Mechanic (Corrosive Knights)

by E. R. Torre

  Once they were gone, Nox dashed forward. She made her way to the van with the shattered windshield and looked it over. A gun rack behind the driver’s seat sported a sniper’s rifle. Seeing the weapon that had most likely killed Ellis brought on a wave of fury within the Mechanic.

  Nox let the anger dissipate.

  Now isn’t the time.

  She followed the footprints and tracks the caravan occupants made when they moved their cargo. She walked around the rocky hill and into a narrow crevasse. Nox slowed down and searched for any security measures.

  She warily inched forward, fearful she might walk into view of a camera or motion detector or find herself face to face with a guard or guards.

  Her fears proved unfounded. The crevasse continued for a few more feet before stopping at a rocky dead end.

  Nox edged closer to the dead end. She stared at the footprints in the sand and noted their makers traveled right up to the rocky surface and beyond.

  Nox felt the smooth wall of rock before her. She noted a minor discoloration from one rock surface to the other. She ran her hands over this part and found a very small crack. It was uniform and straight. Way too straight for any natural occurrence.

  It was a hidden doorway.

  It took Nox another minute to find the latch. Like everything else on the rock wall, it was camouflaged to look like another part of the surrounding area. Nox pushed the latch down. It moved smoothly, like a well-oiled hinge.

  Before her, the dead end rock wall opened, revealing a dark corridor and the sinister whispers of voices and heavy machinery within.

  CHAPTER TWENTY THREE

  Nox cautiously entered the dark corridor. She stuck to its sides and allowed time for her eyes to adjust to the low light within.

  Nox’s muscles were rigid, her senses on high alert. She spotted a distant light some fifty feet away, at what could be the end of the corridor. The Mechanic knew she would have to go all the way there. However, doing so meant being completely exposed. There were no side rooms or other corridors in evidence.

  Anyone could spot her. Anyone could see her coming.

  Let’s do this before I get any older, Nox thought.

  The Mechanic leaned in to the side of the wall and sprinted forward. It took several tense seconds which, to Nox, felt like a lifetime before arriving at the end of the corridor. The voices and sound of machinery grew as she approached the distant light.

  Nox came to a stop at what proved to be an intersection. The light she saw came from a pair of corridors that stretched out in opposite directions. To Nox’s right came the sound of machines. Tracks in the dirty floor indicated that this was where the supplies from the caravan were headed. Perhaps, the Mechanic reasoned, there was a storage room back there. To her left came the sound of distant voices.

  Nox chose the left corridor.

  She was fully exposed once again, but this corridor, unlike the first, was very well lit.

  Here we go again.

  The Mechanic hurried through, eventually reaching a solid steel security door. The machinery was familiar to her and very old. She recalled seeing similar security features back in Arabia, inside the bunkers of corrupt despots and madmen. Hidden computers monitored heavy latches. A dim panel to the side of the door recorded heat patterns and handprints.

  These doors were always such a bitch to open.

  But that was in the past. This heavy door and its computerized security were long dead. A camera above the door hung loose, its electronic eye focused on the opposite wall. There were scorch marks along the length of the door’s latches. The marks were fresh.

  Nox pressed up against the door and pushed. It quietly moved open, a three ton rectangular mass balanced so precisely that even a child could push her open. The lights beyond the door were even stronger than those in the corridor. Nox eased her way inside. For a moment she considered pulling out her gun, but decided against it. Until she knew better, it was best to keep her hands free and look as innocent as possible.

  Nox stepped into the light beyond the door and paused.

  The Mechanic stood atop a heavy metal spiral staircase and balcony overlooking an enormous hollow cylinder carved into the desert rock. The staircase led down, with exits on each of the ten floors below. At the very bottom of the hole was a landing pad. The helicopter Ellis and she followed was parked down there.

  Nox looked up and realized the top of the rocky hill, at least what she saw from outside, was in reality a movable panel. Nox’s gaze returned to what lay below. People circulated on each of the ten floors. They worked on ancient electrical equipment scattered along the balconies or stepped in and out of rooms filled with even more of this equipment.

  They were engrossed in their work and none of them noticed Nox. Not willing to push her luck, the Mechanic stepped away from the balcony and hid in the shadows. She took several minutes to familiarize herself with the lay of the base and to form an opinion on what she was seeing.

  The equipment the people were working on was, like the security door, quite old. The way they examined this equipment suggested they were performing a detailed inventory of items or, conversely, a search for something. Once a particular piece of equipment was fully examined, it was tagged with a bright red sticker and shuffled off. Each floor had a section loaded with such stacked and tagged equipment. Wooden boxes were piled next to this equipment. Some or perhaps even all of the tagged equipment would eventually be packed up in the boxes and transferred elsewhere, most likely back to the Big City.

  Nox scratched her chin.

  So what are they up to?

  The place was clearly an old research facility. But researching what? Considering the expense involved in hiding this base, it was obviously very well financed when it was operational. That meant, in turn, it had the backing of very powerful individuals in either the old government or the nascent business class.

  In time the research facility became another casualty to the radical changes in weather over the past two decades. And now, following its discovery by Octi Corp., it had proven to be a valuable asset.

  How else to explain the murder of Octi Survey Group 4 and the fact that Robert Octi Junior has personally made a trip to this place to oversee…

  What?

  Nox needed to find out.

  She headed for the stairs and cautiously descended a flight. Before her were several computers, all at least a couple of decades old.

  Wonder if they play Pong? Nox thought.

  She continued down the stairs, avoiding several Octi researchers who, thankfully, were so engrossed in their work they didn’t notice her. When Nox made it to the lowest level of the desert base, she looked up. She felt like she was at the bottom of an enormous chimney. Here and there on the roof she spotted slivers of sunlight. For years the top paneling faced the brutal Desertland conditions and was slowly failing.

  Nox stared at the helicopter and the floor around it. Sand from the desert above penetrated the cracks and fell down. In another few years the roof panels would collapse and fall to the floor.

  Right about here.

  From a door behind Nox appeared two Octi researchers dressed in white. Nox could not avoid being seen by them, so she leaned down and examined a black metal box that lay at her feet. It was new, not part of the old equipment. Nox opened the box and found several screwdrivers and wrenches. She fumbled through the gear. The researchers approached, and Nox let out a loud, frustrated sigh.

  “No Phillips head,” the Mechanic lamented.

  “You never find what you really need,” one of the researchers replied. The two walked away.

  Look like you belong.

  “Have a nice day,” Nox called out.

  She rose and, after allowing for a generous distance cushion, followed them. The researchers entered a large door and headed down a dark passageway drilled into the solid stone hill. There were lights in the distance and the sounds of even more people talking.

  The researchers turned a
corner and disappeared.

  Nox moved in, closing the gap between herself and her prey. When she reached the corner, she found another large room drilled from the rock. This one’s roof had collapsed, leaving rubble and sand in its center. Recovered equipment, some of it damaged well beyond repair, lay at the corners of the room. A group of people dug through the sand and stone with great care, as if they were archeologists uncovering electronic fossils.

  Nox kept to the sides of the room and made her way to the recovered equipment. She found a set of file cabinets among the stacked items. She opened one of the cabinets and noted a bunch of yellowed documents within. Nox picked up a random page and read it.

  Attn. Red Clearance Person, Note following changes in procedure:

  -All paperwork to be destroyed must first be cleared for said procedure. ABSOLUTELY NO COPIES are to be made without clearance. All information is company property and, as such, falls under company rules.

  David Lemner

  Nox frowned.

  “David Lemner?” she muttered. The name sounded awfully familiar.

  Nox retreated to the helicopter landing pad. Though she initially feared discovery, it was obvious that all the Octi Corp. personnel in the buried base were so preoccupied with their work and so secure in the belief that no one could infiltrate this place that they paid little attention to her. Nox hung around the corners and the shadows and, when someone did see her, picked up whatever equipment lay in a stack nearby and moved it to another stack a farther distance away.

  And that’s how she once again became a temporary employee of Octi Corp.

  “Lady, that needs to stay where it is.”

  Nox stiffened. She laid the computer panel back in its place. The man who addressed her was in his late forties or early fifties and had a sickly complexion. His dress was casual, like most of the lowly workers.

  “Sorry,” Nox said and walked away, toward another group of computer towers.

  “Hey, you,” the man called out.

  Nox slowed her pace.

  He knows I don’t belong, she thought.

  Nox considered her options, but there were few. She had a knife hidden in the side of her boot or she could go for the gun in her backpack. It would be messy, but it seemed the only way to—

  “Why don’t you take care of these boxes instead,” the man said and pointed to the other side of the small room. “Move them out with the others.”

  Nox noted the boxes.

  “Others?” Nox asked.

  “Yes, the others,” the man said. There was growing irritation in his voice.

  Nox took a step forward and stopped. She looked around the room and spotted at least five other piles of boxes.

  “Oh for Jeb’s sakes,” the man said. “The ones by the helicopter.”

  “Oh yeah! Yes sir.”

  Nox moved forward, but the man grabbed Nox’s shoulder and stopped her.

  “I’ve had just about enough of you temps,” he said. “Shape up, do your job, or we’ll cut you all loose. It’s a long walk back home.”

  Nox nodded.

  “Tell me about it,” she said.

  It took the Mechanic a half hour to move the boxes to where they were supposed to go.

  In time Nox developed a clear idea of where the most important sections of the base lay. She also discovered through casual friendships made with her fellow workers that Robert Octi Jr. tended to stay in and around the base’s bottom floor, not so terribly far from where his helicopter was parked.

  With that knowledge, Nox decided she would keep to the edges of the third floor. She was far enough away from the bottom to minimize any risk of running into Robert Octi Jr. or his bodyguard yet close enough to spot and tail them when they finally did appear. As far as the Mechanic knew, Robert Octi Jr. and his bodyguard were the only people within the base who could recognize her.

  At dinner time, a horn sounded and the workers Nox hung out with headed to the makeshift cafeteria. They were in a good mood, pleased with their progress and the obvious importance of their job.

  Nox took in any stray bits of conversation she could. She had developed a good feel for the place, but not enough to discover what they were doing here. After waiting in line for over ten minutes, it was her turn to be served. Nox pushed her tray forward, but the old lady serving the dark colored hash didn’t move.

  “Let’s see your ID badge,” she asked her.

  Nox made a show of searching her pockets and backpack before offering the old lady a sheepish grin.

  “Must’ve left it at the station.”

  The old lady shook her head.

  “No one’s allowed any food unless I see an ID.”

  “Damn,” Nox said. “And I really had my heart set for some of that…some of that…are those grits?”

  “Pansette de Gerzat, asshole.”

  A worker standing next to Nox let out a laugh and said:

  “Jesu, by all rights we should be asking you for ID.”

  “What?” the old lady asked.

  “Yeah,” the worker said. “How about showing us some proof that you’re really a cook.”

  The others in the line laughed. The old lady’s face remained stony, but the ghost of a smile lurked below the surface.

  “Come on,” the man continued. “This lady’s been working like a dog.”

  The old lady relented and gave Nox a sly smile.

  “She’ll eat like one, too,” she said. She shoveled some of the dark confection onto a metal plate and slapped it onto Nox’s tray.

  “Bon appetite, darling.”

  Nox retreated to one of the tables by the edge of the third floor balcony. She took a spoonful of the mush and tried it. She was surprised to find the processed crap tasted vaguely like chicken.

  Nox was almost done with her meal when, for the first time since her arrival, she spotted Robert Octi Jr. exit one of the many rooms on the bottom floor. He was flanked by his ever present bodyguard. Nox took the tray to the trash and tossed the remains of her food. When she passed the old serving lady she said:

  “Your Pansette could use a little more blue cheese.”

  “Take it up with management, smart ass.”

  “Merci, madam.”

  Nox hurried down the stairs and, from a safe distance, followed Robert and his bodyguard into what turned out to be a large, two-story tall room. The area was heavily guarded and Nox tried to keep her distance from the guards. The cafeteria lady might let the ID badge slide, but the guards around Robert Octi Jr. wouldn’t.

  Or so Nox thought.

  “The boss wants that shit out of here,” a guard who noticed the Mechanic said.

  Nox nodded and, with a by now well practiced indifference, headed for the equipment. She lingered there and watched as five Octi researchers sorted through boxes of old documents. Dusty computer consoles lined the walls of the room. They were huge machines that didn’t have the processing power of even one modern laptop. Noisy generators gave life to some of the old consoles and even noisier fans pushed the generators’ hot and toxic exhaust out of the area.

  Nox grabbed the specified equipment and headed to the opposite side of the room. She noted a group of three researchers huddled against one of the many monitors lining the walls. Their fingers glided gracefully over their keyboards, but their faces reflected a frustration shared by almost every researcher Nox had come across.

  Whatever they were looking for, they weren’t finding.

  Beyond them and near the center of the room stood Robert and his bodyguard. Their backs were to Nox but she kept her distance on the off chance that they might take a good look around. As with the other researchers present, Robert’s face bore a thinly veiled disgust. He approached a researcher standing before one of the larger computer consoles. She was a pretty young brunette who frowned at the information displayed on the monitor before her.

  “Did you get into the system?” Robert asked her.

  The young woman shook her head.

/>   “No.”

  “How long have you been on this?”

  “Twelve hours, sir.”

  “What progress have you made?”

  “I…I haven’t seen anything like this, Mr. Octi. There are more locks and safeguards and redundancy systems—”

  “When will you break the codes?”

  “I’m not sure.”

  “That’s not what I asked, Rebecca.”

  The young lady lowered her head. She suppressed a shiver and nervously eyed her boss.

  “N...No sir,” she said. “I think it will take—”

  Robert held up his hand. The motion silenced the employee. The other two researchers by the consoles stiffened. Robert’s hand drifted to his side. A growing darkness filled his face. Like lightning, his hand shot up and he savagely struck Rebecca on her cheek. The researcher fell back in her chair and slid to the floor, crying.

  Robert let out a grunt and stared at all the other researchers and security guards around him. They were silent, one and all.

  “I'm through waiting for you so-called experts to break these codes,” Robert yelled. “It’s here! All of it! And not one of you can find one fucking thing worth taking back? Do you know how over budget we’ve gone?”

  No one moved, no one talked.

  “You're making me look like an idiot!” Robert continued. “My father is not a patient man. Neither, I assure you, am I. If we don't show him something—”

  Robert stopped talking. Nagel’s hand grasped his shoulder. The silent bodyguard leaned in and whispered something into Robert’s ear. Upon hearing Nagel’s words, Robert’s fury dissolved. His body became limp, spent.

  “We don't have much more time,” Robert said. He was no longer yelling. “The contents of this base are vast. They will take at least two more weeks to properly clean out. We don’t have that time. Our spies in Tower Co. tell us our movements in this area have not gone unnoticed.” Robert paused to collect his thoughts.

  His anger gave way to something far more pathetic: hopelessness and despair.