by J. L. Curtis
Ivan laughed, “No need, I can see your eyes.”
***
After lunch at the local café, Mikhail and Fargo met the other three technicians at Ivan’s office. Mike Hartwell was bald, sunburned and middle aged; Jean Gauntt was the only female, compact, dark haired, looking tired, and very quiet; William Beamon was the oldest, lanky and grey haired, he carried a well-worn pistol in an even more worn holster on his hip.
After introductions, Mikhail got down to business, “Ivan is the scrambler on?” Ivan nodded and Mikhail asked, “Okay, you’ve indicated problems at a couple of sites, but you never gave any indication of the cause, so fill us in.”
The four technicians looked at each other, finally William said, “Well, I’ve got Herd Beasts eating the cables out at site three. It kills them when they bite through, but that ain’t stoppin’ them.”
Mikhail and Fargo looked at each other, “Eating the cables?”
William stood, “I’ll be right back. Brought a sample in. Five minutes later he returned, a chunk of cable in his hand. The room started to smell almost immediately and Mikhail looked at the cable, “What the hell? Did the Herd Beast eat this?”
William replied, “Nope, it’s the covering. It’s called rubber. We started using it to protect the cables in the ground run from the power station to the feeder.”
Fargo sniffed the cable, “Smells like a dead Slashgator. I wonder if that’s an attractant?”
Mikhail said, “Okay, get this out of here,” handing the piece of cable to William, “Why are we using, what, rubber? When we did the initial design, all of the cabling was raised above ground at least ten feet.”
Ivan and Mike both tried to answer, and Mikhail pointed to Mike, “Somebody is stealing all the stanchions. The last six months, I’ve had three stolen from three stations and they even tried to steal the fusion unit, too!”
“Who is they?”
Mike shrugged, “Don’t know. They’re wearing camo and masks. By the time I can get the cops to respond, they are long gone.”
Mikhail looked around at the others, “Who else?”
Jean said quietly, “I’m having problems at site six. They’re cutting cables too, another one last night.”
Fargo asked, “What does site six support?”
Jean looked at Ivan, “The table work?” Ivan nodded and she brought up the holo, “See, here is site six,” she tapped a key and one group of lines began flashing, “Here is the routing to all the subfeeders.” Pointing to the westernmost cables, she said, “They’ve cut these three times, all in different places. Last night was right at the subfeeder.” She pulled up a holovid of three indistinguishable human shapes wrapping something around a cable, pulling something, and running away. Seconds later there was a flash of an explosion, and arcing from the cut end of the cable until the preventers cut in.
Fargo said, “That’s military explosive cutter cable. That stuff is restricted as hell. How the devil?”
She expanded the holo and another set of lines began blinking, “They feed down into the central valley, the GalPat base, and the local cop shop, along with the armory.”
Fargo looked sharply at Mikhail, “Any thefts or anything else?”
Jean looked uncomfortable, “Well, there was some stuff painted on the armory, and a break-in last month. They got a case of cutter cable, and two cases of shaped charges.”
Mikhail took control of the meeting, “Okay, folks. Time to lay it on the line. What the hell is going on out here?”
Ivan looked at the other techs, including William, who’d finally returned, “Mikhail, there appears to be some kind of underground movement on Endine. Nobody is sure who is a member, or what they want, other than to be rid of the GalPat troops and their local toadies. Every one of us has had cables cut to subfeeders that support anything cops or government.”
“What about the rest of the people on those subfeeders? There are thousands of sites off each subfeeder!”
“They, whoever they are, don’t care. There have been four, maybe five hundred deaths because of it. The government is covering it up, saying it’s just malfunctions.”
Mikhail leaned back in his chair, “So what you’re saying is we are under attack?”
Again, the techs looked back and forth, Ivan finally nodded, “We think so. But there wasn’t any way to tell you outright. They’re censoring outgoing messages.”
Fargo got up and went to his and Mikhail’s bags, pulling out soft vests and inserting hard plates, “Mikhail, put this on, now.” Fargo quickly slipped his shipsuit down and put his vest on, pulled his shipsuit back up, and wiggled around until he was satisfied. He reached into his pistol case, pulled it out, loaded it and slipped the pistol and holster onto his belt.
Looking at the techs, he asked, “Do y’all have protection?”
Mike nodded and tapped his chest. Fargo heard the tunk of a knuckle rapping on a hard plate, “Every day, all day.”
***
Three hours later, Mikhail had a good picture of the real problems, and Fargo had started pacing like a caged animal, extending his empathic senses as far as they would go, prowling from the front to the back to the front of the office.
Mikhail rubbed his face, “Well, the only thing I can do is take this to the GalPat commander, and ask for help. There isn’t a lot we can do between the six of us. William, somehow get the cables back up, I don’t care how, but get them up, and strip that, that rubber off. Stop using it. It’s got to be attracting them.”
Mikhail punched a comm code into the table, staring at it blindly, as he waited for the GalPat HQ to answer. After six buzzes, it finally clicked to a visual of a bored male with the GalPat logo behind him, “GalPat HQ Endine, Sergeant Martin, duty communications, this is an unsecure circuit, may I help you sir or ma’am?”
“Sergeant, My name is Mikhail Radovich, I am the Tight Bridge Technologies manager for this star system. I am currently in Capital City meeting with our local technicians, and have been advised of sabotage on our equipment. I need an immediate meeting with the most senior GalPat officer I can see concerning security issues with our equipment and systems.”
“Standby, sir.” A hold screen popped up, the GalPat anthem playing softly over the speaker until the sergeant came back on, “Sir, the colonel, Colonel Zhu, can see you at sixteen. Please come to the south gate and present your identification.”
Mikhail glanced at his wrist comp, “We, myself and my assistant, will be there. Thank you.”
The sergeant replied, “Roger that. GalPat clear.”
Mikhail turned to Fargo, “That gives us two hours.”
Fargo looked at Ivan, “What’s the safest way to get from here to there?”
Ivan shrugged, “Me driving you. The streets are tricky if you don’t know your way around here.” Pulling up a holo of Captial City, he showed them the route he would take.
Fargo mulled it over and nodded, “Okay, best of a bad lot, but you’re the local expert.”
Mikhail said, “Let’s finish up here, then head over. I’d rather be early than late.”
About the Author-
JL Curtis was born in Louisiana in 1951 and was raised in the Ark-La-Tex area. He began his education with guns at age eight with a SAA and a Grandfather that had carried one for ‘work’. He began competitive shooting in the 1970s, an interest he still pursues, time permitting. He is a retired Naval Flight Officer, having spent 22 years serving his country, an NRA instructor, and a newly retired engineer who escaped the defense industry. He lives in North Texas and is now writing full time.
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[1] While we live, let us live.
[2] Intercom
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