by Lee Bond
Mary flipped quickly over on her back and shot Ert four times in the chest. The steel-VII bullets passed through him without pause, plocking four huge holes in the ceiling at the opposite end of the room.
“I see dead people.” she said triumphantly as Ertlinger’s body fell backwards. Yes, the bullets would do quite nicely against God soldiers, but not the one who was in the room with her; he’d managed to avoid the rampage of gunfire a few moments ago and had seemed –to her eye- completely unafraid. A soldier like that would be more than a match for one woman, steel-VII bullets or not.
xxx
Behind the newer ATV, Garth buried his head into an armpit to prevent his laughter from completely betraying his position. He suspected Mary had seen him while she’d peeked under the broken chassis, and if she had, that worked quite well for him; with the extensive explosive reconstruction, The Museum was relatively safer –and far more confusingly laid out- than it’d ever been, and he needed full-strength patrols to resume. Bearding a hundred or so strong in the Viewing Room and hewing to non-lethal means simply wouldn’t work. He needed those terrorists wandering around in now-unfamiliar surroundings.
xxx
Mary –skin crawling at being alone in the room with a God soldier- climbed to cautiously her feet. Reminding herself that, for the time being, the huge monstrosity was probably trying to figure out what to do and would likely remain non-violent unless directly provoked, Mary booted Ertlinger’s dead body a few times for good measure before calling Vilmos. “Vil. Mary. We’ve got a big problem, sa.”
“Oh?” Vilmos asked wryly over the prote. “Do tell.”
“As you feared, the tech squad’s dead. Whole roof collapsed in on them.”
“Well,” Vilmos admitted slowly, “that is unfortunate but … they knew what they were getting into. Their job was more or less done. That’s unimportant, though. Now, did I read your report from a few moments ago correctly?”
“You did.” Mary started collecting modified VII-round clips from the dead.
“It says ‘engaged enemy’, ‘enemy dead’ and ‘continuing on patrol’. What’s happened? Have God soldiers entered The Museum?”
“Yes. No. Possibly. I … I don’t know. Strangely enough, our primary encounter was with armed citizens. What they’re doing here, how they got in, confuses me. They’re dead, though.” Mary imagined Vilmos assimilating this information with a quick nod.
“Good. In all likelihood, those ‘civilians’ you saw were actually plainclothes security personnel we somehow missed. It was never a guarantee we’d get everyone. What about this this ‘possible God soldier’?”
“They killed Patrik, Morning and Ertlinger.” Mary found a grenade in Ertlinger’s pocket. She angrily kicked the corpse in the side of the head. If the idiot had only mentioned he was packing explosives, the whole thing would’ve gone down differently. More to the point, she wouldn’t have had to shoot the damn idiot, wasting four more bullets. “There could be more.”
Ever aware of the Goddie, she began moving away from the dead bodies, heading towards where her and her dead team had entered the room.
“You’re evading the question, Mary.” Vilmos chided his second-in-command. “What kind of man is this ‘one’? Why do you think he’s a soldier?”
“Well, sa, he certainly looked the part, but … not dressed like one. I… I’m not sure if he’s a soldier or not. They wouldn’t send someone in dressed that way and he didn’t look decommissioned.”
Mary took a quick look around the room and shrugged. It was no big thing to lie to Vilmos, least of all over something like this, so she continued, altering the story to fit the facts. Their leader wouldn’t leave the Viewing Room to corroborate her story nor would he dispatch others to verify it.
Resuming, Mary wearily said, “He managed to get away. I’m certain he realized the bullets we wound up using against the undercover security team would be lethal to him so he fled. I’m coming back to get some more men. We can’t allow him to wander around The Museum. Odd dress or not, we also need to know if there are more like him around here.”
“All right, Mary. Hurry back. The filanet is just about ready to go through the final installation stages. Leave the bodies where they are. Get their ammo. We can’t have anyone but us using those bullets.”
“You don’t need to tell me how to do my job, Vilmos.” Mary killed the call and ran out of the room at a good pace.
xxx
Garth counted to twenty before sticking his Harry-head out. ‘Mary’ was a tough customer, and from the conversation with Vilmos, she was at least on par with the organization’s leader from the tone he used.
“If it’d been me hearing my guys were all dead,” Garth commented to Ertlinger’s body, “I’d’ve gone off the deep end. Your boss is a fruitbar. And your lady-friend is a liar.”
Garth sat on his haunches and considered what he’d learned from the conversation.
Most troubling was the fact that the terrorists were in possession of Trinity rounds.
That spelled an awful lot of bad news for Doans, OverCommander Vasily and any soldiers sent into The Museum. Brutally and honestly speaking, men entering The Museum would wind up ‘simply’ dead, but the fallout would be catastrophic, moreso if Vilmos et al had more than just steel-VII rounds.
More than familiar with the system’s history ever since his stay in the hospital, Garth well knew the Regime’s diligent public relations machine, the Ministry of Systemic Pride, spent a portion of its budget each year erasing all knowledge of metals and weapons beyond the limits of their solar system.
Nobody save those people already in a position to know how weak they were in comparison to Trinity knew about –could know about- things like steel-VII or filanet. Revelations that duronium was barely worth a sidebar in a discussion in the grand scheme of things would hit the Latelians like a Hand of Glory missile. It was terrible, in a way; once a true power in the Universe, obviously powerful enough five thousand years ago to strong-arm the Trinity AI into leaving them alone, Latelyspace wasn’t even a pale shadow of its former glory, it was a whisper in the wind. Physical, damning proof that the Grand Latelian Regime could be dismantled inside a week would destroy the system almost as effectively as a visit from a motivated SpecSer squad.
Which, Garth supposed as he started snapping shots of the carnage, was what Vilmos was hoping to accomplish. Ideologues like Vilmos weren’t overly concerned about their own survival so long as they accomplished their tasks. If word about the weapons he was using reached the outside world, well, the shit would hit the fan.
As much as he personally disliked the Chairwoman, the woman needed to know what kind of a thing everyone in The Museum had geared themselves up for. More to the point, he was willing to give her the heads up. Though she was batting zero for one in the let’s-believe-the-guy-who’s-there cage, the presence of Trinity weaponry was more than enough to warrant a second attempt.
He dialed Chairwoman Doans’ prote up but got an empty carrier signal. The Chairwoman was blocking his calls!
“Okay.” Garth nodded, accepting the woman’s response. By now, everyone in the entire solar system was calling their ‘publicly elected official’ up and demanding answers. He dismissed notions of sending her the photos, dialing the OverCommander’s prote.
The response was immediate.
“How did you get this number?” Commander Vasily demanded furiously.
“Same garbage can, different day. You all need to learn how to throw your trash away properly.” Harry replied evenly. “Lissen, I got some information for you that you’re going to wanna hear. Er, see.”
Vasily snorted derisively. “Soldier, I don’t know who you are or where you got your equipment from, but I guarantee you that when this is all over and done with, you and I are going to have a ‘talk’ that’ll have you begging to be dropped into The Peak. This is a secure military line and in case you haven’t noticed, we are in the middle of a crisis. You’re officially gu
ilty of High Treason against the Latelian Regime.”
Harry rolled his eyes and flashed Vasily with the photos he’d taken, saying, “This happened not less than, what, ten minutes ago? I confess I don’t know much about ancient machines, but I do know an awful lot about weapons, OverCommander Vasily Sa. Duronium on duronium makes for very big dents and occasionally teeny-tiny little holes in the center. These … these were not made from duronium bullets.”
Vasily examined the stills. “Easily faked. And you could definitely be a terrorist, trying to intimidate us.”
Harry cleared his throat with a frustrated rasp. Some people’s children! “Hold on one sec, there, Herr Generalissimo Vasily Super Sa.” He dug a spent round out of the wall and held it up to the prote-cam, twisting the dully colored object back and forth until he was certain he had the commander’s rapt attention. “As Supreme Super Mega OverCommander of the entire Universe, I will bet you one shiny Latelian quarter-dollar you know what this is. If you don’t, I do. This is a standard issue automatic rifle round, mass-produced in war factories throughout Trinityspace. These rounds are handed out exclusively to infantrymen engaged in hostile negotiations in war zones where standard energy weapons don’t work properly. Y’know, steel-VII. Also called seven-shot and septus-balls, they do a lot of damage, even to people who’re wearing the latest in polyceramic mesh armor. Trinity uses these bullets for wholesale slaughter. They are hard impact rounds, Sa, and they are a great equalizer. There isn’t a Goddie alive that can survive these bullets. And…”
“And?” Vasily –who wanted desperately to know where Harry Bosch had come from- didn’t want to listen any longer, but couldn’t help himself: the man was a font of information. If the God soldier was one of the Sigma-afflicted, Vilmos dourly suspected he was going to have to triple-check the ‘Lost Outposts’. They couldn’t have had access to this kind of information on their own.
“I can definitely say that since they’ve got septus-balls, they’ll have other surprises in store as well.” Harry nodded once, brusquely, indicating that his speech was finished. He started moving out of the Vehicle Museum and headed west, trying to figure out the best way to angle his direction into The Tomb without crossing anyone else’s path.
“Are you done, soldier?” Vasily grated. When Harry nodded again, he continued. “There is no possible way for terrorists to have acquired Trinity-grade munitions and weapons. You should know that. The only thing I gained from your little assertion is that you are working for the terrorists and are attempting to mount a lateral campaign of disinformation and fear.”
“Are you fucking retarded?” Harry banged his prote on the wall beside him in frustration. “Like, for real? Are you just all shiny buttons and high-collars? I showed you a fucking bullet! You think I just magically made that bullet appear? Shit!”
“Good day, Harry Bosch. Be sure to keep your eyes out for your brother soldiers. They will be specifically looking for you when we invade The Museum’s central core.” Vasily ended the call savagely.
Garth booted up a picture of his Harry-face and stared thoughtfully at it. No, no, as far as he could tell, Hieronymus ‘Harry’ Bosch’s newest incarnation was just as trustworthy and honest as the man who wore the holo-mask. Ugly as fuck, but reliable-seeming for all the fake scars and yellow teeth.
Between the raging hard-on everyone in Latelyspace had for systemic pride and the arrogance that everyone in office carried, it was fucking impossible to get anyone to believe the actual truth. He was not a liar. Well, not this time.
He didn’t even have to lie. He could tell the outright truth and no one would believe him. He could stroll right up to OverCommander Vasily and say ‘I am Garth Nickels and I am going to destroy your entire system if I don’t get to open this stupid Box’ and they’d laugh him right out of the office. Hell, he’d pretty much already done that and no one believed him.
The Ministry of Systemic Pride was doing one hell of a job. Even the big cheeses -who were supposed to be immune to the crap that they filled the ears of their constituents with- had drunk the Kool-Aid.
“Dammitall.” Garth hated Latelyspace. He loved it, too, which sucked; their relationship was as awkward as a grade 8 sock hop, with all the boys on one side and all the girls on the other side, staring weirdly at one another, vaguely aware that there was something they should be doing.
What else could he do, though? With the main network relays for The Museum out of commission and ninety-five percent of his prote’s processing abilities devoted to maintaining the Harry illusion, Garth didn’t have access to the kind of bandwidth he’d need to identify any military issue protes in the area safely.
Of course, he could climb up the partially destroyed outer colonnade ring in the hopes that his prote would fall into range of another tower or hit upon a switcher node that would boost his signal…
It’d work -and well- except for the distinct risk in being a dude very high up with nothing to fall onto except the ground dozens and dozens of feet below. Any Army commander worth his salt would order the instant sniping of a guy just hanging out on top of a stone tower because that was Suspicious Behavior at the best of times.
Besides, if OverCommander Vasily had no interest in warning his men about the dangers they’d encounter when they stormed The Museum, well, neither did Garth. They had too many goddamn soldiers in the system anyhow.
He shrugged off the paternal feelings towards the ranks of Goddies who were going to have their asses handed to them and continued on towards The Tomb, once again intent on his own plans.
xxx
“Our friend Bosch again?” Alyssa probed from her workstation.
Vasily grunted, distracted. Contrary to his response to Harry’s photographic evidence of the terrorists’ equipment, it was frightfully probable that they did indeed have septus-balls and other Trinity-grade weapons. So likely, in fact, that he spent the next fifteen minutes rereading reports on a terrorist attack against a military depot three years ago. The eventual findings of the military tribunal had shown that the illicit Trinity cargo –acquired at great cost to the Latelian Military Cause- had been ‘improperly stored’ and that had been the reason behind the eventual destruction of said base.
More explicitly, three dozen crates of highly volatile plasma gridades -foolishly stored next to a power junction box- had been identified as the reason behind the all-consuming explosion; during the course of a prolonged firefight with terrorists attempting to raid the facility, the boxes had taken heavy fire from both sides. The resultant short circuit had sent the entire base into the atmosphere. Ninety percent of the invading terrorist force had died instantly, with over half the garrisoned God soldiers dead from asphyxiation, every scrap of Trinity weaponry obliterated.
It was … an uncomfortable possibility that the terrorists had engineered the explosion to cover their theft, moreso if this Vilmos Gualf had been behind the scenes. It was a very slender hypothesis requiring some stretching of the imagination to include the collusion of base personnel. Highly unlikely. Unfortunately, it was also a very real possibility, no matter how badly he wanted it to be a lie.
“There … we … there may be a … problem, Chairwoman.” Vasily flashed his conversation with Harry over to Doans and waited quietly while she watched.
“The likelihood?” Alyssa felt sick to her stomach. Seven-shot? In the hands of terrorists no doubt willing to die and kill to make her a living martyr to obscure and outmoded Regimist ideals? Sickening to a terrible degree.
“Do you recall the terrorist attack and destruction of the moon base some years ago?” Vasily sent the data he’d just read through over to her. “There is a five percent probability that, instead of being destroyed in the blasts, the terrorists managed to sneak the munitions off-planet.”
“This changes nothing.” Alyssa dumped the info. Though the terrorist couldn’t know it, Vilmos had already sent them both careening down a path much darker than one she’d originally chosen. The fool had never be
en able to see too far into the future. She could, though.
Trinity was watching the events unfold. Trinity was always watching and It knew there’d be only one way out of this ‘terrorist uprising’. It was undoubtedly pleased by how things had gone thus far. “You seem very concerned about the lives of your men.”
“I care little about individual lives, Chairwoman.” Vasily drummed his fingers on the table irritably. “As I’ve proven on more than one occasion. What concerns me is the impression Vilmos’ actions will have on the public, and on your sudden choice to abandon one course for another.”
Alyssa believed Vasily fully. He had proven his willingness to do what needed doing, regardless of the cost in individual lives. The entirety of the system balanced between the two of them and their willingness to do things that needed doing.
“It is lucky, then, that I care very little for what the people think, is it not? And my choice is not so ‘sudden’, my love. Nickels’ presence here seems to be fomenting some form of unseen chaos. It is almost as though he is subverting my plans merely by being here. Between Nickels and Gualf, I am sick to death of softly, softly.” A flash report crossed her prote. “One moment.”
Vasily found himself seriously considering warning his commanding officers of the terrorists’ new weapons; they were still close enough to their bases so that turning around to refit the troops with body armor and other counter-measures wouldn’t take overly long. For while Alyssa had no interest in keeping her public image untarnished, Vasily had a personal investment in her well-being.
The deaths of more God soldiers would weigh heavily on her image and he wasn’t entirely certain switching tactics this late in the game was going to be overly successful. The people, while unimportant, could rise up before they could be easily dealt with.
A shriek of outrage burst out Alyssa’s lips. At the same time, Vasily decided not to warn the men. “What is the matter?”
“Hamilton Barnes is dead!” Against her ‘better’ judgment, she’d committed a full squadron of investigators to locate her prime agent when regular channels had failed to provide answers. What a devastating blow. The man had been eternally loyal and endlessly inventive in maintaining the status quo and a hidden champion to the Latelian Regime.