State of Emergency

by Sam Fisher

  Stephanie gave him a thin smile.

  'We understand you have some pretty cool detection tools onboard.'

  'What sort of detection tools do you need?'

  'Sorry,' Simpson said smoothly. 'Specifically, we've lost track of a team of marines who went down to the lower levels of the car park about twenty minutes ago. They had orders to call in every five minutes with a status report. We haven't heard from them for the last two designated call-ins, and none of our heat-detection devices can trace them.'

  'I see,' Stephanie said, looking from Simpson to Paolomo.

  'Follow me.'

  She led the way to the elevator. The doors closed behind them and it silently rose though the five storeys to the flight deck in the upper hemisphere of the ship. The doors swished open and they walked along a brightly lit corridor towards the Ops Room. At the end stood the door to the flight deck itself. Just before it closed automatically, the two marines caught a brief glimpse of the futuristic controls inside – sleek plastic panels and high-res holoscreens above rows of keypads.

  The Ops Room was circular. The marines looked around it open-mouthed. In the middle stood a workstation, a single sheet of thin plastic on a steel pedestal. The panel was covered with lights that flicked on and off and skittered around the shiny surface. The walls contained large arrays of screens, each no thicker than a poster. There were three more workstations with holoscreens. Only one was activated – where Stephanie had been working. It showed a 3D representation of Level B6 of the CCC.

  Stephanie walked over to the workstation. 'Which level were they on?' she asked and tapped at the controls. She turned. Simpson was standing six feet away, a 9 mm Beretta pointed at her head.

  76

  Sergeant Paolomo removed a miniature video camera from his pocket and began filming. When he was finished in the Ops Room, he strode into the corridor and headed straight for the flight deck.

  'Shut down all systems, Sybil. Jacobs, S. Personal code 99697766#4,' Stephanie announced suddenly.

  A faint purr came from one of the consoles in the Ops Room and the lights went out. The machines died and a faint emergency light came on, throwing a soft, creamy glow around the circular room. Paolomo paced back in, his M16 assault rifle at waist height and pointed straight at Stephanie.

  Simpson sighed and took a small step towards her, the Beretta level with her forehead. 'Now, why did you go and do that?'

  Stephanie said nothing. The major came so close that she could feel his breath on her face.

  'Who are you?' she snapped.

  'That would be telling, wouldn't it?' Simpson pressed the pistol against Stephanie's right temple. 'Let's just say my employer is intrigued by all this.' He swept his free hand through the air. 'Now, I know you people have some amazing stuff here, but I'm pretty sure you still bleed just like the rest of us. Am I right?'

  Stephanie remained silent.

  'I really don't want to blow your pretty little brains out . . . ma'am. But, if you don't let my friend here take his home movie, I'll just have to. Follow?' Simpson pressed the barrel of the pistol hard into Stephanie's temple, sending a stab of pain across her forehead. She could feel the man tensing up. She only had seconds.

  'Sybil – reset, please. Jacobs, S. Personal code 99697766#4.'

  'Very sensible,' Simpson said, and Stephanie felt the pressure on her head diminish as he pulled back the barrel a fraction of an inch. Paolomo raised his M16 as Simpson spun her around, yanked her wrists behind her and bound them with a nylon strap. He pulled it tight and locked it into place.

  Turning her back around to face him, Simpson nudged her in the ribs with the Beretta. 'Get your ass on the floor. Back against that strut,' he said nodding to a steel column that ran from floor to ceiling. He ran another length of nylon cord around Stephanie's ankles and threaded the end through a self-tightening loop. He drew a length of cloth from his pocket and wrapped it around her mouth, tying it at the back.

  Paolomo left the room and Simpson headed after him.

  Stephanie managed to pull herself to her feet and hopped along the edge of the control panels until she reached the end. As she lowered herself to the floor again, she banged her head on the front panel of a workstation where it hung over its stand. She yelped, but the sound was muffled by the gag at her mouth.

  Sliding along the floor, she reached a small door in the front panel of the stand. Bending low, she managed to nudge it with her chin and it swung outwards. Inside, stood a small cradle containing a set of delicate tools. Lying on her side with her back to the cupboard, she pushed her twined hands into the opening. She ran her fingers along the cradle of tools and finally slid out a screwdriver from its bracket. But before she could catch hold of it, it hit the smooth floor and rolled away noisily.

  Stephanie held her breath, expecting Simpson or Paolomo to return at any moment. She thrust her bound hands back into the toolbox and felt the shape of a pair of clippers used to strip wire. She wormed her fingers around the handles and pulled it from its housing. Willing her heart to slow, and her fingers to do her bidding, she succeeded in twisting the clippers, bringing them level with the nylon cord about her wrists.

  She was sweating now, and felt her fingers wet against the clipper grips. She pulled them in a fraction of an inch and was just about to hook the sharp edges of the clipper under the cord when she felt the grips slipping through her fingers. Gritting her teeth, she stretched as far as she could and just caught the clippers before they could crash to the floor.

  At that moment Stephanie's mind was focused solely on the pair of grips clasped in her sweaty palms. Nothing else mattered. She had to turn the clippers, had to get them into position. Only then could she cut the cord.

  Sweat ran down into her eyes, making them sting. She closed her eyes and turned her attention back to the clippers. She pivoted them under the cord, closed the handles, and squeezed with all her might.

  The snap of nylon released the terrible pressure on her wrists. Stephanie pulled the clippers around, cut the binding at her ankles and yanked down the gag.

  Rising to her feet, she took slow, silent steps along the edge of the control panel. Close to the door there was a small cupboard built into the wall. She ran a hand over a sensor pad beside it and it slid open. Inside, two stun pistols hung on magnetic grips. She pulled one out, checked its charge, then slithered along the wall towards the door.

  She edged into the corridor with her back to the wall. Voices were coming from the flight deck. Two paces on and she reached the door. She pulled up the stun gun ready to fire, but just at that moment, Paolomo swung around with the video camera. Simpson turned at the same time, raised his gun and fired.

  Stephanie dropped and the bullet flew over her head, ricocheting off the walls of the corridor. She sprinted back towards the Ops Room. Simpson was in the corridor. He let loose another round that hit the wall an inch from Stephanie's shoulder. She dove behind a bulkhead and held the stun pistol ready.

  'Jacobs, come out. You're pinned down,' Simpson said.

  Ignoring him, she took a deep breath and flew out from behind the bulkhead, blasting the corridor with her stun pistol as she ran. Keeping low, she dashed towards the next column along the passage, catching a glimpse of the two men as she ran. Paolomo had the M16 at his hip. Stephanie dove to the floor as the barrel of the assault rifle lit up and a stream of bullets burned through the air above her head. She lay still, spread-eagled, defeated.

  She heard the two men approach, the silence broken only by the sound of their heavy boots on the metal floor.

  'A slippery little bitch,' Paolomo growled. It was the first time he had spoken.

  'You want to do the honours?' Simpson hissed.

  Stephanie waited for the blast from the M16, but it never came. Instead, she heard the unmistakable sound of a stun pistol – two ear-splitting cracks that reverberated around the corridor, followed by gasps and the thump of heavy objects hitting the floor. She felt herself being lifted to her
feet.

  For a couple of seconds Stephanie couldn't see straight. Then she heard a familiar voice. Her sight cleared and Mark's face swam into view.

  77

  'Man, am I pleased to see you,' Stephanie said. 'How did you know?'

  'Comms on the ground are down,' Mark replied, 'but your heart rate shot up to 130. Tom told me as I was landing and I guessed something must be up. I scanned the ship and saw the thermal signature from these two goons.'

  'I don't get it. Sybil checked them out and their IDs are genuine. Can you believe it? They were filming the inside of the ship.' She bent down, removed the miniature recorder from Paolomo's pocket and pulled out the memory chip. 'I should have had Sybil scan them for recording devices.'

  'Don't beat yourself up over it, Steph. We're all new to this. I'll get Tom onto it. I can't believe they were here in any official capacity.'

  Stephanie and Mark bound the wrists of the two Marines. They were still out cold and would be unconscious for at least an hour. Then Stephanie led the way to the Ops Room.

  'So, what's the latest?' Mark asked.

  'I lost touch with Josh and Mai about ten minutes ago,' Stephanie said. 'There was a sizeable explosion on B6. According to the sensors, it looks like a gas cylinder went up – certainly not another bomb. It was some way from Josh and Mai's last known location, as well as that of Kyle Foreman's group. Tom spoke to Josh and Mai immediately after the blast, and they're okay. But Foreman and the others might have been caught by it.'

  Mark nodded. 'Tom's working on comms,' he replied.

  At that moment Erikson's voice came over the speaker. 'Hi, Steph. You okay?'

  'Yeah, good, Tom. Mark came to my rescue. What's happening about the comms link with the others?'

  'Working on it. It's a problem with the satellite. Should have it back online in a minute. There's something else.'

  'What?' Mark snapped.

  'That explosion on B6. It's brought down the roof of the drain.'

  'Oh, wonderful! Just how bad is it?'

  Tom sent over a blurred still of the tunnel taken from BigEye. It appeared as a 3D image on the holoscreen. 'It's at least 30 feet thick. Composed of rock, concrete, soil. The drain's structure has been severely compromised.'

  They looked at the image and realised there was no way Josh and Mai could get the survivors out through the drain.

  'Scan the length of the tunnel,' Stephanie said. 'Northeast, away from the blockage. Is there any other exit?'

  The image on the holoscreen shifted, pulling back and showing the length of the drain. The only pipes running to the surface were narrow drainage conduits, none of them more than a foot wide. 'Zilch,' Tom said.

  'Alright,' Mark said, and sat down at the workstation.

  Stephanie stood behind his chair. 'Where's Pete?'

  'Last time I was in contact with him, he was trying to get down to B3,' Tom replied.

  Mark tapped in Pete's call code.

  'Pete? You there?'

  For a second the line was completely silent. Then they all heard a faint crackle, followed by a burst of static.

  'Mark – is that you, man?' It was Pete's unmistakable Geordie accent. The line was very weak and he was barely audible, but then it suddenly cleared and his voice came through crisp and loud. 'Thank Christ. I thought I was on my own for a second.'

  'We had a comms failure on the ground. What's your status?'

  'I'm in the Mole in the west side of B3. No sign of survivors. A few corpses, mind. Ramp down looks clear. What's the latest on Foreman?'

  'He's on B6 now, with three others. Josh and Mai have gone down through a municipal drain, but there's been a cave-in and we can't reach them on comms.'

  'So what now?'

  'We're going to try to get through to them. But it looks like the only chance they have is to go up through the building after all. You say the ramp down is clear?'

  'Well, down to B4 it is. After that . . . I don't know.'

  'Okay, Pete, take the Mole down to B6 as fast as you can. Keep in touch. Steph,' Mark added, turning to her. 'This is what we're going to do.'

  78

  Stepping out into the corridor leading back to Room B63, Josh tried his comms again, but the silence down the line was oppressive. It was almost as though E-Force had ceased to exist. Mai looked at him but he shook his head. 'Nothing.'

  They ran along the corridor heading south towards the main passage. As they turned into it, Mai glimpsed a figure in the distance. A fraction of a second later it was gone. Mai sped up and turned the next corner. She saw the person again, a tall man in a ripped white shirt and dark pants. Then he disappeared into the smoke.

  'Hey! Stop!' she called, but the man had vanished.

  'What is it?' Josh asked, stopping beside her, breathing heavily.

  'Thought I saw someone.'

  'What did they look like?'

  'Tall, fit-looking, wearing dark pants and the remains of a shirt.'

  'Could be Foreman.'

  They walked along the corridor, stopping at each roller-door and listening intently. Their cochlear implants could detect the faintest of sounds, and the cybersuit computers filtered out any extraneous noise.

  They reached the end of the corridor and turned right. Stopping at the first roller-door, they heard the sound of dripping water but nothing else. At the next door they stopped abruptly. Josh leaned in and immediately heard voices.

  79

  Kyle Foreman was leaning against the wall, trying to get his breath back, when he, Dave and Marty heard a rapping on the roller-door. They froze and looked at each other, fear etched into their features. Foreman lifted the Magnum and walked towards the door.

  'Who is it?'

  'Senator Foreman? Is that you?'

  'Who is this?'

  'My name's Josh Thompson. I'm from an organisation called E-Force. I'm here with my colleague, Maiko Buchanan. We've been searching for you. Can we come in?'

  'Let me speak to your colleague.'

  Maiko stepped up to the door. 'Hello, sir,' she said. 'This is Maiko Buchanan.'

  Foreman glanced around at Dave and Marty. They nodded and he bent to unlock the door. A moment later Josh and Mai ducked down and entered the room.

  Foreman stared sceptically at the two E-Force members. 'So, what's this all about?'

  'We're –' Josh stopped talking suddenly and Mai dashed forward as Marty's legs crumpled under him. She was too late to break the old man's fall and he landed heavily on his side.

  'Marty,' Dave yelled. He was at Marty's side instantly, lifting his head.

  Mai knelt beside the old man and swung her med-kit off her shoulder. She leaned forward and checked his breathing, then felt for a pulse. She looked up at Foreman and Josh. 'He's alive.'

  Foreman stepped to the back of the room and returned with an armful of tablecloths. He rolled up a couple and placed them under Marty's head. Standing beside Josh, he watched as Mai placed a circular piece of plastic over Marty's mouth. There was a tiny tube attached to its side. The plastic clamped to Marty's face like a sucker.

  'Oxygen,' she said to the others, without looking up. Then she pulled out an object the size and shape of a pen, with a disc about two inches in diameter at one end. She ripped open Marty's tattered shirt and placed the device vertically on his chest, moving it around slowly. It beeped and then produced a strange whirring sound.

  Mai looked at her wrist. The screen was lit up, but only she could make out what was on it. She studied it in silence, then slowed the movement of the device over Marty's skin. Returning the device to the med-kit, she quickly pulled out another cylindrical object. It looked like a hypodermic but without a needle. She pressed it against Marty's neck and pushed a button on the side.

  Dave pulled himself up. 'What's that?' he asked, darting a frightened look at Josh.

  'She knows what she's doing,' Josh responded, crouching down. 'Heart attack?' he asked Mai.

  'Looks like it. I wish Steph was here. There's not
much I can do. I've given him a mixture of nitroglycerin and morphine to assist his blood flow. We need to get him aboard the Big Mac.' Mai tapped her comms control. 'Mark? Steph? Come in, please. Tom?'

  Nothing.

  Mai and Josh looked up as Dave started talking. 'Will he live?' he asked, his voice edged with panic.

  'If we get him out of here quickly,' Josh replied.

  Dave got to his feet and was shaking his head. 'I don't get this. What the fuck is going on? Who are you?' He looked as though he was about to lose it.

  Mai stood up. Gripping the boy's shoulders, she looked him in the eyes. 'What's your name?'

  'Dave Golding.'

  'Dave, take deep breaths. We're here to help you. We'll get Marty to our ship as soon –'

  'Your ship? What the fuck?'

  'Look, it doesn't matter –' Josh began, but Mai stopped him with a stern look.

  'Dave – listen, we're not from Alpha Centauri. We're just a rescue organisation.'

  'But that shit . . .' he said, pointing at the plastic over Marty's face and the strange devices in the opened med-kit.

  'We have some cool stuff, but we're human. Hit me, if you like!'

  Dave was too far gone to even smile. He swallowed hard and slumped against the wall, then he began to rifle through his bag.

  'Sir,' Josh said, turning to Kyle Foreman. 'We have to get out of here ASAP.'

  Foreman nodded. 'Just point the way.'

  'We have a problem. We came in through a drain that runs close to the building, but that explosion a few minutes ago brought the roof down.'

  'Okay.'

  'And we've lost contact with our base.'

  Mai was trying her comms again. The screen was dead, but suddenly a voice came out of the receiver. Through the distortion, she could just make out Mark's rich baritone. 'Mai?'

  'Mark!'

  'It's good to hear your voice, Mark,' Josh said.

  'We had a drop-out on the sat link,' Mark replied. 'I . . .' The line went dead again for a second. '. . . the Big Mac with Steph. W . . . happening?'