Whistling Past the Graveyard

by Jonathan Maberry

  Destro Castle

  Scotland

  Lord Destro reached out and tapped a key to disconnect his end of the call. The white static vanished on the screen. He slowly stood and walked slowly across the room, his steps measured and his posture thoughtful. His two dogs―great brutes of black hounds named Cu Sith and Boky―lifted their heads and watched him. They knew their master and his moods, and they were not at all fooled by the calm façade; just as they were not surprised when their master suddenly snatched up a silver and crystal goblet and threw it the length of the room.

  Boky whuffed softly.

  Cu Sith bared a fang and growled low in his throat.

  Destro sighed and bowed his head.

  Honor was a ten ton weight at times. He’d known about Prospero for years and had worked with him off and on. A gentleman’s agreement was supposed to be in place. Prospero would bring his drones and software systems to him and Destro would in turn broker them to Cobra. Now it was clear to a blind man that Prospero had no intention of including Destro in any part of this exchange. Not even so much as a finder’s fee for having introduced the old tosspot to the Commander. And Destro had lent Prospero some of his own systems and even one of his top men, Han Kong, to speed the development along. Kong, of course, had finessed a few things according to Destro’s requirements, none of which were shared with Prospero. That wasn’t dishonorable, that was common sense self-defense.

  This presentation…now that was so sharp a slap in the face that Destro swore he could actually feel it on his skin.

  “Damn ye for a Sassenach!” he said in a fierce whisper, conjuring images in his mind of that old bastard being torn to red rags by the dogs.

  He felt insulted, betrayed. Hurt.

  He had even tried to give Prospero a chance to make it right. He’d gone through that with Miranda to suggest very quietly and discreetly that the old man stop hunting on another man’s preserve. When that hadn’t worked he’d appealed directly to the egotistical old swine. Nothing. Not even a returned phone call.

  Instead, the Commander called him and offered him the opportunity to covertly observe Prospero’s impromptu test.

  There were times he wished he was a mackerel fisherman. This life could be so bloody frustrating.

  “Honor among thieves,” he said aloud. “Aye, and pigs may fly.”

  The dogs got up and came over to him, leaning their huge shoulders against him, whimpering softly. Destro bent and stroked their flanks, doing it slowly, letting the action soothe him. Dogs were always the best of companions, and no joke. Loyal by nature’s design and incapable of guile.

  “Ye shaggy monsters,” he said with rough affection. They licked his hands and chuffed.

  Destro took a long breath and let it out. Then he cocked his head to one side as if listening to an inner voice.

  “Ah…you are a glaikit moron,” he told himself. Beneath his mask, he smiled. Then he turned back toward the computer and looked at the screen as if he could still see Prospero in his metal suit. And still hear the Commander’s velvet mockery of a voice.

  “Free market be damned.”

  He stalked back to his computer terminal and began hammering keys. He used a signal re-router to spin-worm his way into the Department of Defense database, blank-trailing his entry by a code-rewriter that wiped out all traces of the intrusion. Then he accessed the inactive employee data files and brought up the login for Dr. Han Kong.

  Still smiling, he tapped in the password.

  “Welcome, Dr. Kong,” said a soft computer voice.

  Destro laughed softly to himself. “Free market is it, ya bas? I’ve got your number and no mistake. Let’s all make free, and devil take the hindmost.”

  -7-

  The Island

  Tactical Observation Room #1

  Flint stared through the reinforced glass at the flaming wreckage and gave a low whistle. “That’s…beautiful.”

  “I don’t think that would be the adjective I’d choose,” muttered Doc Greer.

  Flint grunted. “The pacifist doesn’t like things blowing up. Enormous surprise, Doc.”

  “It’s not just that. One man did all that. Granted the attack vehicles were all automated, but from what I can see it wouldn’t have played out any differently had there been real men and women on the field. One man.”

  Scarlett added, “One man in a half-billion dollar combat suit cross-linked to targeting satellites and using counter-encryption intrusion software.”

  “My point exactly,” agreed Doc.

  Flint turned away from the fires still burning out in the desert. “What adjective would you prefer?”

  “Offhand?” said Doc. “Terrifying.”

  “Then you’re going to live in fear, Doc, because this is the new face of warfare. Congress and NATO are going to line up to shovel money into this project.”

  Something caught their eyes and they both turned toward the window as the man in the combat rig walked by. Light from the observation deck spilled out through the window and traced the outline of the stalking figure. Prospero was totally encased in armor painted with the alternating pixilated slate gray, desert sand, and foliage green of the universal camouflage pattern used by the U.S. Military. The exoskeleton was neither sleek nor handsome. Instead it looked like an ugly and improbable collection of pipes and plates fuse-welded in a way to be deliberately unpleasant to the eye. However its massive height gave it grandeur and its performance in the field inspired a sense of dread.

  It stopped and turned toward them. From outside this viewport blended into the landscape, invisible even to infrared and NVG, but the blank steel face of the titan swiveled around so that it was facing the Joes inside.

  “God almighty,” breathed Doc.

  Then the massive metal arm came up into a formal salute, snapping it off with a touch of swagger instead of the crisp military precision that would have been more in keeping with the thing’s robotic appearance. But the Joes knew full well that this was no robot, nor was it a drone. A man hung suspended within the metal body, his slightest move instantly activating a reciprocal move by the exoskeleton.

  And though they could not see the face of Dr. Allyn Prospero, they knew that the old scientist was smiling.

  “Okay,” said Scarlett as the thing turned and stalked away. “I’ll go with ‘terrifying,’ too.”

  “I might have understated it,” murmured Doc.

  The hatch door behind them hissed open and they turned to see Prospero in the exoskeleton. Desert winds whipped tendrils of residual smoke around him and he looked like a statue of one of the Greek titans standing there. Immense, impossibly powerful.

  With a hiss of hydraulics, the iron giant stalked into the room and stopped a dozen feet away. A robotic voice spoke from external speakers.

  “Powering down. Caliban combat systems off line.”

  A golf cart came whirring out of a side corridor and as it rolled to a stop the tech crew jumped out, each of them holding tools. Professor Miranda was with them, her expression neutral. Two men with impact wrenches went to work on the chest plate. Another unlimbered a heavy cable and plugged it into a socket on the back of the suit. Professor Miranda unfolded a short metal step ladder and mounted it to reach the face plate. The team worked with practiced efficiency as Flint and Doc watched, and with the speed of a race team pit crew, they had the major components removed and set aside to reveal Dr. Prospero suspended in the sling harness.

  “How did Caliban perform?” Miranda asked.

  The old man was bathed in sweat but grinning like a happy child.

  “He was magnificent!” said Prospero. “Absolutely magnificent.”

  Professor Miranda smiled with obvious relief and pleasure.

  Scarlet nudged Flint with an elbow and mouthed the word ‘he.’ Flint had caught it. He, not it. He turned to Doc, but Doc was already up to speed on that. He had his lips pursed in thought. Flint knew that they weren’t happy thoughts.

  Miranda disconne
cted the last of the straps and then descended the ladder to allow Prospero to disengage the harness straps and step down. She offered her hand to steady him, and when he was off the ladder she fetched a cane from the golf cart and handed it to him.

  Prospero leaned on the cane. “Thank you, my dear.”

  “And how do you feel?”

  It took a moment for Prospero to answer that. He turned and stared at the dissembled mechanical monster. While it was clear that he was physically exhausted, his face came alight with a complex series of emotions. He cut a quick look at the Joes standing nearby and then touched the woman’s cheek.

  “I feel wonderful!” he said. “Young and alive.”

  Doc cleared his throat and entered the little bubble of their private conversation. “I’d like to give you a brief post-action exam, Doctor.”

  Prospero stiffened. “Nonsense. I’m perfectly fine as you can see.”

  “You’re flushed and perspiring heavily and—”

  “The suit was hot and I just ran four miles,” interrupted Prospero.

  “—and you’re seventy-four years old.”

  Prospero laughed aloud and nodded toward the machinery. “Not when I’m in there! It’s very much like sky-diving, or driving a formula one. After a while you can’t tell where you end and the machine begins. It’s so exhilarating. I was a god out there!”

  Doc nodded. “Sure, but you’re not in there all the time. And right now it looks like your blood pressure could pop rivets out of plate steel.”

  “I’m fine.”

  “I’ll be the judge of that.”

  Prospero met Doc’s eyes and the moment stretched around them. Professor Miranda shifted to stand next to the old man, using body language rather than words to show her support.

  Flint watched all of this and very nearly stepped over to stand beside Doc, but that would turn the moment into bad drama. Instead he said, “The test was pretty amazing, Dr. Prospero; and you have a right to be proud of the Caliban exosuit. Consider me a fan. However our friends in Congress aren’t paying us just to watch. Our team is here to evaluate everything, and that does mean everything. If Doc Greer wants to examine you, then let’s all put it down to dotting the I’s and crossing the T’s.”

  Prospero opened his mouth to say something, and from the taut pull of his lips it was likely to be something biting. They had been warned that the old scientist was a cantankerous SOB, but Flint wasn’t interested in enabling cranky behavior.

  It was Professor Miranda who broke the tension of the moment.

  “We understand completely, Chief,” she said with a smile, touching Prospero on the arm and then turning the full wattage of her smile on Flint. She stepped closer to him, pitching her voice as if they shared a private conversation. “Chief Warrant Officer Flint, as a soldier with significant field experience you must be familiar with the exuberance that comes with combat exertion.”

  “Somewhat,” Flint said neutrally.

  Professor Miranda stepped a bit closer, looking up into Flint’s eyes; and Flint was suddenly very aware of how truly beautiful the professor was. He made his face turn to stone.

  “All those juices flowing,” Miranda continued, “the awareness of your own power. The understanding of your potential for great things.”

  Flint cut a look at Doc, who was trying so hard to hide a smile that the effort looked painful.

  “Um, yes, ma’am,” mumbled Flint. “I suppose I do.”

  “Call me Elsbeth, Chief Flint.” She loaded his name with enough hidden meanings to sink a battleship.

  A few feet away Scarlett softly cleared her throat. She had been watching with amusement and professional interest as Miranda attempted to dazzle Flint. She shifted her posture as a way of breaking the trance through distraction, and in a very businesslike tone said, “If everything plays out the way it looks like it will, once we crunch the numbers…I think we can safely say that you just changed the face of warfare for the next generation.”

  Professor Miranda began to say something else, but Flint stepped sideways―out of the potent energy of her personal space―and angled himself to address both she and Prospero.

  “When Doc is done with his exam I would love to sit down over coffee and hear everything about what went on out there.” He looked at Prospero. “I’ve never seen anything like that.”

  Prospero studied him for a few moments, clearly trying to determine whether he was being ‘handled’ or if the praise was genuine. Then a smile seeped slowly onto Prospero’s mouth as he considered those words. He took a deep breath and let it out slowly, deflating the ball of tension he’d been holding in his chest.

  “It’s encouraging to know that you are a person of vision,” he said.

  “Are you kidding?” said Flint. “We’re all certified soldier geeks. We love gadgets.”

  “You have no idea how much,” Scarlett said under her breath.

  “So,” Flint concluded, “this stuff is straight from heaven.”

  Prospero’s smile became genuine. He nodded and offered his hand to Doc.

  “Forgive my terseness.”

  Doc’s hand was only a microsecond slow in responding, but they exchanged a firm grip.

  “Perfectly understandable. Just watching you had my own blood pressure nearly off the scale.” He gestured toward the side corridor. “Shall we?”

  Doc and Prospero walked away together. Professor Miranda lingered for a moment, giving Flint an enigmatic look and a very appealing pink-lipped smile. Then she turned and followed. The tech crew finished their work and piled back into the golf cart and vanished, leaving Flint and Scarlett alone in the observation chamber. Silence filled the room, and they turned and walked slowly over to the window. The fires had burned down to embers out there on the sand.

  “How’s your blood pressure, cowboy?” asked Scarlett.

  He laughed. “Don’t start.”

  “Me? I wasn’t starting anything, but you looked like you were ready to drop down on one knee and propose.”

  Flint snorted. “She’s cute, but her only interest in me is in how much she can run interference for Prospero.”

  “So, you’re not smitten by the geeky brunette with glasses?”

  “I think we all know what a slippery slope that is.”

  Scarlett gave him a knowing wink and sat down on the edge of the desk. “I think Miranda is every bit as formidable as her boss.”

  “Agreed. Which means everybody needs to keep their eyes open at all times.” Flint tapped the topmost button on his uniform shirt. “You get all that, guys?”

  “Every word,” said a man’s voice.

  The receiver bug looked like a freckle on the inside of Flint’s left ear. Scarlett had an identical one on her right ear. The voice belonged to Christopher M. Lavigne. ‘Law’ to the rest of the Joes. In the background his dog, Order, gave a single sharp bark as if he, too, was acknowledging.

  “I heard it, too,” said a second voice. Laser Rifleman Anthony ‘Flash’ Gambello.

  General Hawk had sent a full team. Law and his canine partner were reviewing the facility security systems, with two computer experts―a Brooklyn tech-geek called Jukebox and a Japanese woman codenamed Schoolgirl―as backup. Flash had been running the drone systems from a truck parked way out in the desert, and his team included the beefy and always-grinning Australian Bruiser and Shock Jock, a sniper from San Antonio. The last two Joes here at the Nevada base were a diminutive man who was, despite the unfortunate call sign of Teacher’s Pet, a first class shooter; and Monster, a hulk of a kid straight out of Force Recon and three tours in the Middle East. They were all listening in on the call, though only team leaders chimed in on the conversation.

  “Opinion?” Flint asked.

  Flash said, “I think you and Professor Miranda will have lovely children.”

  “Secure that crap, soldier,” barked Flint, though he was smiling. “Give me your professional opinion.”

  “Of what?” asked Flash. “T
he Caliban unit? Totally kicked my ass, and that’s somewhere between very cool and very, very scary.”

  “Agreed,” said Law. “I was watching the whole thing from the security office. I had the action on fifteen screens and it was scary as hell on every screen.”

  Scarlett said, “On the other hand, considering that this is a military system, ‘scary’ is what we want.”

  No one responded to that for a moment, then Law said, “Y’know guys, this is a pretty strange back road for anyone who’s ever been a pair of boots on the ground. On one hand we all dig the idea of replacing vulnerable flesh and blood soldiers with metal and motherboard drones. On the other hand…have these guys even watched science fiction? Automated systems? Artificial intelligence combat machines? That never ends well.”

  “It’s not AI,” corrected Scarlett. “They’re drones. Remote operated and—”

  “Yeah, yeah, I know. Short step from remote to automated, though. I mean…it’s the next natural step in development. Congress ups the budget for Prospero and next thing you know it’s ‘Ahll be bahhk…’”

  “Geek-centric paranoia noted, Law,” said Flint. “That’ll look good in the report.”

  “So,” said Flash, “what’s your take on the good Dr. Prospero, boss?”

  “On or off the record?” asked Flint.

  “Off.”

  “He’s halfway to being nuts.”

  “Only halfway?” asked Flash.

  Flint chuckled. “Hey, I just met the man a few hours ago, guys. Jury’s still deliberating.”

  “Well, from where I’m sitting,” said Flash, “which is out here trying to figure out how one old dude in a friggin’ tin suit handed me my ass…I’m going to put my vote in right now. Guy’s scary and nuts. And I’ll bet a shiny nickel that he was grooving on it, too. Sitting there in the middle of all those fireworks like he was conducting the 1812 Overture.”

  Scarlett raised an eyebrow to Flint. “He’s got a point. Prospero took a bizarre risk just now. He could have used a less valuable subordinate for that test. Instead he put his own life on the line to prove how effective his system is.”