Uroboros Saga Book 1

by Arthur Walker

  “Because we are tailored lifeforms and we’ll all get sent back to the Factory for ‘reprogramming’ if we don’t?” Calvin One growled.

  “No, because no human has what it takes to do what we Drones do,” Ezra One said, holding his tiny hand up for a high five.

  He wasn’t left hanging. They all took great pride in what they did and knew that they often did things that humanity couldn’t because of their unique physiology and resistance to stress. In spite of Calvin One being a perpetual rain cloud about the whole thing, this would be one more chance to help humanity and keep innocent people safe.

  “Was there anything on the BBC about these armed revolts? How are they armed exactly, and what sort of tactics do they employ?” Ezra One asked.

  “No, and you’d think we would have gotten better intel before being dropped in. It’s all been pretty last minute and haphazard. Didn’t even get the standard on-screen briefing or anything,” Athos One replied.

  “I’m just glad we have one pygmy among us. Most of the other teams don’t have a scout,” Calvin One said, gesturing to Ezra One.

  “Hey, did Calvin just look for a silver lining? Those therapy tapes from the Factory must be working at last?” Athos One joked.

  “He might be more cheerful if you’d quit picking on him,” Ezra One said, performing a final weapons check.

  “Yeah, but what fun would that be?” Athos One laughed.

  Ezra put his hand up to cover his earbud and listened intently.

  “Make sure your cowls are up and you’ve got your long coats on. We’ll be making a night drop and moving to intercept the armed insurgents. We are clear to kill and green-lit for lethal ammunition, this sounds pretty serious,” Ezra One said, turning to the rest of the squad.

  “Chelsea Six, you getting any sort of feeling from the ground?” Athos One said, turning to the squad’s psychic.

  “We’re still in Earth’s atmosphere, but I do have a bad feeling about this whole thing,” Chelsea Six replied, holding her hands up to her temples.

  “Suggested course of action?” Ezra One asked, unhooking his restraints.

  “We should kill the relay on board our drop vessel,” Chelsea Six replied hesitantly.

  The Drones in the squad froze knowing what that likely meant. The Central Global Government was going to disavow whatever they were about to do and would likely use the relay to shut their weapons down. It would make it easier for them to be rounded up and sent back to the Factory in the aftermath.

  “I’ll do it,” Calvin One said, unhooking his restraints.

  “You sure?” Ezra One whispered, putting his tiny hand on Calvin One’s arm.

  “Yeah,” Calvin One replied. He hit the button to open the airlock separating the squad row from the rest of the ship.

  The ship was completely empty, kept in the air by a sophisticated autopilot. Calvin One took off his boots before continuing down the corridor to where the ship’s onboard systems were mounted off to one side. He took a deep breath, reached over and put his powerfully clawed hand on the ship’s relay system that governed communications to the squad, their tactical harnesses, and weapons.

  “Unauthorized personnel accessing systems, deploying countermeasures,” an automated voice sounded over the transport’s intercom.

  The relay made a crackling plastic sound and the stink of burning circuits as Calvin One crushed it with his hand. The indicator lights on his tactical harness went from green to red as it flooded his body with a powerful toxin that paralyzed him. He fell to the floor feeling the toxin work its way to his lungs and organs.

  Ezra One did his best to comfort Chelsea Six, but she could empathically feel every sensation that Calvin One felt as he died. The rest of the Drones in the squad just lowered their heads and looked down at their own tactical harnesses. The indicator lights flickered and went dark in time with Calvin One’s eyes.

  “Harnesses off,” Ezra ordered, gritting his teeth.

  The squad took their tactical harnesses off putting their gear into pockets or tucked inside their ballistic vests. Ezra went out and got Calvin One’s body and dragged it back into the squad hold and strapped him in where he belonged. Suddenly, Ezra’s earbud squawked to life.

  “Drone Team 045, report, your relay just went dead,” said the automated system voice.

  “We are green, onboard malfunction. We are still clear to deploy,” Ezra One replied.

  “Acknowledged, clear to deploy,” the automated system voice replied.

  Ezra strapped himself back in as the turbulence began to get worse. The rest of the squad looked suitably morose at the loss of Calvin One. As much as he’d been teased, he was the only one besides Ezra willing to make that sacrifice. Athos One was particularly downcast, humbled by his teammate’s action.

  “We can feel bad later. Right now we’ve got a job to do. Let’s get down there, do what we came to do and try to avoid getting recycled,” Ezra One barked.

  The transport leveled out coming in smooth. There were no portholes and no way of knowing where they were. As the cabin began to depressurize, they could smell the ocean and the smog of a big city. They were on Earth now.

  The whole vehicle began to slow while losing altitude. It seemed to take forever, but eventually they could feel the telltale shift as the transport began making a silent decent. The hatch at the rear of the squad hold opened and the Drones began pouring out onto a rooftop, each giving Calvin One a gentle pat or squeeze as they went by.

  Ezra One dropped out last, his larger teammates gathering around as he pulled out his GPS enabled data slate and waited for intel. The tiny screen lit up with contact all along the streets to the north. They were in uptown, Port Montaigne in the United States. It was the last country Ezra One had anticipated having to confront armed insurgents.

  “Drone 045 requesting identity of insurgent force,” Ezra said, holding his hand up over his earbud.

  “Political dissidents unhappy with recent Global Labor Act. Central Global Government Trade Commission Building is their target,” the automated voice replied.

  Ezra motioned for his fellow Drones to follow him as he kicked in the roof access to the building. They sprinted down through the building to the access stairs and made their way to the street. They dimmed the indicators on their weapons and circled around to an alley adjoining the street. All they could see was what appeared to be a crowd of unarmed youths carrying signs, banging drums, and chanting.

  “Drone 045, negative contact. We’ve got civic uprising. There is no armed insurgency as indicated by GPS data, please advise,” Ezra One said, motioning for his squad to lower their weapons.

  “Ezra One, this is Captain Jameson. We are running a joint COIN operation with the CGG to disperse these youths, you are clear to fire,” a voice said coming over the radio.

  Ezra glanced down at his data slate, the captain’s authorization codes appearing on the screen.

  “Drone 045, negative,” Ezra One replied. “This is unarmed civil unrest, deploy local law enforcement or U.S. National Guard. Lethal force is not warranted.”

  “You’ve got your orders,” Captain Jameson replied.

  Ezra shut down the audio input on his communicator and turned to look back at the rest of the squad.

  “Chelsea Six, criminal motivations of the crowd. I know it’s a lot of people to try and read, but what do they intend to do?” Ezra One asked.

  “They are attempting to gather and protest some new law that has deprived them of fair access to employment,” Chelsea Six whispered, her psychic presence suddenly filling the alleyway. “There are kids as young as fifteen out there.”

  “You guys good with firing on a crowd of unarmed civilians?” Ezra One asked, already knowing the answer.

  “No way,” Athos One said, shaking his head along
with the rest of the squad.

  “Yeah, this isn’t Mars where a group of heavily armed convicts were trying to overthrow the Bureau of Wardens.”

  Ezra clicked audio input back on and shouldered his rifle.

  “Captain Jameson, this is Ezra One, we do not see an armed insurgency. We’ve zero contact and no target, please advise.” Ezra One motioned for the squad to assume a safe distance.

  “I’m watching you via satellite surveillance,” Captain Jameson replied. “You’re in the alley right next to where the insurgents are moving. I understand they don’t look dangerous, but merely containing them with the National Guard or the police won’t send the right message here. These are dangerous political dissidents, and you’ve got orders to fire on them. Comply with the orders or die.”

  “With all due respect, sir, you can kiss my pale, genetically tailored ass. We aren’t shooting a bunch of peaceful kids,” Ezra One replied defiantly.

  “We’ve already got CGG kill teams on site to open fire as soon as they reach the trade commission. You’re throwing your lives away for nothing,” Captain Jameson growled.

  “Not anymore we aren’t,” Ezra One said, shutting his communication gear down.

  The Drones in the squad looked relieved as Ezra took his headset off and put it in his rucksack.

  “Uh-oh,” Chelsea Six said, already knowing what Ezra One was about to do.

  “There are an unknown number of CGG wetworks teams standing by at the trade commission to fire on the crowd once they’ve assembled. I’m going to go to try to stop them. If you go back to the transport the worst that will happen is a trip back to the Factory for reprogramming. If you go with me, you’ll be running from Earth’s global government the rest of your lives,” Ezra said, readying his weapon and pulling his goggles on.

  “I’m with you,” Athos One replied grimly readying his weapon.

  “Won’t they just send a signal to shut our weapons down?” Chelsea Six asked.

  “We’re still on Martian Central spectrum and broadband, it’ll take hours assuming the Martian Government even obliges them,” Ezra replied. “I’ve already sent a transcript of my conversation with the general that should get there ahead of their request to shut us down.”

  The rest of the squad readied their weapons and dropped their goggles down over their eyes. They knew they would be facing elite and probably better equipped teams of humans already bent on killing anyone working against the CGG’s agenda. Some of them would die, but at their core they knew they were meant to do one thing, and one thing only: protect humanity.

  They would do this, even if it meant protecting humanity from itself.

  Ezra pressed around the corner as fast as his short legs would carry him, the rest of the Drones plodding along silently behind him. The kill team was just ahead taking up positions on balconies and behind planters using stealth enabled armor. Chelsea Six reached out with her mind guiding each of the Drones in the squad, helping them see where each of the kill team was hiding.

  “Contact!” Ezra whispered harshly, dropping to a firing position in the street just outside the alleyway.

  The squad responded with controlled burst fire focusing on one to three targets at a time per Chelsea’s direction. They worked like a single organism while the humans panicked and called out on their radios. They returned fire but mostly at the ghostly flickers of psychic fire Chelsea Six used to pollute their minds.

  Ezra ran over to one of the fallen CGG troopers and picked up his communicator. He looked at the display. He frowned and tossed the device to the ground sniffing the trooper’s clothing. Reaching into a pocket he produced a peanut bar and held it aloft like it was a trophy.

  “What do we do now?” Athos One asked.

  “There are four more of these teams arrayed around the Trade Commission, or on their way,” Ezra said sadly, taking a bite of the peanut bar and handing it off to the nearest Drone.

  “There’s no way we can stop them all,” Chelsea Six said sadly.

  “We have to try,” Athos One said, giving the fallen trooper a kick.

  “For Calvin One,” Ezra One said with a nod.

  “For Calvin One,” the other Drones replied.

  They sprinted for the trade commission just as the protesters could dimly be seen ten blocks away. Chelsea Six took the lead beside Ezra to help guide them to their targets faster. The street was clear of vehicles, planters or other sorts of cover. It looked as though the CGG had made the area more ideal for killing the protestors.

  “The kill teams are in fortified elevated positions,” Chelsea Six said, breathlessly. “We can get to one by doing a building entry but we wouldn’t be able to engage the others in time. If we engage from the street, we will be able to fire on more of them, but we’ll probably be cut down in the process.”

  “Athos One, take four of us and Chelsea to the building on the west side and perform a tactical entry,” Ezra One said, pointing to four of the best in the squad to follow Athos. “I will take the rest of the squad into the street and try and keep them busy while focusing our fire on the north and east.”

  “No, I’ll lead the street team. You’re better at close quarters fighting than I am and I’ve got better eyes,” Athos One said, stepping toward the street.

  “You’ll be killed,” Chelsea Six said, raising her goggles so she could wipe tears from her eyes.

  “There are two thousand people, mostly kids, counting on us. This is what I was created to do, die so they wouldn’t have to,” Athos One replied.

  Ezra One watched for a moment as his friends went and took up positions at the edge of the alleyway, then turned and motioned for the rest to follow him west.

  Chapter 10

  Downtown Port Montaigne - Alphadein Incorporated Facility

  5:27 PM, December 25th, 2199

  Ezra’s War Journal Part 1

  I’m not so good at telling stories. Nevertheless, I’ll do my best to recount what happened next.

  I could see them clearly as they went in and out of the transports. They were carrying Leopold Arms Eagle Class revolvers, each loaded with seven rounds of thirty-eight caliber. I’d fought the Collectors up and personal now, and suspected they had Seraphim Company combat armor under those rubber suits. My claws only seemed to reach them high on the neck or low on the wrists.

  We were about to pack it in when Taylor’s TI-201 mobile device beeped. She thumbed over to her mailbox on the screen and reported that Silverstein had made contact. She told me that he wanted to meet at the midtown docks near the fish market. Taylor and I talked strategy about the best way to make our way to the rally point.

  “Taylor, do you even know where that is?”

  “No, we’ll have to wing it.”

  “Can’t that mobile of yours pull up maps of the city?”

  “For uptown, yeah.”

  “Wow, that is just so handy for folks like us.”

  “Tell me about it.”

  We abandoned our surveillance of the Alphadein Incorporated facility to make our way toward the rally point in midtown. It required some asking of directions, and at least one veiled threat to one of the locals. We walked approximately eight miles to reach the base of midtown, overlooking the ocean.

  The Atlantic Ocean was beautiful. A few picture books and the National Geographic magazines at Dr. Helmet’s office I managed to look through did not do it justice. Taylor had to pull me away, or I’d have stared at it for hours. Sometimes I think I’d have made a better surveyor than a soldier.

  Midtown is a series of large concrete platforms adjoined by service elevators and staircases. People come up from downtown if they have the skill to make things while people from uptown come down to slum and look for cheap goods. It is a peaceful compromise between two distinctly different worlds filled
with music, color, and fish markets.

  The journey would have been quicker, but Taylor had to stop at every vendor who had anything remotely colorful. She stopped to consider scarves, inspect clay pots, and handle vintage records. I was pretty impatient to get going, until she bought me a hot dog.

  I had never had one before. It was a long cylinder of questionable meat, surrounded in a bread-like substance, and topped with all manner of squeezable garnish and chopped vegetables. If Drones typically had money for such things, one could make a mint selling them in the underground to be sure.

  I regretted not being able to eat the whole thing, but it wasn’t anything Taylor couldn’t remedy. She swallowed the remainder along with her own hot dog without missing a beat.

  “I’m certain you aren’t a robot.”

  “Why’s that, Ezra?”

  “You’re a garbage disposal.”

  She slugged me.

  When we arrived at the fish market, Silverstein was nowhere to be found. We found a spot in the market that was unoccupied and hopped up on the counter to sit. The market goers passed by slowly in time with my slowly waning patience.

  “When did he say to meet him here?”

  “As soon as we could. Want another hot dog?” Taylor replied looking about for a vendor.

  “Gods no, but he needs to hurry. It’ll be dark soon.”

  “Relax, take a deep breath, and enjoy the scenery. Sheesh.”

  That was the problem though. I couldn’t calm down, or relax, especially not around all these people. Any one of them could be a Collector agent, someone sent to spy on us, or just your random slaver looking to put us on a ship for quick cash. I didn’t understand how Taylor could so cavalier about our situation.

  At least twice while we had been sitting there, the same pair of guys passed us. One was wearing coveralls and a straw hat while the other had on a pair of shorts and a colorful t-shirt. They both had all the piercings and body modification of someone from downtown, but the attitude of an uptowner.