by Russ Linton
Jackie didn't want that to happen. The way he'd opened fire on Landigal told her there might not be anything left when they arrived. If on the off-chance Ember was there, she wanted to get there first. She knew that was wishful thinking. They had no real information about Ember. Still, for there to be a story here, one which could make her career, she'd need more than a bombed-out building.
"We need a plan, and we need him to agree to it."
"Best I've got from him is a promise to cool his jets."
Hound sat beside her on the rock. He produced a pack of cigarettes and tapped one loose, staring into the distance. Jackie grew impatient with the lack of action and took it. Without so much as a raised eyebrow, he offered her a light then lit one for himself. They smoked in silence until Danger emerged from the dark.
"All's quiet here. Found a place up river to camp but we'll need to be on the move before morning."
"How do we get into this place?" Jackie asked, taking a deep drag. Breath and smoke created a dense fog as she exhaled. "No more of the guns blazing bullshit." Danger laughed. "What?"
"You sure you related to Ember?"
She smiled. "All about action, right? I'm fine with action if it gets me results. Tell me about her."
Hound's teeth flared around the cigarette. He sucked down a short burst and blindly handed it toward Danger who took it without question. The Augment didn't raise it to his lips. He rolled it lightly between his fingers and stared forlornly.
"There was this time," Hound said, chuckling. "First tour in Iraq, me and some men were out huntin' IEDs and the guys plantin' 'em. She'd come along, bored outta her mind 'cause the Iraqis hadn't much fight in 'em. Especially not with her. Little Miss Shock and Awe, she was. They get any intel she was blazin' about they'd get scarce. Anyhow, along comes this donkey, loaded down with God knows what. No handler, no cart, just a back full a' saddle bags. Not a second and she lights that poor critter up." Jackie cringed. Even Danger had started to laugh, a restrained thump trapped in his chest.
"Why?" she sputtered.
Hound tried to wave off her concern. "We're so damn shocked, not a one of us can move. Ain't nothin' left but a streak of ash. Damn air stinks of burnt hide. This guy, he comes 'round the corner askin', you seen my mule?" Both he and Danger could barely stifle fits of laughter. Hound couched his in an overly dramatic impression of the stricken owner. Danger's chortle became a rapid shudder. "We just looked at each other, tryin' not to laugh."
"I don't understand. Why would she...?"
Hound noted the concern and he bit back his laughter, patting her on the knee. Any other soldier, all the coddling and pet names, she'd have told him off. With Hound, it was genuine, and without malice. She couldn't bring herself to tear into him any more than she could her own grandfather.
"Don't worry, the critter didn't suffer none." Jackie groped for the film canister and held it tight. Hound could see her growing discomfort. He glanced between her clenched fist and her face. "Ember'd read a briefing, something about Jihadi's usin' mules as suicide bombers. She wasn't takin' no chances. Get this," he added with a light backhand to her knee. "She tells the guy to keep his ass on a leash." Hound said the last bit with a forced grin, hoping to drive the joke home. When Jackie didn't laugh, he looked to Danger who'd backed off. "We couldn't help bustin' up," he said with a sideways glance. "Funny, at the time. She flew off in a huff. Guess ya had to be there."
No, she got it. A gruesome sense of humor often was the only thing keeping soldiers, and even combat photographers sane. Imagining Ember, her flesh and blood, her hero, viciously executing a poor animal, warped the event too far. Her mother reducing a creature to ash. But that was her power and how she dealt with situations. She'd never much thought of it that way.
"Sorry if that offended you. Patrols and such, you get bored. Do dumb shit."
Jackie released the canister and immediately felt the tension fade. She tapped the cigarette over the rocks and her face lit. "Ass on a leash, huh?"
They talked and joked some more, finding a lighter tack. Danger, she discovered, had once on a dare eaten an unidentifiable substance served in a Korean bar which he knew would later give him a severe case of food poisoning. The way he told it made them laugh, but she also got some insight into his mysterious power. He had a scale which guided his life. Danger of the life-threatening kind became a near compulsion for him to avoid. More subtle vibes from his power, he could sometimes ignore. Hound talked about his first assignments in World War Two when he could sniff out the Italian forces along the Eastern front by their tortellini and meat sauce rations.
"We still need a plan," Jackie said through another suppressed fit of laughter. "And you need to keep your ass on a leash."
Hound drew back, confused. "Me?"
"Your flying beetle ass."
"Not sure anybody can keep him under control. He's bound to get impatient. We got a long hike ahead."
Jackie vigorously shook her head as she drained the cigarette and flicked it to the ground. "I'll get us there faster, somehow. You guys are used to all this back-country bullshit, but I'll find us a ride."
Hound made a pleased little grunt. "Fine. Then what?"
"I don't know. Maybe we can pretend to be new candidates for this Augment procedure. Get a tour before the Beetle wrecks the place."
"I like the way ya think," Hound said, exchanging looks with Danger. "But we aren't gonna pass for locals."
"Yeah, I thought about that," said Jackie, excited to be taken seriously for once. "I'll need to round somebody up along the way to play fixer. This is all typical investigative journalism. And who am I but a lonely girl? Cover my face, and I'll fit the profile. If I can keep my mouth shut long enough to get inside, maybe we can figure out exactly what's going on."
"Lookin' like I spoke too soon." Hound leaned back, lacing his fingers behind his head. "Maybe you need to be in charge of this op, and I'll start my retirement early. I hear Kashmir's something beautiful."
"This isn't a sight-seeing trip," she chided him. "You're the leash handler for our pit bull." Hound raised an eyebrow in annoyance but gave a sharp salute anyway. "And you," she said, eyeing Danger. "You keep us from dying."
Danger offered his own abbreviated salute. The lightness of the moment had already faded from his eyes. Narrowed and suspicious, he'd taken up scanning their surroundings once again. Wordlessly he headed upriver.
Jackie traded a shrug with Hound, and they rose to follow Danger to the spot by the river. A large boulder had settled on the banks, big enough to provide both cover and shelter. They squeezed in, unable to set up a tarp to fully cover them, but that was fine with Jackie. She lay on her back, exhaling puffs of steaming breath toward the stars.
Tomorrow, they'd be continuing what had to be the most important assignment of her life. Far from trepidation, she felt excited about the opportunity. She hadn't been a photographer long, but she'd always been told where to go and to strictly observe, not interfere. Embedded with Alpha males, hell-bent on sticking to their missions, she'd never given much thought to more than just doing her job. She'd taken plenty of risks for that, and the reward had always been this ephemeral thing about journalism making a difference. Rarely did it feel like she did.
CHAPTER 38
ERIC COULDN'T HANDLE the drafty foreman's office any longer. He'd transferred all controls to a laptop in the exercise room where he now pedaled relentlessly. He'd found an old bench and fitted the exercise bike with a makeshift desktop. Most of the time, he managed not to bang into the metal support. Most of the time.
"Son of a—"
His pedaling slowed as the bruise on top of a bruise on top of a spongy welt smashed into the bench. The laptop jumped. Fingers sprayed a string of nonsense into the IRC chat.
"sry" he typed.
sup_g> NP. Cat?
enigma> No pussy here. Har Har.
The conversation continued around his outburst. He was eavesdropping on regional Collective business. A m
ember named sup_g had taken on a daunting hack of the PRC firewall. The monstrous wall was the Temple of Doom of firewalls, proxy servers, gateways, filtering, redirects, and resets. They didn't expect to tear it down overnight, but Eric was monitoring every incursion, building up a holistic response. With so many variables, he missed having Chroma around.
She'd gone silent. A week now and he hadn't heard a single thing. He wanted her knock-knock jokes and twisted laughter. He'd fired off apologies into the void, knowing she'd be out there somewhere to catch them, but he hadn't received a response.
Soon, he'd get what he'd always wanted. He'd be alone. And he wasn't looking forward to it.
Mrs. H's flight would arrive tomorrow afternoon. He'd arranged for a helicopter to get her to Yellowknife and from there, a puddle jumper to drop her off in the United States. It was an old route used mostly by smugglers, but it was the best he could do. She'd been sequestered in her room, using the final days here to try to reach Spence again. Eric hadn't had the time to check on her lately.
The U.S. had locked down tight. Spencer's firewall had not only kept him and Chroma out but also created a Great, Great Firewall, isolating the country from the world. The results had been fantastic as far Eric was concerned. The Collective’s open-door policy in an age of fear had been a beacon for everyone those former symbols of freedom and liberty had turned away. Millions strong, maybe billions of users, he'd lost track. Dreams were starting to become reality.
And reality was lonely. And annoying.
M@rut> solved my problem yo
Eric watched the message pop up in the stream of war planning. It didn't fit in with the flow of the conversation and sup_g's instructions. He waited for a reaction, but the others ignored the user entirely. The screen name seemed familiar, but Eric couldn't quite place it.
M@rut> you cunts kick PRC, I'll punt USA
More bullshit. Nobody not authorized for the op should be in this channel. He started to kick him, then he remembered where he'd seen the handle before. He fired a private message.
Enigma> your problem? You the dude with the missing Salarium?
M@rut> stolen Salarium. Gettin it back with interest.
Enigma> whatev - this channel for authorized ops only
M@rut> I am the authorization beeyatch.
Enigma> do your thing but GTFO
User M@rut kicked from channel
"Dumbass." Eric picked up the pace again on his pedaling.
Somebody had taken rule number two a bit too much to heart. Shit happened. These kinds of interactions were the worst part of all this cat herding bullshit. He did his best to let each group work autonomously, but there were times he needed to help them focus or redirect troublemakers. This China thing was way too important to have some John McClane wannabe fucking shit up.
Chatter continued, and he monitored what he could. The China op, network deployments over southeast Asia and remote stretches of Africa, a growing presence in Europe overlaying the traditional society and slowly replacing it, his heart rate pushing optimal cardio levels...how had Chroma done all this? How would he do it without her?
His speed increased, faster. He dialed down the heat warming the room as his sweat and constant activity had frosted the wall length mirror with condensation. Resistance gone, his knee careened into the desk once more sending his laptop briefly airborne.
"Fuck!" he cursed, scrambling out of the bike, knocking the desk to the ground. He flailed his leg menacingly at the screen, stopping at full extension as pain shot through his battered knee.
More cursing, and he hopped over to the treadmill where he draped himself across the control panel. Eyes squeezed tight, he pressed the start button. Feet solidly on the floor, he didn't want to run. He wanted to hear the treadmill voice.
"Select program."
He groped for the track selector until he found the right one.
"Maui Taco."
Like, what the fuck was that? They'd both laughed at that one. Her laugh wasn't creepy at all really.
"Maui Taco." The treadmill said as he selected the track again.
“Eric!”
Charlotte? Her voice so clear and loud, he snapped up, searching the room for her.
“Connie! Mrs. H!”
Yeah, definitely the only brain talker he knew but damned if she didn’t sound a lot like her body's namesake. Maybe he hadn't heard her in a while. Or maybe he'd forgotten all about what Mrs. H sounded like to begin with. He raised his glasses and wiped his eyes on his sweatshirt. Useless effort, that. She didn't need to see him cry, she could feel it or something.
“Are you okay?”
"Yeah," he said to the empty room. "Just banged my knee. A lot."
“Oh, sorry... Look, I need to tell you, I just spoke to Spencer!”
"Yeah?" Eric felt the course of his emotions suddenly shift gears. Forgetting his knee, he limped away from the treadmill and removed his glasses. Drying them on his sweatshirt, he stared hazily into his ghostly conversation. "You brain chat with him or something? How is he?"
He felt her elation fizzle, a strange sensation which made his shoulders sag.
“He was worried...I'm not sure why, but we have to get to him.”
"Where?"
Mrs. H charged into the gym, breathless. "Nanomech. Though I think he was leaving soon."
"What's the big rush?" he asked, moving to upturn the bench and check to see if the laptop had survived the fall. "He say what's wrong?"
She didn't answer at first, and Eric checked only to see her look away. "Something was bothering him. We need to get to him."
Eric gave up on the bench and plopped down in the floor. The laptop screen had been damaged, creating an ugly bruise in one corner. Everything else seemed fine. He connected to the Collective's North American tasked satellites and sentry groups and searched for Black Beetle sightings.
"Probably had to go on another mission for that dickhead, Xamse. That would stress anyone out."
Mrs. H had become suddenly quiet. She stood over his shoulder, nodding. Anxiety radiated from her, making his skin crawl.
Latest sighting had been over Las Vegas. In an odd turn of events, an Augment had escaped. With the power intermittent in Vegas and his own operatives lying low, Eric didn't have much else to go on. Searching back through satellite images didn't offer anything at first until he stumbled across an inconsistency.
"Huh." Chroma would have seen this in seconds. One evening, the Sphinx at the Luxor had been happily smiling, the next, he'd been decapitated. "Looks like there was a fight a day ago. You just talked to him?"
She nodded.
"Good, then he survived whatever the hell that was." He kept scanning. "No other sightings. I might have to head to the office where I can spread out my work some."
"Keep looking." She spoke, and her voice sounded edged. Precise and honed, this wasn't the type of cut you'd notice until the blood flowed. "Find out where he's going."
Eric kept looking.
He didn't know how long the search took. Seemed like hours and the floor of the gym took on a clammy feel. No longer moving, the sweat he wore became an icy layer, and he shivered as he navigated through his sources, frequently pulling his hands away from the keyboard to blow smoky breaths into them. Stopping, even to turn the heat back on, wasn't an option.
He had been given a mission by Mrs. H. At one time he'd been given them by Crimson, and he was responsible for the loss, responsible for the collapse of any hope at a happy home. He had to find the answer. Not only did he need to find out where Spencer was, but he needed to find out why Spencer was worried. Spencer shouldn't worry, or have been left alone for so long. My baby...
Fingers numb, lips blue, Eric wanted to leave the room, but he knew he had to find an answer first. He was desperate. He and Chroma had done some probing around Nanomech but come up empty. With so many other fronts in the battle, they'd often talked about leaving that one alone. What could he possibly find there? It didn't matter, he
would look there because that's where her boy had been when they spoke. He would search every possible connection. Every packet of data.
Then he saw it.
Furtive, hidden, Charlotte made all kinds of inexplicable connections and outbound packets in her quirky forays to shore up the Collective. This one reeked of intentional secrecy meant to be hidden even from Eric's eyes.
Chroma had talked to Spence. In the communication, she'd sent him a few cryptic responses and given him an open connection to the security feeds at The Collective's cell phone plant in Shandong. He skimmed the information.
"Fuck me."
“What is it? Tell me.”
"Chroma showed him the destruction at the warehouse and edited the feed. He thinks Vulkan did it and there's something about Hound. He's looking for Hound."
“Why would she do that?”
Eric shivered. His fingers hurt, stabbing at the keys like fleshless nubs. That's right, he'd been cold. He was cold. He opened up the heating vents full blast.
“WHY?”
Mrs. H stood at his shoulder, her eyes living mercury and breath steaming from her mouth. Blue and splotched, she didn't seem to notice her own discomfort, her gaze fixed on the laptop screen.
"Chill...err have seat. I need..."
“TIME, ERIC. YOU DON'T HAVE TIME. THE HELICOPTER WILL BE HERE ANY MINUTE!”
They had a whole day, didn't they? She was shouting in his head, and it hurt as if she'd peeled back his skull and pounded his brain like a mochi street vendor in Japan with their wooden mallets. Eric cringed and let out a moan as he returned his shaking hands to the keys. He wanted to tell her they had plenty of time. But he couldn't argue, only search.
Hound and Danger had both disappeared from prison months ago. Eric had them leaving with a spook, that he knew for sure. But as much as the U.S. intelligence networks leaked, he'd not seen a damn thing about where they'd ended up. Danger, if he didn't want to be found, wouldn't. Galadriel here though, drunk on her psychic power, wasn't about to take that for an answer. He needed a new angle of attack, one of those asymmetric leaps Chroma might make.