by Lee Bond
“Sa.” Simpson saluted smartly and began coordinating the efforts of the five technical teams deployed around the mile-wide perimeter. In the back of his mind and for the rest of his long, long life, Simpson would always believe that his one and only conversation with the OverCommander had been a test, one that he’d failed abysmally.
Vasily was glad he’d pressured for command of the operation. Alyssa was overworked and was -he suspected when no one else was around- beginning to harbor some of the more irrational behavior patterns that affected a Chairperson the longer they were in office. Other than her singular fascination/loathing with the Offworlder Garth Nickels, there was her abrupt decision to swing into Regimist Dictator Mode and her equally abrupt agreement to pull back from the edge.
Emotional flip-flopping like that was fine and dandy for Johnny On-the-Street, but not for the Chairwoman of Latelyspace. Her unreported ties with Vilmos Gualf also needed to stay so far in the dark that no one would ever be able to shed light on that fact. People weren’t entirely stupid. They’d examine how Alyssa dealt with Vilmos until the end of time and, eventually, someone would notice the heavy-handed resolution had smacked of personal vendetta.
So here he was, using the God Army against civilians. Not ideal, given that your average Latelian stood little chance against a God soldier and that those same Latelians were notoriously vociferous on abuses of power, but it was either this or have the Gunboys trotted out first thing.
Far better to work the public up to that point slowly. If it became necessary. Which, Vasily realized as he stood there woolgathering, was something he was actually dreading. If Vilmos was in possession of a small percentage of the suggested loot from that moon raid, virtually everything they did between now and the Gunboys was essentially target practice. There was a pace and a tempo to these things, though.
“Everyone, sitrep in three.” Delivered through his prote, the command reached the ears of all forty captains parked around The Museum at the one click mark. The Terrible Threes, trickling in from the Spaceport Disaster and other, unmentioned duties elsewhere around the planet, waited calmly in the wings. Vasily knew there were some Fours pocketed in the milling masses, silent and unobtrusive; left to their own devices most of the time, those Fours not engaged would naturally make their way to this debacle.
One of his personal aides came quietly into the command unit and announced that another reporter had been caught attempting to infiltrate the ranks. Everyone wanted to know what to do with the body.
“Keep it on ice for the time being.” Vasily rolled his eyes. No one ever listened. Worse, when punishment was delivered, everyone was so quick to complain. “There could be a use for it. Later.” The aide de camp swallowed nervously then all but ran away.
If it did come down to unleashing the Gunboys, once the dust settled they’d need all the protein they could get their hands on. No one below the rank of General knew that the monstrous Gunboys and their equally creepy Proctors were being slowly brought to consciousness and Vasily wanted to keep it that was for as long as possible. His aides weren’t stupid. At least, they weren’t his aides for long if they were stupid, and the one he’d just sent scurrying away had been with him for quite a number of years. Whisperings would spread through the communication channels, but until the monstrosities that were the Gunboys and their Proctors came lumbering onto the scene, all it would be was whispers. Corpses would be kept with no explanation.
Vasily vainly hoped that Harry Bosch was either working for the terrorists or that he’d somehow misunderstood the gunfight he’d witnessed. There was no telling what stolen Trinity equipment the terrorists possessed. It was evident –irrespective of the lie he’d told Bosch and his stupid hopes- that they did indeed possess seven-shot. Some of the things on the manifest were … worrisome. Gravely so.
Gunboys might not be enough.
A sobering thought: the only thing left on the planet after the Gunboys were the orbital cannons. Those massive weapons hadn’t been fired on Central soil in over three thousand years.
Vasily didn’t even want to think about the political repercussions using the ten-kilometer guns would kick up. Any other methods they might use to deal with Vilmos and his cronies were just as bad and far enough away from the planet that it’d take an unacceptable amount of time for them to be brought to Hospitalis, time the rebels would use to cement their position.
Of course, Vasily reflected moodily, they could simply flatten The Museum and everything in it and all go home early. Even with the enhancements made after Scottsdale’s ‘errors in judgment’, two VapoRaptors would make short work of the structure. And everyone inside.
By doing that, though, the Trinity Representatives –who were living inside a small, well-hidden space station on the moon- would well and truly lose their minds over the heavy-handed approach and quite possibly put an end to the ‘negotiation process’.
Looking at the manifest one more time, Vasily cursed. How were they going to handle this dance? If they wound up using the Gunboys, the Representatives might still react poorly. He hoped Alyssa had a massive and impressive lie to spread around should it come down to those … monstrosities.
Turning his attention to the multiplex tactiSheets as they began blossoming with feeds from the wEyes, OverCommander Vasily immediately noticed something very, very wrong with one of the captives. “What in the fuck,” Vasily demanded in IndoRussian, “is Chadsik al-Taryin doing inside?”
xxx
Though Mary approved of filanet placement whole-heartedly, she’d never admit it to Vilmos. Of all the things liberated from that old moon base, the monofilament net mesh cache had been one of the most heavily guarded. Thirty men and women had died so a single person could sneak in whilst the God soldiers had been otherwise engaged.
But what a weapon!
Nearly invisible, essentially immune to scanners that the military must be using by the truckload, very nearly unbreakable. It would show those Trinity-loving bastards the sort of things everyone could look forward to if the AI took control of the last truly free system inside the Cordon.
Images of falling body parts -while frankly disgusting- played well on the Screens. While her brothers and sisters in the Regime were sheep and fools, none amongst them would remain untouched by the sight of how terribly effective Trinity weapons were at killing.
Alas, admiration for Vilmos’ tactics was going to have to wait. A much more pressing problem was weighing on her shoulders.
Secreted inside the operational space of the GigantiSheets, the two of them were going over her experiences of a little while ago in fine detail.
Vilmos was having a difficult time comprehending the notions that not only were they playing host to a single unwanted Goddie but to a strange splinter group of purportedly religious bent as well.
The political agitator-turned-terrorist was by no means an outsider to the halls of faith and belief. Shortly after his ‘departure’ from the public eye, he’d endured a number of trials and tribulations, the least of which had been aligning himself with pathetic groups of wannabe rebels who preached and practiced the tenets of a dozen different faiths while he steadily built his reputation.
No, what was difficult –impossible, even- for him to comprehend was that this ‘flock’ had managed to survive the common purges that took such grass root movements down before they gained too strong a foothold in popular culture. BCU infiltration ensured that the eradication of faithful splinter groups was legendary to anyone who knew where to look. Where BCU’s failed –which was nigh on impossible in itself-, the religious penitents themselves tended to draw attention.
This most disturbing turn of events was a worrying signal that Doans’ efforts in wooing Trinity were far too successful. So successful, in fact, that even his display here today might not be enough to stem the tide.
Vilmos believed he knew –rather, had known- some of the members of this particular group years ago. Leaving only because the ‘Church of all Faiths
’ -or ‘Philosophical Brotherhood’- had been on the border of their own inner religious war, in time the choice had become the right one, if only because open discussions on faith and religion made his skin crawl.
For them to coordinate an attempt to stop him -no matter how paltry and unlikely- was disconcerting. How could they have risen to such heights? What … skills … had they learned since his departure that could hide them so thoroughly? Surely, if there was any discipline that drew the lion’s share of scrutiny from the Regime, it was religion. Could they be so far gone as that towards Trinity?
Vilmos shook his head angrily. No. Not yet. Latelyspace had endured for five thousand years. Surely, there’d been calls closer this one down through the millennia. He blinked slowly, tried unsuccessfully to calm his ire. “Do you have any idea how many of them there are?”
“None, sa.” Mary’s eyes fell back to the odds-and-ends assortment of Sheets that were receiving the cambot transmissions. On them, the God Army contingent tasked with destroying the ‘terrorist infestation’ was quickly taking cohesive form. Following that initial and still terrifying blast, the God Army was wisely choosing to move slowly.
One of the cambots was in the fortuitous position of monitoring the arrival of a half-dozen VapoRaptors. Mary’s stomach flipped end over end until she decided that not even the God Army could be so merciless.
At least, not right away. From the cameras, Mary saw that the Army had retrofitted the medium-sized hovertanks for city engagements: rather than the large-bore Goring lasers, the ones loading up were sporting the smaller, rapid-fire Schwering cannons.
While not as powerful as the Goring lasers, Schwerings were nevertheless more than capable of melting the walls of The Museum to slag and were eminently suited for dealing with flesh. With weapons like those, the Army didn’t even need to concern themselves with the duronium shields blocking ingress. They could simply melt the walls down!
Just as troubling, a few of the VapoRaptors were sporting mortar banks, an unwelcome sight indeed! With enough skill, pilots could launch any number of assorted grenades through the Dome, and in vast quantities. If they did that, sooner or later the filanet would fail and they’d all be gassed into next week. Strangely, Vilmos showed no concern. Mary knew for a fact that they were wildly off-script already and their leader cared more about a random group of poorly trained religious windbags than he did about an endless sea of God soldiers and those bloody VapoRaptors.
Her eyes swung towards them again, unbidden.
“Never mind those.” Vilmos said patiently. “They’re for show. As expected, Doans has handed the reigns over to Vasily. All of that,” he waved his hands dismissively at the growing force, “is for show. Now that you’ve done with the … zealots, tell me about this God soldier.”
“I didn’t see him clearly, sa.” Mary hated repeating herself. Still unable to take her eyes off the monitors, Mary stared thoughtlessly at the arrayed tanks. There were so many of them. The day could be over any second. OverCommander Vasily could decide he didn’t want to deal with the mess, that –since they were all going to die anyway- sooner would be better. She flinched spastically when Vilmos shouted with exasperation and shut them off.
“Then how do you know this other man is a Goddie?” Vilmos signed off on a request to begin placing the mounted cannons at the main entrances of the Viewing Room. The terrorist who’d arrived scurried away.
“I…” Mary shrugged helplessly. “I don’t, I guess. The only thing I know for certain is, is he’s not with this other crew.”
“Ah.” Vilmos nodded. It was too much, he supposed, for Mary to be truly useful. Once a secretary for a construction company, the woman in front of him had displayed a surprising resiliency and strength through the years they’d been together, but the actions of the day thus far were obviously too much for her deal with properly. He didn’t doubt there was a God soldier in the building. Factually, he was surprised there weren’t more; even those lumbering hulks got leave. He supposed off-duty soldiers were volunteering at the spaceport. “Suggestions?”
Mary had given this a fair amount of thought while sneaking her way quietly back to the main staging area. “This other group is armed. Not as we are, of course, but still, we are not Goddies. Since we don’t have any clue how many there are, we need to get some teams of our own out there looking. One God soldier is still just one. There could be a hundred-man team out there. We cannot run a pitched battle in here while trying to prepare for the Goddies.”
“I agree. Contact the cargo team. Find out where they’re at. If they’re more than eighty-five percent complete, cut them down to a single man. Outfit them with the septus and send them out.” He started sketching on a TactiSheet.
“From what you told me about the collateral damage, it’s safe to assume that the entire outer ring has collapsed. That makes standard entry tactics unusable. Beyond making it nearly impossible for them to enter quietly, resultant debris will make it difficult for them to move units through these areas here, here and here. We aren’t trained for this kind of combat, so our people will need to be extremely careful; all these bloody mini-hallways, arches, and cubbies are perfect hiding spots for assassination squads. If deployed teams can’t kill them quickly, they’re to contain them and call for help. We cannot suffer gross casualties until the Goddies reach us here. Understood?”
Mary downloaded the plan. “Understood. And the other man, this ‘soldier’?”
Vilmos scoffed to hide his discomfort. A single God soldier, sufficiently motivated, could be a nightmare made flesh. Since she hadn’t seen him fully, there was no guessing what classification he was; Onesies, while not terribly smart, were mobile slaughterhouses.
If he got nervous or frustrated, all he’d need to do was launch himself into the Viewing Room and start killing indiscriminately.
If the man was a Twoesie or higher, well ... that would rapidly change things. Their long-range internal comm systems alone made them able to communicate with the outside world and that was worrisome enough to make his stomach curdle.
“One man, either lucky or smart enough to use the confusion of gunfire to run and hide? Nothing much to worry about there. Warn the men to keep their eyes out for this alleged Goddie and have them kill on sight. It’ll be good for morale. Now go.”
Mary went to salute, felt silly, and nodded before she hurried off to start making the arrangements.
xxx
When the terrorists started unpacking gun turrets and locking them into place by each of the main doors into the Viewing Room, a hot surge of fear ran through Naoko’s. Though the last half an hour had been quiet -so much so that many of the captives had nodded off or found things on their protes to keep them occupied- they were still captives of crazy terrorists. Everyone in the room was acting as though nothing was wrong!
Even now, when the three-meter tall turrets sprang to life with a chilling mechanical clicking noise, only a few people turned their attention to the sounds, resigning themselves to the presence of the deadly killing machines with a shrug of the shoulders.
The only people showing any presence of mind were the parents of several dozen children with shockingly poor judgment; small clusters of young boys and girls tried playing at the bases of the shiny, clicking, whirring machines and it was only after shouted warnings and threats of no dessert by those parents that their lives were unknowingly spared. Throughout the entire affair, the technician/terrorists responsible for assembling the weapons had stood there, idly curious looks on their faces, as if waiting to see how efficient their new guns were.
It was obvious the terrorists were comfortable with their reign. Not even one of them was actively preventing their prisoners from using their protes or from conversing with one another quietly. Her fellow hostages were fools to believe that the sudden complaisance their ‘hosts’ displayed was genuine; the reasons behind the change in attitude were apparent to her. To that end, Naoko began taking as many pictures of the different w
eapon placements as she needed to run a theory avatar through its paces.
Six minutes later, the avatar, working from a basic blueprint of the Viewing Room and an estimated area of fire control for the gun turrets, determined two things; the terrorists had positioned the frightening weapons to unleash a steady stream of bullets towards the glass roof with enough saturation to kill anyone coming through.
They were also in the perfect spot to mow down hundreds –if not thousands- of unsuspecting museum guests with impunity.
“Garth.” Naoko whispered quietly. “Garth, I’m starting to worry.”
xxx
Garth stopped running to listen to Naoko’s concerns. Busting into the most sacred burial chamber of the first official Game winner since Latelyspace’s founding moments could wait a few more minutes. The tremor of fear beneath Naoko’s obvious attempts to remain calm was a living thing that reached through the earbud and grabbed hold of his soul. He leaned up against the glass encasing the poor replica of his ‘Box’. “What’s going on?”
“Th…they’ve put these … these, gun turrets? Yes, gun turrets, at the back of the main level of the Room.” Naoko spoke nervously, breathlessly.
Garth smacked the glass with an open palm. He needed to get his ass in gear. The terrorists were planning on bringing as many innocents along with them on their magic carpet ride as they could, no doubt so that the few –if any- survivors and the watching world could be properly sickened by what they saw. “Can you describe them for me?”
“They are three meters tall.” Naoko began, her voice gaining strength now that she had something to do. “The bottom portion is very wide, possibly as much as five feet; the turret narrows until it is no more than two feet around. There are three … yes, three … guns? Attached there. I think that each of the guns is actually able to detach itself from the main body on a kind of arm so it can fire at odd angles, now that I look closely.”