by Joe Peacock
apparently Poet had seen this sort of thing before: experimental camouflage that turned the wearer invisible to the naked eye and even blocked body heat...to a point.
"Thought of everything, huh?" Marlowe asked.
“Shit!” Jacobs said, punching the dashboard in frustration. “We’ve been compromised…JAQi, notify Team Raven and tell them to divert to… oh shit. Where are we going to go?”
“We’ll have to go straight to HQ,” Angel said.
“And where’s that?" Marlowe asked.
“Indianapolis."
"The capital!?!" Marlowe said with a laugh. "This just gets better and better!"
“Not gonna happen,” Poet stated. “This vehicle is pre-war. We’ve got maybe four hours’ range, max. We’d need to stop and recharge at least twice.”
"I have to hand it to you, Private First Class," Marlowe said, "You certainly masterminded one hell of a clusterfuck."
“Hey, we busted you out of a highly secured prison transport!” Jacobs responded. "We saved your ass! The least you could do is be thankful!"
"Thankful?" Marlowe asked. "All you've done is ensure that the entire country now believes without a doubt that I'm a traitor! And you put huge targets on your own heads! Hell, you were going to broadcast our entire trip to this supposed safehouse, and for what? Some FeedMeter rank?"
"Well, yeah," Jacobs replied. "It's part of the plan--"
"WHAT plan?!?" Marlowe yelled.
"The Judge's plan," Angel said from beside her.
"Who the hell is The Judge?" Marlowe asked. Before anyone could answer, she continued ranting. "It doesn't even matter. When -- not if, but WHEN -- we get caught, you can install FeedMeter to measure the Feed views for your execution! I'm sure you'll break your ten million viewer record! You won't even need me. You'll ACTUALLY be famous on your own!"
Jacobs slunk into his seat. He folded his arms over his chest and pouted. Angel leaned her head against the window and sighed. Marlowe shook her head and laughed.
"Well, let's not get caught, then," Poet said. "I have an idea."
"Great! An idea! That'll save us," Marlowe said. "And what do you have in mind? Drive us to the Super Bowl and put me in as quarterback? I'm sure the nation would love seeing me suit up again! I can see the headlines now: 'Aug Cheater and Traitor Marlowe Kana: Super Bowl MVP!' Let's just remind everyone why they should hate me even more."
"The EV plant," Poet replied.
Marlowe was about to reflexively retort, but caught herself. She thought for a moment. “Huh…” She said as her tension subsided. She nodded. "Yeah, that's actually a good idea. Damn, at least one of you thinks like a soldier."
"He's not even a soldier," Jacobs said. "And why the hell would we go to the water treatment facilities?"
"The evaporators throw out huge radio interference from the turbines, and the heat from the steam engines would mask thermal," Poet explained. "No one could scan for us."
"What he said," Marlowe said. "And if he's not a soldier, what is he?"
"I'm just a street rat from the Subs who has become a believer in the Sovereign," Poet answered.
Marlowe's eyes narrowed. "The Sovereign?" she asked.
"Let's just say we're a group who believes your story," Jacobs replied.
Angel looked over at Marlowe and nodded. Poet gave a thumbs up from behind the wheel.
“Fuck me,” Marlowe said, shaking her head. “I am being rescued by my fan club.”
Like a dysfunctional family on the road trip to hell, Marlowe, Poet, Jacobs, and Angel made the rest of the journey southeast to the water evaporation facilities in disgruntled silence. Jacobs stewed silently in embarrassment. Angel was carefully watching every car, drone, and pedestrian for signs that the group's cover may have been blown. Poet was focused on driving as normally as possible. And Marlowe? She was just plain tired.
She was just drifting off when a loud rumble emanated from under the vehicle -- the sound of wheels on gravel. They had arrived.
5. Off The Cuff
If habits die hard, training is damn near immortal. And Marlowe's training engaged the moment they arrived at the EV plant. As soon as Poet turned onto the long gravel access road, she went to work assessing the situation.
"Slow down," she ordered. "This is gravel. Keep the noise to a minimum. And kill the damn headlights."
Poet complied, and the vehicle slowly wound down the dark driveway through a dense grove of "beautifying" artificial pine trees that obscured the plant from street-level view. They approached a locked gate in the middle of a tall chain-link fence topped with razor wire, spanning nearly half a mile in either direction. The glow of what was left of the moon, combined with a single pole-mounted omnidirectional light, illuminated the area around the gate. A sign on the chain link entryway warned that the barrier was electrified, and that the current was sufficiently strong to turn a small stick figure man on the left side of the sign into a pile of ashes on the right. Billowing clouds of steam rose from stacks that towered above the operations complex in the distance. About a hundred yards from the gate was a small concrete shed.
Poet brought the vehicle to a full stop. Before anyone could say anything, he hopped out of the vehicle and approached the gate. Poet's entire childhood had been spent finding ways around old security systems in the Subs to “liberate” old items to sell for credits. And the older he got, the more silent and speedier he became. The group watched as he fumbled with the padlock holding the entrance fixed, waiting with bated breath for him to become a hunk of cooked meat. He pushed the gate open and returned to the vehicle.
"The sign said the fence was electrified," Jacobs said. "How'd you know it wasn't?"
"The fence is hot, but the gate can't be electrified," He replied as he entered the driver’s side door. "Too risky for the utility vehicles. And besides, it's free-standing. Doesn't actually connect to the fence."
"Huh," Jacobs said. "Been here before, I take it?"
Poet replied with a shrug and a smile. He put the car in drive and pulled it through the gateway, immediately turned right, and drove across a small patch of concrete to the tree line where several rusty out-of-service utility vehicles were parked. He pulled alongside the farthest one from the gate, parked the car, and killed the engine.
"Okay, here we go," Marlowe barked. "The plant itself is covered in surveillance, but that utility shed on the east side looks promising. We don't have coms, so we're going to have to rely on signals. Everyone good with that?"
"I don't need coms...I've got this," Angel said, patting the scope of her rifle.
"Outstanding," said Marlowe. "Find high ground and provide overwatch. Poet, I'm guessing from your work on the gate that you're pretty handy with locks."
"One of my many specialties," he answered.
"Great. Once we get the all-clear, you'll find us a way in. Jacobs, you're on perimeter."
"What the..." Jacobs said in disbelief. "Who the hell put you in charge?"
"You did," Marlowe said, cocking her head and narrowing her eyes, "When you broke me out of the prison transport."
"I've got tactical command on this op!" Jacobs argued.
"You made a house directly tied to you our safehouse," Marlowe replied. "You suck. I'm taking over."
"How are you going to lead us?" He asked. "You're in shackles! You can't even walk without our help!"
"Well, that disqualifies me from doing the perimeter sweep, doesn't it? I guess that makes it your job." She nodded her head sideways as she said, “Get to it.”
Jacobs gritted his teeth. He was beginning to understand the old adage of why you should never meet your heroes. "Fine," he said, "But I'm not doing this because you're in charge. I'm doing it because it's the smart thing to do."
"Of course," Marlowe said dismissively. "Now go do it."
Jacobs was so angry he missed the handle trying to open the car door. He was more successful on the second attempt, opening the door wi
th a huff and slamming it shut behind him in aggravation.
"Christ...has that boy ever heard of covert ops?" Marlowe asked the group.
Poet chuckled. Angel simply opened her door, slid out of it, and stayed low as she began her search for high ground.
"Our turn," Marlowe said to Poet. "Let's find cover."
Poet nodded, and then exited, moving to the rear to help Marlowe from the car. Together they moved to an outcropping of trees a few yards ahead of the vehicle.
"Okay, so what the hell is all this?" Marlowe whispered to Poet as they laid low. "Who are you people?” She looked Poet up and down, and followed up with, "And what the hell are you wearing?"
Poet chuckled. “This?” he asked, tugging at the material on his sleeve, which was patterned in strange squares that slightly resembled faces. “I made it myself. I call it V-Dazzle. It’s a digi-camo that tricks cameras into thinking there’s a thousand faces…screws with facial recognition.”
“Huh…” Marlowe said, taking a closer look. “Looks like a bunch of square smileys.”
“Yep,” Poet replied, “And it works, too. For now, anyway. And as for who we are and what we’re about, The Judge will be able to explain it better than
