Killswitch: A Cassandra Kresnov Novel (v1.1)

by Joel Shepherd

  "Yeah, well I'm reprioritising."

  "Sandy, get this," came Vanessa's urgent voice, "a captured Fifth Fleet marine says Takawashi and several aides were intercepted and detained up on level four in your sector for acting suspiciously. They were put in detention with about forty other civilians in one of the rooms there. We were just reviewing security tape from around Berth Twenty-five, we see Jane and several others leaving Corona just a few minutes ago. I think they went to go get him ... corn's been shielded in your sector, it might have taken them this long to figure out where he was. "

  "I don't want Jane rampaging anywhere near some group of civilians," Sandy replied. Tac-net flashed before her vision, a fleeting rush of station schematics, then highlighting the level four lounge in a residential district. "If she gets into a firefight with guards there it could be a bloodbath ... Rhi, one pair advance, let's go."

  She levelled her weapon about the end of the flatbed. Waited several seconds, and then when the FIA man did not appear at his hatchway, set off running. Rhian covered that target, her own rifle tracking left toward Berth Twenty-five ... another man in a suit was crouched there beside hatchway railings, rifle moving as he spotted them. Sandy shot him in the arm. Another two peered around container rims, and she shot them too, an arm and a leg, without breaking stride. Halfway toward the hatchway, the FIA man appeared ahead with weapon in hand, and Rhian clipped his skull with a rifle round that sparked off the doorframe as he thudded limply backward.

  Rhian led in, Sandy covering the docks ... tac-net showed her Rhian's view of an empty hallway beyond, and she backed her own way in. From there it was a fast, two-person-shooter manoeuvre along the hall, through several hatchways, then into a broader, more decorative administrative area with carpet on the floor and occasional paintings on the walls. They passed offices with doors flung open, tables and chairs overturned within, coffee and half-eaten meals spilled upon the floor. Then up a stairwell, tac-net giving no reading whatsoever on possible enemy activity here, having no eyes nor ears to access, save their own.

  Up four floors, then out into another hall. A display upon the wall gave directions ... it was an exclusive business zone, it seemed, as they passed an open office with transparent dividers and a broad display screen alive with the latest Tanushan news and business stories at loud volume despite the utter lack of audience. A junction then, and what looked like an elevator lobby, with an abandoned service desk and holographic display screens offering a choice of entertainment section, gymnasium or meeting rooms. Graffiti upon the wall opposite spoiled the tranquil order-"Fuck the Fifth," in hasty, black letters.

  An explosion, and shooting in reverberating rapid bursts nearby, Sandy and Rhian flattened themselves against available walls. Screams and yells, muffled and of indistinct range, from somewhere ahead. Then a rush of movement, civilians bursting around a corner, suit jackets flying, sprinting to get clear. A woman, feet bare, still clutching her heels as she ran ... one saw the two armoured figures ahead and might have panicked, except that Sandy yelled at them to come, waving a free arm and pointing them onwards to empty hallways she knew were safer.

  They rushed past, Sandy and Rhian unplastering themselves from the walls and gliding forward in a balanced, weapon-braced rush. Another two civilians rushed past, barely seeming to notice them. Another, colliding off the corner and falling in his haste, then scrambling back to his feet and continuing. Sandy braced her back to the corner of the T-junction, Rhian to the opposite side, each peering out to clear each other's blind-spot, each seeing instantly what the other saw. Tac-net showed the way toward the shooting, and so Sandy spun about the corner and dashed, Rhian close behind. Several more fast manoeuvres around corners, a smoke alarm blaring now, corridors turning a wash of red, emergency light.

  Then a big, important double-door, shattered off its hinges, decorative wood splintered and blackened across the hallway, still smouldering. Several civilians stood coughing and bewildered in the thick smoke, hands pressing cloths over mouths, one crouching to throw up. Sandy and Rhian pushed through the wrecked doors and found pandemonium-a broad, circular table arrangement within a large room, holographic display suspended from the central ceiling, filled with smoke and sprawled, coughing people ... at least twenty, Sandy reckoned at first glance.

  "Need a medical team here ASAP," she remarked to tac-net, knowing someone was monitoring her visual and location, and would figure the rest themselves. She and Rhian fanned out in opposite directions around the room ... against one wall a woman in Muslim headdress had cleared a space and was treating several wounded, tying rags of clothing about bloodied parts, giving directions to frightened helpers. She looked up as Sandy approached, recognition of the CDF insignia dawning past the initial fear at the armoured, visored monster stepping through the smoke.

  "I need medical help here fast," the woman said sharply, "this one here has a punctured lung and maybe a kidney, and this one ..."

  "It's coming," Sandy assured her. Unclipped and handed off her emergency medical kit from the front of her armour webbing. Turned and caught as Rhian tossed her own across the room, without needing to be told. "Maybe five minutes, just hold on."

  Rhian had already reached the rear doorway, this one apparently kicked open rather than blasted. Sandy hurried to join her, and together they moved into the hallway beyond.

  "Docks are covered," came Bjornssen's voice in her ear, and sure enough, tac-net showed his squad now occupying her and Rhian's previous position. No one was going to be running straight across to Berth Twenty-five, then. Even Jane couldn't outdraw a Cal-T with rifle already levelled and finger on the trigger. The carnage in the meeting room hadn't been as bad as it could have been, Sandy found time to reflect as she and Rhian continued moving through hallways, angling for the nearest stairwell. Maybe Jane was learning moderation. Or maybe she'd simply been concerned about hitting Takawashi, and any of his FIA friends in attendance. Concerned? Why would Jane be concerned? A suspicious, gnawing sensation tugged at the back of her mind. The feeling that there was something significant going on here that she was missing.

  More shooting then-more muffled than before, apparently from several levels down. She accelerated, risking the next couple of corners before smashing open the stairwell door and skidding down at speed, peering through the narrow gap within the central well to scan below ... still nothing registered on tac-net, clearly it wasn't any friendlies being engaged. Shooting seemed loudest on level two, and she kicked the steel door off its hinges, peering a telescopic eyepiece around the corner ... and got it shot off. So she knew she was in the right place, anyhow.

  "Jane!" she yelled, pumping the suit mike up several notches for greater amplification. "It's me! Time to give up!"

  A grenade thumped, and she ducked back, crouching to a ball as the explosion tore the outer doorframe, showering her armour with fragments.

  "Maybe next time with less sarcasm?" Rhian suggested mildly, still three steps up the stairway with that effortless calculation of an AP grenade's effective radius that all close combat vets acquired in time. Sandy mentally set a delay fuse on her next two grenades, then fired both at where tac-net displayed a bare length of wall, one high, one low. Each ricocheted and exploded in turn, without exposing her gun muzzle to Jane's fire ... amplified hearing made out footsteps and the clatter of an evasive roll, and Sandy spun about the corner, Rhian immediately at her back, covering the opposite direction within the cramped doorway.

  "Go," said Sandy, and ran, Rhian running more backwards than sideways, trusting Sandy to deal with Jane. A reply cracked off the corridor wall ahead, then exploded over their heads as both Sandy and Rhian hit the floor. Sandy's rifle never wavered even in falling, and fired at the first sign of Jane's movement, clipping the rifle barrel. The gun muzzle vanished, then rapid footsteps retreated down that corridor. "One pair," Sandy observed, as they rushed back to their feet in unison. "They're splitting up. I've got Jane, you get Takawashi. Don't hurt him."

&n
bsp; Rhian dashed off down that cross-corridor, Sandy heading for the next, and Jane's route of departure. Flattened herself to that corner as she arrived, watching Rhian's position dart down the adjoining cor ridor, and wondering if it were a ploy to get Rhian isolated and deal with her separately ... except that she'd gone the wrong way, away from the docks, where Rhian had gone toward them, down Takawashi's most obvious route. Trying to lure Sandy away. Which still meant she had to think Takawashi's protection had a chance against Rhian. The bodies of several Fifth Fleet marines were sprawled upon the decking-the evident source of the earlier shooting.

  "Watch for traps, Rhi," she remarked as she risked the rifle muzzle around the corner. Armscomp saw nothing, and she moved around in full. "Just get between him and the docks and don't let him past."

  "I have it," Rhian replied. There was a tone of mild reprimand in her voice. Meaning that she knew exactly what was going on, and Sandy should know better than to think she didn't. Deep in those regions of the brain that were repressed under combat-reflex it didn't stop her from worrying.

  Rather than following Jane down that corridor, Sandy ran on along her present one. Follow-the-leader through tight spaces was tiresome. If Jane wanted to play escape and evasion, she'd let her. It only became an interesting contest when neither player knew exactly where the other was. She snapped a tac-net sensor into a doorframe as she went. It never hurt to have more coverage.

  Upon the broader tac-net display, Stockholm vanished in a blinding, pyrotechnic display. Either the captain hadn't been able to implement defensive manoeuvres properly, or he'd seriously underestimated Callayan technology. The missiles' reaction-drive manoeuvring/propulsion system not only pinpointed targets less than two-metres diameter, she'd been informed by an eager starship-component-manufacturer-turnedweapons-maker, it actually anticipated the target's evasive patterns according to a new, multispectrumed quantum integrated logic system (QILS, in military parlance), perfect for the kind of over-the-lighthorizon warfare found in high-velocity space combat. Fleet could say what it liked about Callay on other matters, Sandy had often reckoned, but when it came to raw technology, Callayans ruled. Two years for an untested, cutting-edge, antiwarship, planet-launched missile system? No problem-from blueprint to final, secret testing within eighteen months, in fact. Fleet's main Earth contractors couldn't have done it within three years. That Callay could evidently hadn't occurred to them. But as always, big companies lagged small ones in only knowing what they did do, not what they could.

  She moved fast, down a narrower corridor, then paused to listen before doubling back through a side room, out the far door, and along another passage. Too much thinking did not help. She knew the layout. Jane did too. Each knew the other's capabilities. Manoeuvring was instinctive, like breathing. Too much thought only brought self-doubt. She moved on automatic, letting the lines and angles of the tac-net schematic wash over her. Feeling for the rhythm, for the inspiration of motion, knowing only that Jane was trying to draw her away from Takawashi, and allow him to escape. Why that should be so, she did not have time to fathom ...

  Movement as she rounded a corner, leaping as she fired, return fire thundering past, an explosion of sparks and metallic impacts against the wall behind. Sandy flattened herself to the corner, aware that Jane had ducked back in time to avoid most of her own burst ... difficult to maintain accurate fire and dodge behind a corner simultaneously, lest the weapon hit the wall. Further along, decorative wall panelling tore further under its own weight, ripped by Jane's fire and now hanging across the corridor, exposing cold steel and cabling beneath.

  "Takawashi's bodyguards are no match for my friend," Sandy called, double-checking her rifle's mag-charge, naturally cautious of a static-jam. Switched it to her left hand, and undid the strap on her pistol, attached across the chest of her armour webbing. "If you're trying to protect him, you're not doing a real good job out here."

  "You've no legal reason to pursue him," came the reply from around the corner. Calm, as always. Doubtless rechecking her own equipment. Sandy pulled a grenade from another pouch, and set the timer with a flick of the soft-tip of her armoured thumb. "He's a League citizen. He hasn't broken your laws."

  "You have." Jane was quoting law to her? If she'd had the time, and her helmet visor wasn't commanding so much of her attention, she might have shaken her head in disbelief.

  "Fine," came Jane's reply. The sound was coming from the open doorway of a room, before an adjoining corridor. Jane would dare not duck around that corner. But tac-net schematics showed a spot on the walls of that room where a structural doorway had been deemed unneeded, and walled over with the same panelling that was hanging loose across from Sandy's position. Jane's schematics were doubtless as thorough. "Try and take me. But leave Renaldo alone."

  Renaldo? "That sounds suspiciously like concern for a fellow sentient being," Sandy remarked. "What did he promise you?"

  "More than you can."

  "Considering I'm offering you a choice between violent death or imprisonment, that's not saying much. The man's a megalomaniac. So sure, maybe he's perfect for you."

  "I'm a GI," Jane retorted. For the first time, Sandy thought she could detect the faintest trace of emotion in her voice. "I seek my creator."

  "So go to church."

  "Be serious," came the mildly scornful retort. "Religion is for the lost. I know who I am."

  "You'd be the only one." Sandy stepped far enough forward from the wall to clip the rifle to her back armour. "Creating us doesn't make him worthy of whatever it is you think you're looking for."

  "I seek only my own kind. I'd thought perhaps that meant you. Clearly I was mistaken. Renaldo knows me. He respects what I am. Together, we find a commonality of purpose. He treats me as I deserve."

  "Hey, bitch-I know you. And I know exactly what you deserve." Hands now free of the rifle, she took the pistol in her left hand, the grenade in her right.

  "Your analysis lacks precision," Jane replied. "You have become ragged and uneven. A flawed tool. It shall be your downfall."

  "Tell it to someone who cares."

  "I'll tell it ..." and broke off as Sandy flipped the grenade about the corner, on a low trajectory, then went high and left-handed with the pistol. Jane shot the grenade in midflight, but was simply not quick enough to target the simultaneously emerging pistol as wellSandy fired an explosive volley, tearing the rifle from Jane's hands, then charged, holstering the pistol and ripping the rifle from her back in milliseconds, discharging two grenades through the open doorway through which Jane had vanished.

  They detonated with a crash, followed by a volley of fire as Jane softened the weak wall panelling, then a crash as she dove through into the adjoining corridor ... Sandy pulled up short as a second volley whistled through where her head would have been had she stuck it around the corridor corner. She ricocheted a grenade off the wall instead ... it tore wall panelling rather than bouncing cleanly, so she risked a peek with her rifle muzzle only to snap it back as Jane put a bullet through the grenade launcher, then several more. Then nothing, light footsteps springing up an adjoining corridor, and Sandy dashed in armoured pursuit.

  The array of grenade debris told her that Jane must have taken fragments, probably from all blasts ... she switched hands approaching the next corner, and shoved the rifle butt out instead of the muzzle. Two shots hit it, the burst cut short prematurely as she heard the pistol go empty, and stepped around the corner into calm, plain sight, with a swing of the rifle to underarm-level like a cricket batsman stepping up to the crease. Jane was already running, but fast as she was, she was two metres and forty-five hundredths of a second short of the next corner, and wearing no armour.

  Sandy fired low, shots striking thighs and calves. Jane hit the decking and rolled hard for cover. Sandy ran after, hearing more shots ahead as Rhian engaged Takawashi's group just short of the docks. Targets appeared on tac-net, only to vanish, panicked yells and Rhian shouting at them to stop or else. She gave
the next corner a wide berth, seeing blood on the deck plates ... and realising that somehow, she'd fired low. She couldn't remember making that conscious decision at all. A single burst between the shoulderblades would have solved everything. But now, the corridor was empty, and the engineering door was forced open. Damn it.

  She ducked within, eyes and rifle muzzle darting within the dark metallic space. Two closed hatches along the right wall, and a larger one through a reinforced bulkhead straight in front. Sandy kicked through it with a resounding wham! that proved nothing was hiding on the door's far side. Beyond, a dark, narrow space of low overhead pipes, and the reverberating hum of aircon and station systems. Sandy moved forward at a low crouch, tracking multiple places where a body could hide up ahead, and eyeing the occasional blood spots on the decking that she knew could be deceptive ...

  A grenade flashed to her side, blinding, and Jane was on her barely before the shockwave had finished smashing her into the wall, tearing the rifle from her grasp and sending her flying headfirst into a pipe brace, the visor imploding to shattered white. Her countermove swept arm and leg simultaneously, predicting Jane's counterbrace and switching to a simple, right-fisted punch that sent her crashing backward. Sandy's next blow went straight through the pipe as Jane whipped away and rolling, steam erupting as Sandy ripped the pistol from her webbing.

  Jane came up and grabbed it faster than even a high-des GI had a right to, considering the state of her legs ... Sandy simply let her have it, releasing the pistol and punching her in the face with that hand instead. A straight's head would have smashed like a melon. Jane's snapped back, in that fractional, time-frozen moment, eyes wide in desperate, rapid-time processing as her brain tried to catch up with events. Disbelief, Sandy saw. Shock. Sandy's kick smashed her into the wall, an armoured elbow smash bounced her artificial skull off the pipes, and her overhead hammer-blow drove her straight into the deck ... where she grabbed Sandy's legs and pulled her feet from under her.