Unknown

by Microsoft Office User

  “You don't think we'll have enough lead time?”

  “No, I don't. New Terra would have to rendezvous, gather up the crew and escape Andorran before the PAC shuttle arrives.”

  Adam curled his lips. “Then Janise has to be successful. It's as basic as that.”

  “It might be advisable to warn Andorran. Just so they'll know who to expect and who not to allow into their landing bay.”

  “Yes. But not until we have something to warn them about. We'll have enough time to see what happens on Barbados. If we encounter the worst case, then we'll send a warning. We just transmitted our greeting. Let's give them a chance to absorb it. They're going to need some time to deal with all of this.”

  “That's reasonable. I'll instruct our people on how to proceed. As for the other matter ...”

  Adam shifted uneasily and ran both hands back through his very long, thick gray strands.

  “Sam. My god, I don't know what to think. Dammit, Rand, we both saw something was wrong with the man. But we procrastinated. We made excuses for him. We chalked it up to subterranean stress. I'm afraid of what I might hear, Rand.”

  He turned to face his best friend. “How far does it go? Did he simply lose control of his senses, or has he been collaborating with the PAC? Are we dealing with a single madman, or should I order our people to brace for an attack by the Front Guard?”

  “Only Sam can tell us. Just keep your temper in check, and I'll join you in a few minutes,” Rand assured him.

  It wasn't so much his temper as it was his other emotions that most worried Adam at this moment. Fear was chief among them.

  The growing despondency that grabbed hold of him shortly after Janise's departure twisted into something more clearly defined: a foreboding of great loss. His chest was tight; soreness near his heart.

  And suddenly, everything seemed beyond his control.

  51

  T

  he Sprint was vibrating hard as it sprinted a handful of meters above the dense jungle floor and emerged leeward of Mount Hillaby, less than 40 seconds from landing.

  “We're getting hard downdrafts,” Greg Mickelsby shouted over the rattles and buckling of the weapons racks and forward auto-flight controls. “Nothing out of the ordinary. We'll hold up fine!”

  Janise was not concerned about being brought down prematurely by wind shear. “Lock and load and prepare to move tail!”

  As she barked orders, the Strategic Vioptrics Fields that enveloped them for the duration retracted, the mechanical arms swallowed into the main units. Their seats simultaneously reclined up to 70 degrees, and black appendages rolled up from beneath the seats. Hooks gyrated to arm level and handed weapons to the six soldiers. Schnelling guns, sidearms and laser-mallet launchers.

  “20 seconds!” Mickelsby announced. “She's looking good!”

  “Engage trigger loads on the SCH's, fire up turbine locks in the launchers and confirm heat window,” Janise told her unit. “We don't want to go in there hot.”

  The hooks also provided battle helmets – they were sleek and black, the face shield equipped with full night-vision capability and the interface displays in the forward collar unit jammed with comm and viop supports.

  When her helmet was locked into the collar brace, and less than 10 seconds before landing, Janise turned to her unit. “I want a tactical spread as soon you're out. Engage barrier scans at once.”

  The Sprint buckled sharply, then set down quickly and with a thud. The vehicle's sides separated, retracting out and up.

  They leaped out, three to a side, and when they cleared the Sprint by 20 meters, they dove headlong into the dense jungle foliage, Schnelling guns aimed.

  “Listen up!” Janise barked over the internal comm. “Keep part of one eye on your barrier scans at all times. If you detect an enemy sweep in the vicinity, engage immediate countermeasures and adjust your tactical heading. And remember, if a monkey suddenly comes tearing out of the jungle at you, don't shoot! If we're going to be made, let it happen after we reach the base. Move out!”

  They moved swiftly through surprisingly little underbrush, but the majesty of tall tropical wonders could be seen through the night vision. Poinciana trees, mahogany, cabbage palms reaching toward the night sky. Even through her helmet, Janise smelled the seductive aroma of frangipani all around.

  To her left flank, Jeffrey Lange was keeping pace, his gun swaying back and forth as he advanced. To her right flank, Greg Mickelsby was looking up, not watching where he was going.

  “Sir,” Mickelsby said over the comm. “Do you hear it?”

  Indeed she did. It was the echo of whistling. But it was a sound not produced through human lips; rather, this was a chorus in harmony, and it filtered through the tropical forest.

  “Tree frogs, Mickelsby. You mean you've never heard them in Dakota?”

  He laughed, and Janise had to smile. She was surprised to find a sense of humor at a moment such as this.

  “Watch your footing over there, Mickelsby. The side of the mountain is terraced in places, and this could get very dicey.”

  “Yes, sir!”

  Janise studied the layout of the island directly ahead of her unit. The viop support within her helmet reflected data against a corner of the face shield, the hologram not much smaller than what a Fountain would have provided. The land was, indeed, about to take a rather huge tumble, and the trek down toward the PAC base would require care. And yet, she knew time was not their aide. Moreover, their support unit – the crew of Dance2 – was likely in position less than a kilometer west of the facility now, readying to engage a portion of the PAC's ground security. It would be essential the 12 of them be on the same page of this script at the moment of the attack.

  “Dance1 to Dance2, do you copy?”

  “We copy, Dance1. What is your status, Captain?”

  “Advancing to northern perimeter. Estimated time to engagement at 15 minutes. What are you showing on your barrier scans?”

  “We're all clear, Captain. Establishing a diamond cutter formation to engage the enemy on your mark.”

  “Copy that, Dance2.”

  Janise knew she was taking an enormous gamble by using Dance2 as a diversionary squad.

  The Front Guard utilized a traditional diamond formation when assigning ground troops to the defense of any PAC facility. The formation involved the disbursement of virtually all troops within line of sight at the four corners of the diamond, with a handful of “lures” placed in the otherwise defenseless open regions between the corners. The basic philosophy was that an enemy would attempt to penetrate through the least-defended windows, and as it did so, the Front Guard, with its remarkable reaction time, would flank the enemy on both sides, trapping it within sight of its target.

  Janise decided to put this philosophy to the test. If Dance2 successfully penetrated the facility's western grid and drew in forces from both the northwestern and southwestern quadrants, a wide window of vulnerability should open along the northern perimeter – easily enough to allow her soldiers to reach the pylons operating the fry wall and disengage them before facing an all-out confrontation.

  But in no way was Janise going to use Dance2 as a sacrificial lamb in this mission. She thought of the surprises the Guard would face as it neared Dance2's position, and she smiled.

  Footing was indeed tricky as they advanced, and at least twice, Janise found herself on her back, sliding about 15 feet where the hillside suddenly terraced. But neither Mickelsby nor Lange ever left her line of sight. The other three soldiers of Dance1 completed their course back around and joined their comrades.

  They pushed hard through a stand of saw grass, and finally emerged at the edge of a terrace that more resembled a small cliff, its drop easily 30 meters. Janise sighed as she studied what was now clearly visible, less than 200 meters from the terrace.

  It was like a bubble of light arising out of the pitch of night, and it spread only to the tree level
in the middle of this jungle.

  “Target sited,” Janise said. “Soldiers, keep an eye on those scans. It's time to see what destiny is all about.”

  52

  S

  am Raymonds was the first prisoner of Second Sunrise. As such, there was no jail, no holding cell. A stroke of improvisation led Sam under heavy guard into the war room. And there he sat, stifled by electronic hand and leg cuffs.

  Adam could hardly conceive of what he stared upon as he entered the war room, and after a silent few seconds, turned to the guard who stood poised inside the entryway.

  “Release the cuffs, Tom.”

  The young uptech who had been cast unceremoniously into the role of a security officer gave an immediate objection.

  “But he's been quite violent, sir. I don't think ...”

  “No, Tom, I'll be fine. You're here, and there are two others outside. He's not going to challenge all those blast guns. Are you, Sam?”

  The traitor sat quietly, one of his eyes hemmed in by a black-and-green bruise courtesy of a right cross from Stephen Kreveld. Blood that dribbled from his torn lower lip was congealing and drying along his chin.

  The guard stepped forward, targeted a small hand cylinder toward the cuffs, and their displays transposed from red to green.

  “We found those cuffs when Rand and I first arrived here,” Adam said. “We never thought we'd have to use them, but we weren't so naive as to throw them out. It's good to see they still work after more than a century.”

  Sam manually released the cuffs by pressing on a tab at the cross-link point, and they fell away. He reshuffled his body, but he didn't stand up.

  “Why, Sam?” Adam reclined against the edge of the conference table. “Tell me everything. Why did you do this? What were your plans? Who else is involved?”

  Sam did not look up, but his lips moved.

  Adam tilted his head to his side as he asked, “What, Sam? What's that?”

  “Meaningless,” Sam said, this time barely above a mumble. “All meaningless. Everything takes care of itself in its own way.” And then he smiled broadly, reopened the wound on his bottom lip. “Or in its own time.”

  “I'm not here to listen to meanderings, Sam. Get to your point!”

  “I don't have one. I thought you did.”

  Adam told himself not to get exasperated, and he refocused before his next words.

  “Fine, Sam. Let's begin with what you told George and Stephen. You said you were going to take them to the AFD. What were you going to find there? Is the PAC waiting for you, Sam?”

  This time, the traitor looked directly into Adam's eyes, and as a clearly defined lump tumbled down his throat, he stood up and straightened his bodysuit.

  “Now that is the key point, isn't it, Adam? Once you have an answer to that, everything else will fall into place.”

  “Just answer my ...”

  “Your questions. Yes, your inane attempt at probing questions. I think you want to know if I'm in league with the PAC or if I simply went nuts all on my own. I think you're praying it's the latter. Then again, maybe it's both. Maybe I'm a raving madman and a double agent for the PAC! How will you be able to tell, Adam?”

  Sam began to pace, but he did so with his hands behind his back, taking much the pose of an inquisitor rather than a prisoner.

  Adam’s tolerance of the man was slipping, and he was sorely tempted to blacken the traitor's sole remaining healthy eye.

  “You're not insane,” Adam replied. “You've been planning something like this for weeks. A month, at the very least. We thought maybe it was stress, the kind we all get, the ...”

  A loud bellowing laugh bounced off the walls of the war room, and Sam was smiling, his cheeks rosy, as he turned to his captor. “Oh, I've been stressed, Adam. No question about that. But it has nothing to do with living inside this fucking mountain! Hell, I could live on the ocean floor if it came to that. A man could live anywhere so long as the rest of his life was tolerable. So long as the people around him were ...”

  Sam rubbed his lips together, and the blood was briefly wiped away, sucked into his mouth. “So long as the people were competent human beings with vision, and understanding, and courage. So long as the people around him gave him just the slightest bit of hope.”

  “What in the name of the universe are you running on about, Sam? Simply answer my questions. They are direct, and I expect an answer. Damn you!”

  He surged toward the traitor, arms raising to his sides, and his target stood in silence as he rushed forward. But a voice from inside the entryway halted his advance.

  “Adam, no.”

  Rand had one hand of restraint on the young uptech, and his other outstretched. “Calm down.”

  Adam pulled back, and Sam did not take advantage of the opportunity to leap up from behind his commander.

  Adam and Rand huddled.

  “We just completed a full sweep of his quarters,” Rand whispered. “Every micromillimeter. We found nothing. Has he opened up to you?”

  “No, he's rambling.”

  “Then if he has been working with the PAC, there's no evidence of it here. But what frightens me is that he was our primary recruiter. He could have set everything into motion during his field trips. And since he worked for one of the PAC's Subgroup providers before he came to us, well, he'd certainly have some contacts on the outside.”

  “Indeed, he would,” Adam nodded, and his eyes bulged. “If he's gone over the edge – a man alone in this – then it's over. We're safe. Hardly seems a point to covering that ground, does there?”

  The founder of Second Sunrise turned to his prisoner and offered a blank stare.

  “Sam! We know you're working with the PAC. But your role is finished, and you have the opportunity to turn this around. Now this is what I want you to do. If all the friends you have made inside this mountain in the past 11 years mean anything at all to you, then it is your obligation to give us every detail you can regarding names, places and dates. Tell us everything you have done, and what the PAC is planning for us next.”

  Sam offered a nonchalant smirk.

  “You make a lot of assumptions in your bluff,” he told Adam. “My role. The PAC's role. The past. The present. The future. Good friends. Intolerable idiots.” He tapped gently at the corner of his bruised left eye. “Idiots! Especially Kreveld. Him I hate most of all. But, since you asked, perhaps the best place to start is at the beginning. After all, you bloody well can't get to Point B unless there's a Point A.”

  Adam thought of asking the guard to restore the handcuffs, as Sam was getting more demonstrative with each rambling pronouncement. But he restrained himself and allowed the traitor to continue.

  “Well, let's see where to start. Oh, yes! Twenty years ago might be a good time. That was a very big year, wasn't it, Adam?”

  The Second Sunrise leader flinched at the instant recall of 2124, easily the most devastating 12 months of his life.

  “At the time,” Sam continued, “I was quite disenchanted with my job. As you know, I was a loyal employee of the PAC even before Inauguration Day. At least, that's what my supervisors thought. But I was actually quite a clever little bastard. I was making more progress in undermining the PAC than Second Sunrise has made in the past 19 years.”

  Adam and Rand shared a confusing glance, and Sam smiled. “Oh, yes. I must have forgotten to tell you what I actually did for the PAC. You see, I was a bit more than a systems designer for a Subgroup provider. I was assigned to a research pod linked to the nanotech division of the PAC's R&D wing. And guess, Adam, what I was able to discover all on my own?”

  Words came just shy of Adam's lips, but he didn't speak, uncertain that he could trust anything coming out of this man's mouth.

  “I discovered the hit list for the final stage of the Arvas project.”

  “No,” Adam whispered.

  “Yes, indeed. I was quite shocked, actually. I couldn't spoo
l the data into a usable format, but I had a few contacts underground and, well, they brought me in! So the first thing we did was attempt to warn all those on the hit list. Oh, Adam. Your wife didn't have to die, you know. It could have been so easily prevented.”

  “What? What in the hell are you saying?”

  “If you had not been such a coward, she might still be with us.”

  Adam marched toward the traitor, and Rand raced to hold him back. “What are you getting at, Raymonds? What kind of manure is this?”

  “I understand that was a difficult time for you and your wife. She wanted to go underground, but you had a nice job and plenty of liquor to keep you pacified. But you remember what happened on May 17, don’t you, Adam? That little note you found under your door? If you had only done what we instructed, everything would have worked out. We were there, but you were nowhere to be found! Running, running, running! A coward always to the end.”

  That terrifying moment chased through Adam's mind, and he remembered opening the note, reading it dozens of time then finally confronting Marte – but only hours later, once he got past his mental paralysis. The words of the note were forever etched within him, and he was in shock as Sam Raymonds repeated them verbatim:

  “Final targets have been established. Arvas project nearing conclusion of first phase. Death will find your wife unless she runs. We can protect you.”

  Adam was cold, but Sam was smiling. He was smug.

  “You stupid son of a bitch,” the traitor said flatly. “I was trying to save her life, and you ended it!”

  53

  T

  hey crouched as they drew within 75 meters of the PAC facility, the underbrush much thicker toward the base of Mount Hillaby. Janise took a stance behind a cabbage palm and studied the viop support inside her helmet.

  “Register positions and mark,” she told the computer. “Present full tactical.”

  A multidimensional grid filled her face shield in reds and whites, and Janise studied the layout of what she knew would soon become a battleground. The grid overlaid the positions of her 11 men and women. Dance2 moved into its diamond-cutter mode.