by Andy Remic
Carter knew.
Knew that he wasn’t coming back.
□ Ωclass relay □ qiii mainframe code logon
01001010
booting...
□ GetStdHandle □□ GetFileType P □
GetStartupInfoA 2 FreeEnvironmentStringsA
3 FreeEnvironmentStringsW Ò □
WideCharToMultiByte □□
GetEnvironmentStrings
□□ GetEnvironmentStringsW β □ WriteFile □
HeapAlloc » □ VirtualAlloc
¢ □ HeapReAlloc ¿ GetCPInfo 1 GetACP 1 □
GetOEMCP
□ LoadLibraryA ä □ MultiByteToWideChar S □
GetStringTypeA
V □ GetStringTypeW ¿ □ LCMapStringA À □
LCMapStringW / □ RtlUnwind
KERNEL32.dll ~ _AIL_lock@0 v
_AIL_get_preference@4 E □ _AIL_unlock@0
_AIL_lock_mutex@0 F □ _AIL_unlock_mutex@0 □
_AIL _set_error@4 Ê
»»»»»»»»
errors rectified
qlll 01001010 100%on-line
operational procedures confirmed
HKLM,%KEY_OPTIONAL%, ‘sysmon*,, ‘ sysmon’
HKLM,%%sysmon,INF,, ‘appletpp.inf ‘ SP1Q,%KEY_OPTIONAL%sysmon,Installed,,’0’
SP1Q,%KEY_OPTIONAL%, ‘sysmeter’,,’sysmeter ‘
SP1Q,%KEY_OPTIONAL%sysmeter,Installed,,‘0’
HKLM,%KE YOPTIONAL%, ‘netwatch’,,‘netwatch’
SP1Q,%KEYOPTIONAL%, ‘demolimminent’,
‘demolsquads=37’
HKLM,%KEY_OPTIONAL%demol,INF,,
‘squadthreat.inf’
script engaged script locking engaged
launch sequence initiated= threat=
demolsquad=37
co-ords 234.456.555.211 - eq%345.331
satellites= 248
satellites= qiii operational takeover complete
satellite request= granted
logged.
The warship, while not the largest cruiser ever built, was certainly the most menacing. Its dull matt black flanks crouched on the ocean crests and it growled through the sea water, its heavy squat hull smashing the waves apart as it powered towards its destination. Carter, like the other members of the DemolSquads, had listened to Jam’s briefing, based on information gathered by a hundred different DemolSquad operatives, including The Priest. Reconnaissance scouts had learned that the vessel was armed with extensive weapons and guidance systems, far superior to those a cruiser would normally carry. As well as the standard surface missiles and guns, it had extensive anti-submarine sensors and weapons, and a powerful Mk IV phased-array radar giving 360° coverage able to track up to 250 targets simultaneously. It carried fixed-wing aircraft and heavily armed and armoured support helicopters. And the ship was nuclear-powered. Unlike normal cruisers, this machine had a top speed of over 60 knots. And there had been no signs of a crew...
Carter hovered for a while at a distance, the Comanche humming softly to him, the HIDSS screaming proximity warnings at him. Below, the sea spun away in circular patterns, brushed aside by down draughts from the ‘copter.
And yet—
And yet the cruiser was not on his displays.
The QIII processor, he thought.
It’s fucking intercepting satellite, radar and scanner readings.
It’s bouncing everything away from the ship!
No wonder it was never discovered ... and now? Now that the QIII was quite obviously working?
Was he too late?
Behind, despite their agreed radio silence, Jam connected, using the ECube.
‘You OK, Carter?’
‘Yeah. You guys ready?’
‘We’re fucking ready. Me and Slater are heading off -we’re gonna do our bit for the boys.’
‘Be good, Jam. And if you can’t be good?’
‘I’m always fucking good,’ snarled Jam.
Grinning, Carter eased the Comanche forward, leading this huge pack of metal wolves. They grouped closer now, machines coming up and around the Comanche to form a huge black swarm buzzing angrily against the Arctic heavens... Carter found himself suddenly tense, awaiting incoming fire, waiting for those huge 12.5cm calibre guns to spit their welcome...
The matt black cruiser groaned and growled through the crashing sea. Waves smashed against its prow. The odd seagull cawed, following the mighty vessel in the hope of some stray scrap of food. Sections of ice floated in the water, chunks that were brushed aside easily by the warship’s ram.
Carter grimaced.
It began to rain, lightly at first, then a downpour of heavy droplets laced with ice from a tumultuous cold sky; clouds gathered and bunched, huge bruises against the skin of the heavens.
The rain and sleet fell with increased ferocity.
The dark sea churned, rain turning waves into dancing patterns among bobbing blocks of ice.
Against the sky sat an inky blot that expanded, multiplying, replicating; then what had been one blot against the backdrop of the sky became many smaller ones.
‘Let’s do it,’ came the crackle of Carter’s voice.
Insect-like, the DemolSquads advanced on the cruiser. They separated; aboard the helicopters, aboard the Lockheed AH-56As, the UH-1N Iroquois Hueys, the CH-47s, the MH-53Js, the MH-60G Pave Hawks, the Apaches and Black Hawks - aboard these metal monsters, these machines of war, stood men and women armed with machine guns and bombs, waiting to fight, waiting to suffer, and waiting to die.
In one machine stood The Priest. His eyes flashed with fire. He pointed down from the heavens; he pointed at the cruiser where a swarm of small black squat powerful helicopters lifted from the decks, rotors screaming through the rain, guns and missiles armed and ready ...
‘Here we go,’ muttered Carter, arming the Comanche’s weapons systems in a splash of coloured lights and flickering data within the HIDSS. Alarms screamed around him as, on the deck of the battleship, one of the gun turrets rotated on well-oiled rails. The 12.5cm-calibre twin barrels lifted in their angle of ascent; there was a massive concussive boom and the turret recoiled.
An advancing DemolSquad helicopter, a Pave Hawk, was plucked from the sky. Fire erupted, glittering bright orange and yellow against the grey sky, a ball of bright iridescence before it smashed down into the sea, rotors spinning screaming splashing into the churning waters where the blackened fire-filled carcass disappeared swiftly below the waves.
Swarms of small black helicopters came sweeping from the darkness and rain, their machine guns hammering.
The DemolSquads returned fire and the skies were suddenly lit by streamers of tracer.
Carter fired off two rockets and allowed the Comanche to spin, rotors scything, below heavy-calibre fire, closely missing a small black helicopter ... he allowed the Comanche to drop — away and down from the battle, and towards the suddenly looming deck of the enemy ship: Spiral_mobile ...
Above him, bullets crackled across the sky—
And the heavens were painted crimson.
Durell’s twisted blackened fingers crept from beneath the soft folds of cloth and his hooded eyes stared into the void. His hand moved, slowly, a sliver of ice down the spine of the world ... and he gently pressed RETURN.
Nothing ...
And then a quiet hum filled the massive control deck. The computer monitors that lined the walls dimmed momentarily, as if bowing before some electronic deity, then brightened into life once more.
Words - QIII script - sped across the display. Then, from a laser encoder, a globe sprang into existence, a spinning white-laser representation of the Earth. It hung in front of Durell’s face. His gnarled hands lifted and were bathed in white light that illuminated the deformed grotesque within Durell’s heavy folded hood.
Durell laughed, a cold and ominous sound.
He reached out and pointed; the globe spun, located its target, and zoomed through layers of sparkling laser light to highlight Spiral_mobile, crash
ing through the waves. Durell pulled back from his own base and spun the globe; he located the nearest Russian air base and smiled softly.
‘So you come to destroy me, my sweet young DemolSquads? Like virgins to the slaughter?’
He initiated the sequence.
The QIII hummed from the heart of the black terminal.
□ Ωclass relay □ qiii mainframe code logon 01001010
booting...
HKLM,%KEY_OPTIONAL%,
HKLM,%%sp1on-line,Section,,’sp1on-line’
HKLM,%KE Y_OPTIONAL%sp1on-line,Installed,,’0’ HKLM,%KEY_OPTIONAL%CharMap556ar,Section,,
‘CharMap’
SP1Q,%%,’ZipFldr’„‘ZipFldr’
SP1Q,%KEY_OPTIONAL%sysmon,Installed,,‘0’
SP1Q,%KEY_OPTTONAL%,’sysmeter’„‘sysmeter’
SP1Q,%KEY_OPTIONAL%sysmeter,Installed„‘0’
HKLM,%KE Y_OPTIONAL%,‘netwatch’,,‘netwatch ‘
tracking... located Russian server
krostevskyTTQBGGHl#####
tracking... locked.
SP1Q,%KEY_OPTIONAL%,’demolinuninent’„
‘demolsquads=37’
HKLM,%KEY_OPTIONAL%demol,INF„
‘squadthreat.inf’
script engaged script locking engaged
launch sequence initiated= threat= demolsquad=37
co-ords 234.456.555.211 - eq%345.331
launch MIG30 fighter config= 32armed
satellite request= granted
logged.
CHAPTER 24
THE SKEIN
The sea crashed and churned against the hull of the warship as it growled forward. Missiles and bombs detonated. There was a deafening roar of explosives from the ship’s deck; steel shuddered; helicopters were smashed, burning insanely, from the sky to die, their flames extinguished in the waves. Guns roared, sparks spitting and kicking across metal and flesh.
Out of nowhere, a tiny black vessel was heli-dropped into the bounding waves. It sped at an incredible velocity and with absolutely no sound across the churning waters, crashing into troughs and riding them bravely before gliding up alongside the cruiser. There was a tinny crack and it secured itself.
Aboard, two figures gave one another the thumbs-up. Jam lifted his goggles for a second and stared into Slater’s eyes. Both men grasped hands, and Jam said:
‘This is it.’
‘Good luck, brother.’
‘If I don’t come back... tell Nicky I love her.’
Slater guffawed. ‘Such sentimentality from the King of Porn?’
‘A favour - for me.’
‘Anything, brother,’ said Slater, smiling kindly.
‘Five minutes; then get the fuck out.’
‘Five minutes,’ said Slater. He replaced his goggles and hoisted the heavy machine gun, glancing up at the warfare raging above; at the flaming skies; at the turmoil of bullets and bombs and spinning rotors. Machine guns roared; so many guns that it seemed the whole world was at war -and on fire. Orange streaked across the grey of storm clouds.
‘Good luck, brother.’
‘Luck’s got fuck all to do with it,’ said Jam, grinning. Hoisting the wide black suitcase in his arms, he dropped backwards over the edge of the tiny boat and was instantly swallowed by the churning black abyss.
Slater sat for a few moments, staring down at the few bubbles that reached the rolling sea surface; then he concentrated on keeping the little boat stable in its umbilical link with the cruiser. He was so close that he could see rivets; he was so close that he could reach out and touch the cold black metal.
Slater nodded to himself.
Justice had to be served - like a plateful of napalm spaghetti, with nuclear dessert.
The Comanche banked low and hard, sweeping around past massive black gun turrets, so close that Carter could see the ship’s railings and the windows of cabins. The Comanche banked, past more huge turrets that rocked with recoil and belched fire and shells. The cruiser flashed past in an insane blur, the Comanche screaming its own scream above the crash of the pounding Arctic sea. Carter dragged the machine, engines howling, around and brought it down to land on the deck with a swordlike clash of metal upon metal. The rotors howled as they wound down.
‘It’s a trap,’ said Kade calmly.
‘Like I give a fuck,’ snapped Carter.
He lifted the cockpit canopy and wind and rain lashed in, stinging his skin. He stood, climbed up onto the rim, then lowered himself and dropped to the deck. His boots made dull thumps and he could feel ice, a slick layer beneath him. ‘You’ve been a good girl,’ he said, patting the Comanche’s flank. The wind snatched his words in a shriek of laughter and twirled them away in a spiral of down draughts as helicopters banked and swept above him, machine guns roaring. A missile shot skywards and a helicopter was sent tumbling, a flaming ball of melting steel, into the freezing ocean.
Carter turned; focused; orientated himself. His stare roved the dark surroundings lit sporadically by fire from the sky and he could see nobody as he palmed his battered trusty old Browning - a small reassurance, but at least it gave him the ability to deal hot metal death to anybody who came near.
Natasha.
Where would she be?
With Feuchter.
‘That fucker,’ growled Carter. He moved quickly forward across the ice-slippery alloy deck, gaze lifting, scanning the bridges and gantries, the portholes and windows. This felt crazy, totally crazy and Carter felt the burden of his life lift from his shoulders because it did not matter any more, truly nothing mattered and if he was to die then—
So be it.
Carter sprinted towards the nearest doorway. But then everything happened at once - there was a concussive boom and a helicopter went hurtling past, low, rotors howling dangerously, and Carter whirled, crouching, bringing the Browning up to see—
‘Nothing,’ whispered Kade.
Behind him, Feuchter slid from the shadows, from the darkness, like a ghost or a demon emerging from another plane of existence. He held a small black gun and his expression was almost serene.
Carter turned and Feuchter nodded slowly. He smiled, showing tombstone teeth. ‘Mr Carter, we are expecting you.’ Carter fixed his glittering gaze on the muzzle of the gun that pointed straight at his heart...
He tried hard to disguise his shock at seeing Feuchter.
‘I left you dead.’
‘No. You left me dying. There is a subtle difference. Gods, the pain I have suffered at your hands, Mr Carter -it will be a pleasure to see you finally shuffle like a reptile from this mortal coil. Now, your gun, please?’
‘What makes you think I’ll give you it?’
An explosion rocked the ship. Feuchter did not waver, but nodded to something behind Carter. He turned. Behind him stood three Nex, copper eyes glowing, bodies black-clad, all bearing pistols and slung sub-machine guns. They had spread out in silence, and to his shame he had not heard them. These killers were subtly different to the other Nex he had met; they seemed larger, broader, more athletic.
‘Previously, you met my scout caste, the 5Nex’ said Feuchter. ‘These Nex - they are different. These - well, they are the warrior caste.’
Carter licked his lips. He smiled broadly.
‘Is Natasha here?’
‘She is. She requests the pleasure of your company; she would weep and wail in your arms and seek one final kiss before you both die. Come this way, Mr Carter. Let me show you the Heaven we are building ...’
‘Heaven?’
‘It will be a paradise of modern technology,’ said Feuchter softly. He gestured with his gun, and Carter allowed the Browning to be taken from him. ‘This way.’
‘You soft fucking bitch pussy,’ hissed Kade.
Carter stepped forward.
Towards the black door.
And the gaping maw of uncertainty beyond.
Feuchter led Carter thro
ugh dim black corridors, metal floors and metal grilles beneath their boots. Light came from below and now that he was out of the wind and rain and ice, Carter could hear the deep distant drone of the cruiser’s massive engines.
Feuchter walked ahead of him, his back a broad target. And yet, Carter could see something: a difference. The back of Feuchter’s neck and head - it was scar tissue. Severe scar tissue, wrinkled and bright pink; his hair was re-growing but the new growth was not complete - and it was black and crinkled. Different. Abnormal ...
Carter shivered. What the fuck is going on? he thought.
He glanced behind him; the Nex were there, guns trained on his back.
Carter followed Feuchter.
There was little else that he could do.
They descended; steep spiral metal staircases led down. The metal was cold beneath Carter’s fingers and he felt his mind blurring; he could feel Kade squatting there, watching, observing, offering nothing.
Good, thought Carter at Kade.
Keep your fucking nose out of this.
This is my fight and I will do it alone.
They reached wider corridors and there was more bustle; Nex with gaunt haunted faces rushed about, and without their masks Carter could observe their strange asexual faces. Similar, and yet each one individual, each one different.
‘Feuchter, what the fuck are the Nex?’ he asked softly.
‘Quiet.’
‘Or what? You’ll kill me?’ Carter laughed, a bitter sharp bark. Carter looked Feuchter up, then down. His smile was sickly sweet. ‘Come on, Feuchter, answer my question.’
Feuchter halted. He turned. His gaze was burning.
‘They are human, Carter, just like you and me. But they are killers, incredibly efficient killers. I thought you were friends with Gol? And you mean to tell me that he never explained the phenomenon that is the Nex?’ Feuchter sneered. ‘We - Gol, Durell and myself - worked on them, or rather, took over work on the project named Nx5, nicknamed Necros - or Nex. They were pioneered in the 1950s by our predecessors when America and Russia were playing their Cold War games and developing nuclear weapons and intercontinental missiles to deliver their new, gleaming warheads. We then took up the research in the late 90s. Oh yes, we discovered many things back then; many things Spiral would have preferred us to keep hidden. They withdrew our funding for the Nex Project; our specimens were killed and we had to move on to other more moral areas.’