was that three hours?”

  The dog stands and gives a hard shake then stretches. She squats on her haunches, raises a hind leg and begins to clean herself.

  “What do you know?” Blaze says, fighting through the fog that is his brain. He gets up and sneers down at Gorge as he walks past. “You get to sleep for most of your life anyway.”

  “I have prepared your shake, Sergeant,” Worm says. “You will need to sonic and get dressed right away. Your shift begins in less than an hour.”

  Blaze stops mid-step. “Not funny.”

  “I agree,” Worm replies.

  “Then why did you say it?”

  Before Worm can respond several vid screens come up. Blaze turns and finds himself looking at the rest of Zebra squad. By the expressions on their faces, they are not pleased either.

  “This isn’t a joke,” Blaze states sadly, rubbing the sleep from his eyes.

  “If so it’s a shitty one,” Hoagie snaps. “I have a massage scheduled later.”

  “And I haven’t finished my book,” Milo complains. “What the hell, LT?”

  “Not my call, people,” Ton says. “You think I want to hit the Sicklands when I could be having a nice, warm soak?”

  “Are we short on squads?” Paulo asks. “I swung by command yesterday and thought I only saw twelve on deck for deployment. That leaves plenty to handle this shit.”

  “Our mission is a special case,” Ton says. “Specifically requested by Control.”

  “What is the mission?” Milo asks.

  “We’re making a run to the dome,” Ton says. “Other than that I have no information. We prep for heavy duty and then hit the transport bay. Further instructions are waiting for us there.”

  “Duration?” Paulo asks.

  “Your guess, operator,” Ton sighs. “Listen, boys, I’m in the dark here as well. This came down to me from command and it came to them direct from Control. We’ve either impressed the bug docs or we’ve pissed them off.”

  “What’s everyone looking at me for?” Blaze asks.

  “What did you do, Crouch?” Hoagie grumbles. “Was one of those girls Control? Please tell me you didn’t bang a bug doc and now we have to pay for your lack of sexual prowess.”

  “It’s not Sergeant Crouch,” Ton says. “This time. Shit, sonic, and shave then report for preparation procedures. We move out in an hour.”

  The images of Blaze’s squad mates blink out one by one until all that is left is the lieutenant.

  “I thought you said it wasn’t me,” Blaze says.

  “Not officially,” Ton says. “But it is strange that we are called from leave for a special Control op just after you disappear from the system for a day. You sure you don’t want to tell me where you really were?”

  Ton’s eyes shift and stare directly at Blaze’s bare chest and the medallion that rests against it.

  “Anything to do with your lucky charm there?”

  “No, sir,” Blaze replies quickly, making Ton’s eyebrows raise.

  “You’re a shit liar, Sergeant,” Ton frowns. “Once we’re out in the Sicklands I think you and I should have another talk. This time I’ll drop the supportive paternal figure act and you’ll drop the stud operator act.”

  “No act here, sir,” Blaze says, holding up the medallion. “Just a good luck charm, LT. That’s all.”

  “Save it for the latrine,” Ton says. “Because I ain’t gonna eat that pile of shit.”

  The screen blinks out, leaving Blaze holding the medallion, his mind whirling with the implications of the surprise mission.

  “Any hint I’ve been busted?” Blaze asks.

  “No, Sergeant,” Worm replies. “I have no indication that your off tower excursions have been detected. Your secret is safe.”

  Despite Worm being an artificial intelligence housed in his own bank of servers, Blaze can tell he is holding something back.

  “Spill it, Worm,” Blaze prompts, letting the medallion fall back against his skin. He turns and frowns at the glass of swirled purple and green liquid waiting for him in his small galley. “You have something to say.”

  “Perhaps it would be prudent to remove Ms. Cale’s device and leave it behind for this mission,” Worm says.

  Blaze thinks on this then slips the medallion up over his head and sets it down on the counter.

  “Don’t really need it, do I?” he says. “Not like I can activate it while out on a run.”

/>   “Precisely my thinking, sir,” Worm says.

  “And if this is related to my unauthorized leave of the tower then getting caught with it could be a problem,” Blaze continues.

  “Yes, sir, very true.”

  Blaze downs the drink, strips off his boxers, tosses them and the glass into the incinerator, and activates the sonic. He steps in and lets the simulated feeling of water wash over him while the sonic waves cleanse his skin. His uniform is waiting for him when he steps out.

  “Hey, Worm?” Blaze asks, getting dressed. “You’re sure you wiped me from the secfeeds yesterday?”

  “I believe I would be offended by that question if I was capable of offense,” Worm says. “Your lack of trust in my abilities is troubling. My main directive is to protect the operators of Zebra squad at all cost. That includes your activities outside the tower, Sergeant.”

  “Wasn’t trying to piss you off, man,” Blaze laughs. “Just double checking. Being thorough, ya know?”

  “The secfeeds of the incident yesterday have been erased, as well as your TransPod travel,” Worm says. “However, I can do nothing about the possible malfunction of Ms. Cale’s device. That information is stored directly in the mainframe and cannot be accessed by AiSPs. That way if an AiSP somehow malfunctions, its squad will not be left stranded by a data wipe.”

  “Yeah, I know,” Blaze sighs as he steps into his boots. “Keep an eye on the brass’ chatter, will ya? I’d appreciate a heads up if you think they are gonna come down on me.”

  “Of, course, Sergeant Crouch,” Worm replies. “You still have several minutes before you are required to report for preparation procedure. Would you like me to reserve a treadmill for Canine Unit Gorge?”

  The dog gives a quiet huff.

  “Sorry, but I want to get down there ASAP and get this shit over with,” Blaze replies. “She can run on the transport once-”

  “All CU’s are required to remain strapped into safety harnesses during the duration of the run, sir,” Worm responds.

  “And have any operators ever adhered to that rule, Worm?”

  “No, Sergeant, but I am required to state the regulation,” Worm replies. “I am well aware that operators will do as they please once out on a run.”

  “Damn straight we will.”

  Blaze starts to leave then looks over at the medallion. He walks over, picks it up, and slips it over his head.

  “Sergeant Crouch?” Worm starts.

  “It’s my good luck charm,” Blaze says. “It’s coming with.”

  “Sergeant, good luck is-”

  “Shut up, Worm.”

  14

  “FUCK!” Hoagie shouts as he jerks away from the set of robotic arms that hover about him. “You fucking pinched my tricep! Again! Worm? Make them stop that shit!”

  “I am sorry, Sergeant,” Worm says. “But the preparation procedure is automated and outside my control. I will send a report to maintenance to schedule recalibration of the arms.”

  “Doesn’t help me now, though, does- FUCK!”

  “They a little pinchy today?” Blaze asks as he walks into the prep cube next to Milo’s.

  “Not for me,” Milo says. “Hoagie just can’t stand still.”

  “I do stand still, asshole,” Hoagie snaps. “They still fucking pinch me!”

  “Maybe they don’t like you, Hoag,” Paulo smiles as his arms and legs are encased in flexible, form fitting body armor. He winces a little as the armor is sealed. “Or maybe they do need calibration.”

  “See,” Hoagie says. “Standing still doesn’t fucking matter.”

  “Report has been sent and I offer my apologies, operators,” Worm says.

  Blaze holds out his arms and spreads his legs as the dozens of small robotic arms start to go to work. A thin sheen of silicon is sprayed over his uniform then pieces of heavy duty plastic are pressed around his joints. He flexes his knees and elbows then nods and the arms continue. Piece after piece of body armor is carefully applied and sealed in place. The cube flashes with a brilliant light as the armor is statically charged.

  “Thank you,” Blaze says, stepping away from the cube.

  He joins his squad mates as they file from the prep room and into the armory next door. A helmet, a large pack, and a short, black baton waits for each operator at various stations in the stark room. Blaze holds out his wrist to one of the stations and the StatShield encompassing the equipment blinks out. He picks up the helmet and places it on his head, waiting for the semi-claustrophobic feeling as it molds perfectly to the contours of his skull.

  “Face plate,” he says and there is a shimmer of light across the opening of the helmet. “Tactical test run.” Maps, data streams, targeting protocols, all flash before Blaze’s eyes. “IRIS integration. Targeting.” The targeting protocol moves from in front of his face to the direct vision in his left eye. “Clear. Navigation.” The targeting is replaced by the three dimensional grid of the terrain surrounding Caldicott City.” “Clear. Data.” His personal vital signs, the POV’s and vital signs of his squad mates, the current temperature and weather forecast for the Sicklands, as well as the energy level of the baton he holds, stream across his vision. “Clear.”

  Blaze grips the baton and gives it a hard snap to the left and down. It begins to expand and mold around his hand, extending two feet out in front and one foot back, going from a thin cylinder to a heavy duty rifle. Blaze puts the butt of the rifle up against his shoulder and turns to the far wall.

  The rest of the squad matches his movements and all fire as part of the wall slides away to reveal a thick patch of rubber. The rubber absorbs the bright blue static charges that fly at it. Satisfied with the results, they snap their hands down and to the right and their rifles shrink into large pistols. Again, as a squad, they raise the weapons, fire at the wall, and watch as the charges are absorbed. They snap their hands up and left then right and the pistols become larger versions of the original batons, but glow brightly.

  “Weapons systems are operating at optimal levels,” Worm states. “You have been cleared to proceed to the transport bay.”

  Zebra squad turns on its heels and the wall that had been behind them slides away to reveal the buzz of work in the transport bay. Chief Roark is standing there, her lips pressed into a thin grimace.

  “You guys just had to fuck up my day, huh?” she snaps as one by one they walk past her. She slaps a metal patch to each of their right shoulders. “You have Tranny Eighteen today. Treat the girl right and bring her back in one piece, will ya?”

  “We’ll do our best,” Milo smiles. “You seen LT?”

  “I have seen lots of LTs,” Chief Roark says. “And each one is such a treat to behold.”

  “Have you seen our LT?” Milo says. “Lane?”

  “He has shown initiative and is already on board Eighteen,” Chief Roark. “So how about you join him and get the fuck out of my hair?”

  “Pleasure as always, Chief,” Milo nods.

  “Suck a dick, Kailua,” Chief Roark says as she makes four marks on a checklist, swipes her fingers, and watches the list blink out.

  Zebra squad work their way around mechanics and repair orbs that flit here and there through the transport bay. They get to Tranny Eighteen and stop, their eyes fixed on the unusual sight before them.

  A woman dressed in armor that matches the operators’, but is bright white instead of black, is busy shouting orders to a man and woman loading four long, grey cylinders into the cargo hold of the transport.

  “Is she Clean Guard?” Hoagie asks. “Doesn’t look like Clean Guard. She looks like a bug doc in Clean Guard drag.”

  The woman sees the squad standing there and nods then goes back to supervising the placement of the cylinders. A checklist appears in her hands as she scans one of the cylinders. Blaze’s eyes go wide as a picture of a woman appears then blinks out.

  “What?” Paulo asks. “You see something?”

  “Are there people in there?” Blaze asks. “I co
uld have sworn-”

  “Zebra squad!” Ton shouts from the transport hatch. “Let’s move!”

  They turn their attention to their commanding officer and book it up into the transport. The inside is smooth metal just like every other surface in the tower. There are two seats up front, one on each side of the transport, and one in the rear. Other than that, there isn’t a single detail except for the reflections of the squad off the metal.

  “Sir,” Blaze says once all operators are inside and the hatch closes behind him. “The cargo. What is it?”

  “Not our concern, Sergeant,” Ton replies. “What is our concern is making sure Dr. DeBeers arrives at Control safe and sound.”

  “Why no Clean Guard, LT?” Hoagie asks. “Bug docs never travel outside Control without Clean Guards.”

  “How’d she get here without them?” Paulo asks. “I didn’t even think bug docs could leave Control without their escorts.”

  “You keep asking questions and I’ll keep not having answers,” Ton replies. “The mission is to deliver Dr. DeBeers and her cargo to Control. Yes, this should be accomplished by Clean Guard, but since they are not present, the task has been handed to us. We have the most runs between CC and Control which is why our leave was cut short. That’s all I know.”

  He focuses his eyes on Blaze.

  “Whatever you thought you saw, forget it,” Ton warns. “It’s a distraction and we can’t afford distractions. Take your stations and I’ll show you why.”

  Milo and Ton move up front, with Milo taking the left seat and Ton taking the right. Paulo sits in the seat against the right wall and Hoagie sits in the one by the left wall. Blaze grabs the seat in the rear. The dogs all settle on the floor next to their operators, ignoring the safety harnesses that slide up next to them. Vid screens come alive in front of each operator and they find themselves looking at a sat image of the Sicklands.

  “This is twenty-five clicks from the wall,” Ton says, swiping his hand across the image in front of him. The views zoom in on all screens. “As you can see, the satellites have picked up a large group of Cooties massing along our route.”

  “We need an alternate?” Milo asks. “Or will we engage?”