by TR Cameron
His wristcomm chimed, and he automatically glanced down at where his left hand would be. With a sigh, he looked at the other one and saw a message from Siwah. “I’m being summoned by Dr. Frankenstein. Catch y’all later.”
O’Leary quipped, “Look out for fire, boss.” Her voice turned deep and growly. “Fire, baaaad.” Just like the Six Million Dollar Man, Mary Shelley’s monster was part of every cyborg’s essential reading list.
“Maybe they can put a flamethrower in it, and you can help me test it. You don’t have any mechanical pieces yet, right? Could be it’s time for some upgrades.” She made a sound somewhere between a dramatic shriek and a snort, and he hit the door before anyone could come up with a cleverer retort.
The medical lab was sterile white where the other had been gray, all the surfaces shining to demonstrate their lack of contamination. Jax made an immediate left instead of going forward to where the beds were and walked the length of the building to the bioengineering area. Siwah awaited him, a skeletal arm on the desk next to her. She smiled, and he was struck again by how attractive she was. She probably loves it when patients hit on her, Jackson, so you should totally go for it.
He resisted talking back to himself and sat on the nearer of the two large reclined chairs that occupied most of the space in the room. A pair of robot arms attached to the ceiling came to life, and a red grid appeared over his body, projected from above. The doctor explained, “The system is getting a good picture of you before we get started. In a permanent facility, the scan would be invisible. Here, we like to see it in action to make sure it’s working as it should.”
He nodded. “Have you deployed often?” She sounded like it wasn’t her first time being dropped onto a planet.
“You could say that. I’m in the double-digits, anyway.”
He whistled. Not every drop required medical staff, and for her to have done so many meant she was either really unlucky or actively pursued the opportunities. He was guessing the latter, given her pleasant demeanor. “Impressive.”
She shrugged. “Doesn’t get me free drinks at the station bar.”
It wasn’t often he had a shot teed up that perfectly. “Well, get the arm on right, and I’ll stand you for anything you like.” He paused, then added, “At the bar.”
She grinned, signaling receipt of all the messages he’d been sending. “Too bad your integrations aren’t as slick as your lines, Reese.” She tapped a button, and without any warning, the robot arms extended downward, quickly and efficiently cutting through the uniform shirt he wore and removing the dressing on his left shoulder.
He chuckled. “I could have taken that off for you rather than letting them destroy it.”
“They enjoy the destruction. I like to give them a treat now and again.” He hoped she was joking, but in a world where artificial intelligences could pilot ships and run robots, it wasn’t guaranteed. “Now, hold still.” A needle from one of them stabbed into his shoulder, sending icy waves into the stump. She lifted the arm and positioned it near him, and one of the articulated limbs grabbed it. He didn’t watch while they attached sensors to his body to match the ones in the arm. When it was complete, the robot helpers from above wrapped a series of straps from the arm around his neck and his torso to keep it in the proper position.
The equipment retreated upward and returned to immobility, and he slowly flexed the arm. It responded smoothly enough for a temporary limb. It felt squishy where it connected to his body, something that wouldn’t be a feature of its permanent replacement. He chuckled and shook his head. “Pretty soon, I’m going to be more machine than person.”
She lifted an eyebrow at the comment. “I know several AIs who would find that statement highly objectionable, being more or less mechanical people.”
He lifted his palms placatingly, and the left one was only a little slower getting into position than the right. For a field replacement, not bad. “Thanks for real. It’s great. Did your people find anything useful about my leg?”
Dr. Siwah sighed. “No. It’s operating normally, so probably something subtle is amiss in the interface. More than we can diagnose here. They can look at it when you’re getting outfitted for your permanent arm.”
He gave his best roguish grin. “Too much to hope that you’ll be there?”
She groaned and pointed at the exit. “Out, you. I have other people to take care of.”
He obeyed, but just before the door closed behind him, he called again, “That’s not a no, Doc.”
Chapter Four
The last part of the operation went more or less as planned. Once a sufficient number of Alliance soldiers arrived to outnumber them and the Lienthe could abandon the planet without losing too much face, the aliens were happy to depart. The Confederacy troops proved a little more reluctant, but scuttlebutt had it that the delay was so some higher ranks from each side could share a bottle and some off-the-books chat. As far as Jackson Reese was concerned, waiting was almost always better than shooting, all other things being equal.
The extra time gave him an opportunity to practice with his new arm. Rounds of darts, tossing a baseball with Beatrice O’Leary, and doing basic combat work with Kyra Venn killed the time effectively until the call they’d all been waiting for arrived. The wristcomm on his left arm vibrated, and he was pleased to find the device where it was supposed to be when he looked down to read the message. He nodded to Venn. “Gather the others. We’re on the clock.”
Fifteen minutes later, they were headed down the trail that led from the UCCA’s temporary base to the domed outpost that until recently had belonged to their enemies. The damage his team had done had been quickly addressed, and the place was even more strongly defended than it had been previously. No one would be prying them off the planet anytime soon. Unless, of course, some alien we’ve not met before decides they want to take a crack at us. Jax shook his head. Big universe. Lots of possibilities.
The installation was crawling with humans now, UCCA troops, scientists, and doubtless intelligence types seeking the same things they sought. Fortunately, we’re better. He turned to his team and made assignments. “Kansas, you take the tower. Books and Wasp, the two barracks. Dare, see what you can find scattered around outside the buildings. I’m going to check out the warehouse.” The others nodded and scurried off in the appropriate directions. They wore their regular uniforms, which meant they had access to their standard tools. His wraparound glasses were fed by sensors all over the black uniform, with power provided by cells on his belt. A thin cord ran up the back of his neck and attached to them to allow for greater data transfer than their wireless gear permitted. He quietly issued the voice commands to activate all the visual modes available: optical, thermal, sound/vibration visualization, and radiation detection.
They had deliberately avoided demolishing the warehouse. A key objective of the ongoing conflicts common to all the involved parties was securing whatever enemy tech they could. That was one of the primary reasons things stayed balanced among the factions; as soon as an innovation arrived in the field, chances were good it would wind up captured and reverse-engineered in short order. Instead of dropping the building, they’d secured the storage facility with clearly labeled explosives and a squad of automated turrets covering all angles, including one on the roof.
His transponder deactivated the defenses and allowed him access. He passed through into a cavernous area that reminded him most powerfully of a Quonset hut, a large rectangular building with a dome that made up the walls and roof. Something like an aisle meandered down the center, but otherwise, crates and boxes were scattered haphazardly throughout the space. Definitely not how we would have done it. Could be different ways of thinking, might be camouflage. He scanned in a grid pattern, looking for evidence that there was more to see than what was immediately visible.
In the back of the building, underneath a triple stack of crates, Jax found what he sought. His uniform had been emitting ultrasound waves, sort of a land versi
on of sonar, and the display showed a hollowed-out section beneath the obstruction. He keyed his microphone. “Found something. Marking my location.” He tapped a button, and a blip appeared on the map schematic in the corner of his visual field, as it would in all of his team’s displays.
“Wait for backup?” Bo was the one most likely to play it safest.
“Negative, Wasp. I’ve got this. But if y’all find yourselves bored, consider coming over.” He walked the perimeter of the crates and discovered a portion of the floor that looked somehow different than the rest of the plain black tiles at his feet. He stepped carefully onto it, ready to jump off, but nothing happened. With a frown, he continued his circuit, finding no more clues. When he reached the far side, he pushed on the stack, and it seemed to shift a little. Jax put his back into it, and the crates slid aside to reveal a ladder heading down. His glasses turned the darkness into hazy gray, showing only the ladder and a room about ten feet below with what looked like a hallway branching off of it.
Jax frowned, then amended his earlier statement. “Change of plans. Grab two troopers to stand guard and rally at my position. This could be interesting.”
It took nine minutes for them to gather and to ensure that no traps awaited them below, then one more for them to make their way to the bottom. Venn, whose call sign was Books because she was demonstrably the smartest among them, placed a comm repeater at the base of the ladder to link up to the one she’d left at the top. The device would keep them connected with their forces’ communication lines as they explored.
Their combat systems worked in tandem when they were together, sharing information and seamlessly updating everyone’s display with whatever anyone discovered. Their computers had already plotted a basic map, and it looked like the underground portion extended beyond the dome, which might have been why the pre-drop survey by their satellites hadn’t detected it. Poor planning, that. Got too focused on the obvious. He’d send word up through channels and hope it reached the ears of someone who could make sure it didn’t happen again. There weren’t enough Special Forces troops for them to do everything themselves, and their direct influence on those outside SF was generally minimal unless they spent a lot of time on a single ship. So far, his team had moved around too much to be connected to anyone outside their group.
That closeness was a decided advantage in situations like this. They had automatically formed a diamond with him at the center, Venn at his back, and Darius Lyton in the lead, with rifles covering all possible angles of approach. “Let’s explore, Dare.”
“Affirmative,” Lyton replied as he moved forward along the corridor. Drent and O’Leary fell in around Jax as they exited the room. The space surrounding them was uniform, as perfect a hallway as if it had been constructed above ground, suggesting tunneling equipment. Their sensors showed a four-way intersection ahead, and Jax ordered, “Standard deployment.” They formed the same diamond with him in the middle of the opening, turning to evaluate any dangers from either side. The spokes to the left and right led to doors, and their scanners suggested matching rooms beyond them.
Jax opted for safety over speed. “Wasp, with me. We’ll check out the room on the left. Everyone else, overwatch.” At least they’d know their retreat was secure. O’Leary moved ahead of him to the door, which had a handle with a security pad above it. She tried pulling it, to no avail. He ordered, “Blow it.” She attached a shaped charge and backed up. Its detonation destroyed the handle, the pad, and the part of the door it had been attached to. He quipped, “Think you used enough?”
Wasp didn’t reply, just pushed into the chamber and went left. He entered and stepped to the right. In the gray-on-gray low-light view, the room looked empty, with dark splotches in random places. He frowned and pointed his rifle downward, then flicked on the light mounted on the front. His display adjusted automatically, and the color view revealed what his nose had been telling him was present: blood and a lot of it. Wasp called, “Axe, over here.” Her use of his call sign rather than the generic leader designation “Boss” was a clue that something had rattled her.
When he reached her side, he saw what it was—a UCCA soldier, damaged in ways consistent with torture. Pretty brutal torture, at that. They must have been doing this down here while they delayed up top. Anger coiled in his stomach. “Wasp, check the rest of the room. I’ll head out for overwatch. Dare, Kansas, check the one to the right.” Time was now of greater importance. Finding wounded was the most vital thing, but he dearly hoped the second priority, discovering that the ones who’d done this were still on the planet, might work out as well.
They cleared the space systematically, encountering two more torture chambers and a barracks. Eight bunks were present, all human-sized, and somehow the fact that it was the Confederacy who had tormented and killed people on his side of the war made him angrier than if it had been the Lienthe. Part of his brain had the distance to wonder about that, but the rest just kept pushing forward in the hope of reaching one of them to dish out a little retribution.
The tunnel ended at a doorway. Beyond it their sensors saw forest, and the metal door was warm from the sun. A gentle test revealed that it wasn’t locked from this side, and they emerged carefully. Jax tasked one of the satellites to give him an aerial view, and he spotted movement a klick and a half away. Magnification showed a squad of Confederacy soldiers moving to the east. He tracked the camera over and grinned mirthlessly at the sight of a camouflaged ship that was imperfectly hidden when one knew what to look for. He fed the images into his team’s displays. “All right, people, it’s a race. Let’s get to them before they can get out. Wasp’s the fastest, so she leads. Everyone else form a line. Move out.”
Chapter Five
The team burst into the clearing in a staggered line, Beatrice O’Leary in the lead by a second. With the pressure of an impending escape, there had been no opportunity to set up anything fancy, so Jax was hoping the element of surprise would carry them through. That plan flew out the window the moment they spotted the two bound and wriggling captives.
O’Leary shouted, “Friendlies on the ground,” and ceased laying down suppressing fire momentarily. Jax broke from the tree line to find the Confederacy soldiers had run for cover. The thermals on his display showing them crouched behind large rocks, standing where thick trees blocked line of sight, and in the case of two, already aboard the small shuttle. He had every confidence that the engines would be spinning up before long. He dove to the right and rolled away from a series of energy blasts. An instant later, they stopped as Kyra Venn reported, “One down.”
A metallic thunk sounded, followed by the noise and concussion of a frag grenade detonation. Kyle Drent gave a single barking laugh. “Nice bank shot, Dare.” Jax raised his head to see that where before two enemies had been hiding near the ship behind a large boulder, now there were just scattered pieces of their rivals.
He rose warily, sweeping his rifle in an arc before him, but the enemy seemed to have given up on attacking them. Because they’re waiting for their ride to be ready. At that instant, the engines began the climbing whine that signaled they’d soon be operational. The headshot from Venn and the clever play by Lyton had been moments of unexpected luck, but his team had precious little chance of nailing them before some escaped. The urge to make sure they all received the punishment they deserved for being torturous scumbags surged within him, but he pushed it away, for the moment at least.
Priorities, Jackson. The plan came to him in an instant. It wasn’t the dumbest thing he’d ever done, not by a longshot, but it wouldn’t land in the top ten for brilliance, either. “Wasp, you and I are going in for the prisoners. The rest of you, covering fire. Keep their heads down. Once we’ve got them, do whatever needs doing to make sure our friends don’t get off the planet. If some of them are alive to talk to afterward, that would be handy, but file it under nonessentials.”
He slung his rifle—even though it was an added weight, no self-respecting SF soldier
would voluntarily abandon a weapon—and checked to ensure O’Leary was ready. She nodded, and he gave the orders. “Covering fire now.” A barrage of projectiles and energy blasts emerged from positions to his left and right to be positive the Confederacy troops stayed down. “Wasp, go.” He broke into a sprint and ran a serpentine path to his target, bent down, and raised the bound man to his shoulders in a fireman’s carry. A bullet slapped into the ground next to him, but that was the only enemy response as he charged back for the tree line, again a step or two behind the fleet O’Leary.
“They’re running for the ship,” Lyton announced calmly. “Another one down.”
Jax set the former captive down as carefully as he could, noting the bloody gashes on his body and suppressing a growl.
Drent added, “Another down. Four left, all in the shuttle.”
He spun to look at the ship. It was beginning to lift, the thrusters on the underside kicking up dust and dirt. It was a squat rectangle, maybe twenty feet long on the inside with an additional five or six primary engines on the back. Once it got oriented, the power would shift to the rear and they’d be gone. If Jax and his team were lucky, the blast wouldn’t catch them, but every pilot he’d ever met would be savvy enough to rotate and ensure that it did. At the midpoint, doors on the top and bottom were halfway toward meeting and sealing up the vessel. Divots near that portal showed that his people had already tested the ship’s skin and found it bullet- and energy-proof.
Jax whipped his rifle around as he shouted, “Grenades.” A rain of rifle-launched canisters arced at the ship, and several made it through the closing gap. Muffled explosions sounded after a short pause. The shuttle seemed to hang in the air for a moment like a hummingbird, then drifted sideways, tipped, and powered itself into the ground on its side. He dove for cover as it was consumed in a gout of flame that shot into the sky. Dirt and small stones showered down over him, at least one keen enough to slice a sharp burning line along the side of his neck. His glove came back bloody when he reflexively touched it, so his body automatically dug into the med pouch on his left thigh, extracted a bandage, and slapped it on the spot. It adhered to his skin as he pushed himself to his feet.