Extensis Vitae: Empire of Dust

by Gregory Mattix

  He turned to leave, but Keeva spun him around. “You’re a good man, James Mason. I don’t care what kind of atrocities they’ve all tried to pin on you. Take heart that Marcus knows that as well.” She hugged him fiercely. “The pleasure’s been ours.” The others nodded their heads, probably unsure of what to say.

  Mason patted Keeva’s back. When she released him, he gave them a salute.

  He took a few seconds to gather his nerves. Then, after a deep breath, he bolted for the light truck.

  ***

  “Are they going to be all right?” Reznik watched with concern as the medic worked on Marcus and Ayane. The two lay side by side, looking pale and lifeless although the water had been pumped from their lungs and their breathing restored. Two of the enforcers ran back from the detention center with blankets they had acquired within.

  “Hai. They should survive if they are kept warm and dry. They need rest.” The Yakuza enforcer/medic sat down beside the couple.

  Reznik tried to wring the water out of his clothes as best he could. Marcus had surprised him—the young man was a very strong swimmer. Reznik and Rin had pursued Marcus as soon as he dove into the water, and despite their much greater strength and speed, his head start had allowed him to get to Ayane before them. They had pulled the couple from the bay and fortunately had been able to revive them. The pilot hadn’t been so lucky—by the time another enforcer dragged him from the bay, he’d been beyond reviving.

  He wondered what it would mean for the operation now that the DefenseNet was back online. From the sounds of explosions in the distance, apparently the attacking Shiru gunships hadn’t fared much better than the drop ship.

  “That was too close,” Reznik said. “What the hell happened with the grid?”

  Rin squeezed water from her ponytail. Fortunately for her, her black-and-gray-patterned bodysuit appeared to not have soaked up much water, if any. “My guess would be the AI retaliated with some type of black ice, which got the better of Ichiro and allowed the system to reboot.” At Reznik’s questioning look, she added, “Hacker slang for anti-intrusion software.”

  They were interrupted by an armored limo that roared up near them, tires squealing as it skidded to a stop. Two huge, muscular men got out of the car and ran toward them, submachine guns raised. They wore bulky body armor that enhanced their size. The Yakuza quickly drew their own weapons in response.

  “Easy there, everyone,” Reznik called. “I think we’re on the same side here.”

  “Director?” the bigger man asked. His eyes darted among the group, eventually coming to rest on the prone figures.

  Marcus coughed and feebly sat up. “I’ll live. Just swallowed about ten gallons of polluted, likely radioactive water from the bay.”

  Reznik thought the big man was about to hug Marcus, he looked so relieved. Instead, he knelt down beside him. The other bodyguard held back but lowered his SMG.

  “We’ve got to get to headquarters and put an end to this. Although with the DefenseNet back online, I’m not sure if we can get near the place.” Marcus grasped the big man’s massive arm and was helped to his feet.

  “DefenseNet will recognize our vehicle as friendly based on its transponder signal,” the bodyguard spoke up. His glance took in the group of armed fighters. “We just need to be out of the railgun’s line of sight when we disembark. Armed combatants will draw its attention.”

  Reznik eyed the limo dubiously. “Are we all gonna fit?”

  “We’ll make it work,” Rin said.

  “Sir, I brought a change of clothes so you won’t stand out as such an obvious target.”

  Marcus looked down at his bright-yellow prison jumpsuit as if noticing it for the first time. “Oh, yeah that might be a good idea.” He made his way to the limo, leaning heavily on the bodyguard. He quickly stripped off the jumpsuit and put on jeans and a button-up shirt. He instructed the other big man to help Ayane to the vehicle.

  “Marcus? You should be careful. I hardly think you’re in any shape right now to be running around with these guys,” Ayane warned as the bodyguard gently carried her to the limo.

  “Agreed,” Reznik said. “We’ll take care of what needs to be done—you should stay with Ayane until you’ve regained your strength.”

  “Fatigue is just an excuse for those lacking proper motivation. Believe me, I’m properly motivated right now.” Despite Marcus’s words, he looked as though he would keel over if he had to run more than a few yards. He was beat up and looked physically ill from his near-drowning. “Give me a stim,” he ordered the bodyguard.

  “Sir?”

  “You heard me. Just this once. Lives are on the line, and I need to stand with my friends.” He nodded at Reznik and Rin.

  “Yes, sir.” The bodyguard withdrew a needle from a compartment inside the limo and jabbed Marcus in the arm. He winced but didn’t complain.

  “Come on in, everyone. Might as well get the party started.” Marcus gestured to the stocked bar in the back.

  Reznik and Rin climbed in beside Marcus and Ayane. “Twist my arm, why don’t you,” Reznik said with a chuckle. “I could use a stiff shot of something on Thorne’s tab.” He caught Rin’s eye, and she smiled knowingly.

  The rest of the Yakuza squad piled in, and they managed to fit somehow. The limo roared off toward the war zone.

  ***

  Mason could almost feel the baleful stare of the railgun’s sensors on him as he hustled toward the truck twenty yards away. Just as he was certain he’d get blown to bits, he heard the muffled report of a sniper rifle from behind. Ciera.

  Craaack! The railgun responded, and an explosion roared behind him. Fearing the worst but unable to look back, he dove down next to the truck. His wounded arm protested, and a sharp wave of pain made him lightheaded for a moment.

  Mason looked behind him and saw the outbuilding on fire. Goddamn it—no! But then he looked beyond it and saw Keeva and the others had retreated, using the building to obscure them from the railgun’s sensors. Keeva gave him a thumbs-up.

  Foolish. Brave, but foolish. He grinned despite himself. He’d really miss his new crew if he didn’t make it back.

  He got back to his feet, careful to keep the truck between him and the tower. The light truck had been shot through the engine block, but its tires looked intact. Mason opened the door and yanked out the mangled corpse behind the wheel, tossing it to the ground. He popped the truck into neutral and heaved against the doorframe. His feet slid in the muck until he found purchase. Slowly, the truck began to roll forward.

  Only 129 yards to go until I’m in the clear. Give or take.

  ***

  Thorne paced back and forth in the TI command center, which was traditionally used for monitoring expeditionary force engagements. It had never before been used during an attack on their own headquarters. Bethany and Alicia Salinger were both engaged in conversations on their Datalinks. Thompson was furiously pecking away on a tablet. Carbajal had disappeared right when he should have been there coordinating the defense, to Thorne’s ire. With Serrano gone, and then Carbajal, their underlings were having to step up and handle the situation. So far, Thorne had only seen incompetence out of the two assistants.

  His full complement of a dozen skins for his protective detail shadowed his every move. Thorne’s anxiety was clearly rubbing off on them. They seemed jumpy, and he wouldn’t be surprised if one shot a staffer by mistake.

  “Report,” Thorne ordered.

  “Both barracks buildings have been destroyed by airstrikes—reports of survivors are minimal,” Bethany advised. “We have an estimated two hundred CorpSec troops currently securing HQ and engaging the enemy around the perimeter. We’ve lost railgun batteries one, three, and four. Two, on the northwestern perimeter is still operational, as is number five in the center of the campus.”

  “That’s the most important one for now. What’s the ETA on reinforcements?”

  “An additional four hundred troops are en route from New USA outpost
s. However, three quarters of those are aboard subsonic aircraft. The hundred should be on the ground inside five minutes. Bogdanovich is sending a brigade each from South America, Africa, and Europe. ETA on those units is forty-five minutes to an hour.”

  “Excellent. The rebels would seem to be pinned down at this point. I want our units to hold their positions. As soon as reinforcements arrive, annihilate them.”

  “Sir, we’ve lost communications with the detention center,” Salinger interjected.

  “Yes, I’d imagined they would try to rescue the traitor. Coincidentally, that’s the last known location of Carbajal, which may explain his absence. We’ll have to rectify the prison situation as soon as the reinforcements arrive. What is the status of the DefenseNet, Thompson?”

  Thompson glanced up guiltily like an unprepared student who had been called on. “Currently online. Whoever is behind the cyberattack is damn good. I can’t glean any information about their identity. My diagnostic tools will take some time.”

  “In case you haven’t noticed, we are under attack, man!” The table jumped as Thorne slammed an angry fist down. “Time is something we don’t have—I want some answers ASAP.”

  Thompson cringed. “Yes, sir.”

  Thorne scanned the holoscreens showing eighty different video feeds from around the campus. Approximately twenty percent of them had dissolved into static. “Any sign of Mason yet?”

  “None yet, but as soon as we get a positive ID, I’ll take care of him personally,” Bethany replied.

  “See that you do. If you can capture him alive, even better. An example needs to be made out of that traitor.”

  ***

  The truck seemed to roll agonizingly slowly across the battlefield. Good thing the railgun’s targeting software recognizes this truck’s transponder signal… I’d be toast if it didn’t.

  Muck squelched beneath Mason’s feet. His arm and back ached, and fatigue began to settle in. Rain began falling in thick sheets again, limiting visibility.

  In the distance, the sounds of small-arms fire continued at the Shiru positions at the ends of the U-shaped formation. The bottom of the U, where the bulk of the rebels were positioned, remained quiet for the time being. Shiru’s leader had claimed comms would be jammed by their superstar hacker, but judging by the fact that DefenseNet was back online, Mason seriously doubted the comms blackout was still in effect. Thorne reinforcements from the outposts would push through to support their beleaguered HQ CorpSec unit in only a matter of minutes. They would likely attack the rebel and Shiru forces from the rear, turning the whole operation into a slaughter.

  More motivation to hurry the fuck up, then.

  He stepped on something firm beneath his foot, nearly stumbling as it shifted. A severed leg clad in ragtag body armor was driven partially into the mud under his boot. One of the rebels, he thought grimly.

  Ahead, his HUD overlay showed the safe zone about twenty yards away. Mason redoubled his effort, throwing his shoulder harder into the truck’s frame. The vehicle suddenly pitched, and its front end dipped down and halted abruptly, causing Mason to slam his forehead into the open door. He cursed when he saw the truck was stuck in a two-foot-deep crater caused by a railgun strike.

  Damn it. Looks like I’m gonna have to make a break for it. He realized that, with the limited visibility, Keeva’s crew probably couldn’t even see what was going on. They won’t be able to provide a distraction this time. I’m on my own.

  Mason unslung his grenade launcher and checked that it was ready to fire. He carefully scanned the ground in front of him, noting any potential pitfalls. After a couple deep breaths, he bolted out from cover and ran for his life toward the safe zone.

  He immediately fired a grenade in the general direction of the railgun tower. A sharp crack sounded from the cannon, and the grenade exploded in midair overhead. He was already firing again, cybernetic hand keeping the trigger pinned. Grenade after grenade exploded in midair above him, the explosions lighting his path. The rate of fire of the launcher was about the same as the speed the sensors could lock on target and fire.

  Heavy raindrops splashed against his face as Mason ran. A piece of hot shrapnel grazed his scalp. The heat of the most recent explosion washed over him, stealing the oxygen. The breath in his lungs wheezed painfully, and his boots pounded the muddy ground. His bad arm ached as if it might tear loose at any second while he desperately kept firing the grenade launcher. The second he let up, he would be turned to pulp.

  And then he was inside the safe zone. He continued for another ten yards for good measure before sliding to a stop in the mud. He willed his finger to release the trigger of the empty grenade launcher.

  “Hell yeah! I think I just bested my fastest sprint from my high school football days.” He laughed madly and pounded the muddy ground. After he caught his breath, he got back to his feet. “Pull yourself together—they’re all counting on you.”

  Mason approached the access door to the railgun tower cautiously. It was locked, of course—a keypad and scanner glowed softly in the darkness. Mason thought about the .357 at his waist but quickly discounted it. No guarantee it would work—plus, he might still need it.

  He withdrew an explosive charge from the bandolier instead. He set it against the locking mechanism, and the magnet snapped it into place. Mason activated it and stepped around the corner. The stone wall vibrated from the explosion as the door blew a few seconds later.

  With .357 in hand, Mason kicked the buckled door all the way open and entered the breach. The smell of cordite was sharp, and he scanned the gloom, but no danger presented itself. He was in a small, empty room. “I suppose it was too much to ask for an access terminal down here I could blow.” He cursed as he looked at the spiral stairs ascending ten stories overhead into the darkness. His weary legs were already about to rebel.

  Mason started up the stairs. He wiped the stinging shrapnel wound on the side of his head and noted his silver fingers came away black with blood. He frowned but kept going.

  “Finally,” he puffed as he reached the tenth floor, thighs burning from his exertions. The metal rungs of a ladder extended up to a metal hatch above. Mason quickly climbed the rungs and threw open the hatch.

  A blast of refreshing wind-driven rain washed over him as he clambered up to the railgun platform. A waist-high metal railing circled the edge of the tower. Scattered fires burned on the grounds below while overhead, the looming shape of the railgun battery was an ominous shadow blotting out the storm clouds. Mason could feel heat radiating off the massive weapon on its turret just above his head. Somewhere atop the cannon was its sensor pod and antenna array.

  He briefly considered climbing onto the weapon to reach the sensor pod but realized he’d be lucky not to fall off, with the slick conditions and his useless meat arm. If the damn thing goes off, best-case scenario is being deafened. That’s if the shockwave doesn’t blast me off this tower.

  He settled for placing his five remaining explosive charges around the sides of the turret. Just as he was about to head back to the hatch so he could descend, he heard the faint scuffing of a boot nearby.

  Mason whirled, .357 in his hand instantly. A dark silhouette climbed smoothly through the hatch. Mason fired. The shadow dodged around the curve of the turret, so he didn’t know if he hit or not.

  “Getting slow, old man,” a woman’s voice taunted.

  Mason recognized that voice. Bethany St. Pierre. Of course she’d be there to try to thwart him one last time.

  He advanced slowly around the curve of the rotunda. “You’re too late. I’ve armed the charges, and without the code, you can’t disarm them.”

  “Boo!” The voice came from right behind him.

  Mason spun, but Bethany chopped his gun, smacking it sideways against the steel turret. He struggled to retain his grip on the pistol, but she wrenched it free and casually tossed it over the side of the tower. She shoved him away, and Mason barely caught himself from going head over heels
over the low railing.

  “Who says I give a shit about this railgun? It’s just a piece of equipment. Equipment can be replaced, just like your arm and eyes. Nice chop-shop patch job, by the way.” She scrutinized him. “You look like shit, Mason. Like death warmed over for the past twenty years.” She gave him the smirk he hated.

  “You don’t look so hot yourself,” he shot back.

  Bethany looked as though she had aged since he had killed her twenty years prior, despite having a new skin with the best anti-aging genetics. Tall, lithe, beautiful, just as he remembered… but her wet hair was plastered to her head, and her face looked somewhat haggard. Despite her bluster, her poise seemed to indicate she was unsure of herself.

  Two more skins hopped out of the hatch. They hung back but kept their pulse rifles trained on Mason. He thought of the detonator in his bandolier. No way I’ll get to it. This is going to end up being a one-way ticket up here.

  As if reading his mind, Bethany addressed the skins. “If he makes a move for a detonator, shoot to incapacitate, but don’t kill him. Thorne wants him alive.” She turned her attention back to Mason. “I just knew you’d pop out of hiding—always trying to be the hero. But I know you—you’ve got plenty of innocent blood on your hands.”

  “Spare me the lecture, bitch. So are we gonna spar with words first and then scuffle again? Is that how it’s going to go down? Might as well get at it then, for I’ve got better things to do.”