by Steve Rzasa
“Aldo, you show me one more, I’ll spaz you and put a bullet through the holo generator,” Rome grumbled.
Aldo switched the display to news about the flooding in Illinois and Indiana.
Rome slumped in the chair behind Gabriela. He stared out the cockpit. Sun gleamed across the canopy and he squinted in the second before it darkened to reduce glare. Up here, at 10,000 feet, the thick clouds of the massive rainstorm swaddling two states were as soft looking as cotton.
“Heck of a mess down there,” Gabriela said. “I figured you guys would rather have the lift to Ohio and Pennsy than have to take about fourteen different detours.”
“What, Thad didn’t signal for a ride?”
She smiled. “He did. But, oh darn, I was already en route. Could be a few hours before I go back for him.”
Rome smirked. “Thanks.”
“Least I could do.” Gabriela’s smile faded. “You okay?”
“Okay as I can be when Thad steals from me.”
“I thought pulse inflictors are illegal.”
“They are. Since when has that ever stopped him? I’ve already lodged the formal protest with FTZ.” That wouldn’t be how to put Thad out of his way. The case was foremost on Rome’s mind. He wouldn’t let a petty thief like Thad rile him much when there was bigger prey out there. Besides, two could play at his games.
“I don’t suppose I want to ask what toys you guys have stashed in the Halcyon these days.”
Rome lifted an eyebrow.
“Like I said. Don’t want to ask.” Gabriela checked her console. “Should be over eastern Ohio. It’s clearing out over there. You have any specific coordinates in mind or is this just a sightseeing tour?”
“Marcy’s got all the details.” Rome tapped commands into his implant. “Should be in your console now.”
“Thanks.” Gabriela reviewed the map of possibilities. “Are these in order of likelihood?”
“Proximity.” Rome swiveled in his chair. “Aldo. Check on the—”
“Already on it.” Aldo waved a hand through the news footage. Marcy’s map replaced it. “You had her running the possible signals interference—the way the guys dug into Sartorian’s car controls. She got a few results, though you can’t make heads or tails out of most of them.”
“That sounds bad,” Gabriela said.
“Ah, it does, Gabby, but only if you don’t take the extra step to narrow the focus on stuff that’s intermittent, stuff that has a natural human tendency to show error.” Aldo grinned. “Most of the signal traffic out there in the same wavelength is auto-regulated.”
“Don’t tease a gal, Aldrich.”
He shrugged. “Okay, then. Voilá.”
Aldo flicked his fingers at the display. It flashed. All but two of the red patches vanished.
“You got them.” Rome crossed the cockpit to Aldo’s console. “You’re sure?”
“I’m insulted you asked.”
“Got to be sure.”
“I’m sure.” Aldo pointed two fingers at the target areas. “First up: a rental business center, off a less-than-busy road, tucked back in a forest halfway between a small town and a main artery. Option two: a warehouse that prints bicycle frames twenty-four seven. Way less visibility, even than the rental center, but it has full-time robotic security. Drones on the perimeter, sensor pulls, you name it.”
Rome frowned. “How about capacity? They need room to park that vehicle of theirs, and they can’t keep it camouflaged all the time. Plus they’ll require some kind of workspace.”
“Either one would do. The business center has several storage units and garages on the back lot that could park a whole fleet. Same deal with the warehouse. It’s got delivery trucks.”
“Staffing for the business center?”
“None. Same for the warehouse.”
Rome scratched at his chin.
“What’s the plan, boss?”
“Gabriela, see if FTZ Central will task us a few drones to fly surveillance,” Rome said. “If we can get IR scans of both places, that’ll help. Anything that will show us heat signatures for bodies and machinery.”
“I’ll put in the request. We should have a few drones ready by the time we get over eastern Ohio.” Gabriela input text into her console.
“Aldo, any difference in power draw?”
“Nope. Looks close to equal—at least, the difference is negligible. Could be that they’ve got shielded stuff. You know, like anyone else who doesn’t want to pay into the power grid.”
“Right. Come on. Let’s strap in.” Rome patted the back of Gabriela’s chair. “Let us know when you’re over the first target.”
Gabriela smiled. “Shall we drop again?”
Aldo groaned.
~
The Condor set down on a field by an abandoned farm, its buildings long ago overtaken by the very plants it once raised. Marcy drove them through thick brown stalks, carving a path to a dirt road. The 3-D map on Aldo’s display showed it intersecting with the warehouse’s street by way of two winding connectors.
“Getting feed from the drones now.” Aldo grasped a pile of flat image rectangles in his hologram, and spread them apart like he dealt cards.
Rome counted six images. Each one had a serial number hovering at the bottom. “Six drones total?”
“Yep. They’re running IR on both buildings.” Aldo split the rectangles into trios. “First up, business center.”
The Halcyon bumped along the dirt road. Marcy steered them around the deepest pot-holes and largest rocks with grace. Rome drummed a beat on his legs.
“Why’d you pick this one?”
“The warehouse?” Rome shrugged. “Call it a hunch.”
“The place is crawling with security.”
“Security that’s all electronic, all automated. You’re good enough you could make it look the other way, couldn’t you?”
“Of course.”
“Well, then, these guys have shown the same aptitude.”
Aldo frowned. “Too busy a place.”
Rome just gestured at the drone scans. “Rattle off the results.”
“Right. So…” Aldo enlarged the first three images. “Zip on the IR for the business center. Heat sources, yeah, but those come back as solar cells and a couple appliances. Oh, and a tiny biological signal.”
“Biological?”
“Hamster. I think. Could be a guinea pig. Or a hedgehog. Hard to tell at this resolution.”
Rome rolled his eyes. “Show me the warehouse.”
“Same thing. Got lots of machinery.” Aldo waved his hand at yellow shapes drifting slowly across all three of the other images. “Those would be the security robots. I’m getting specs uploaded.”
“Look like Pikes, to me.”
“More than likely.” A new line of data spilled down the right side of the images. “Yep, score one for you. Pike VS Three-oh-Three.”
The VS303 wasn’t top of the line, but it wasn’t bargain basement, either. The scan showed eight of them, patrolling in pairs on every side of the square warehouse. “That’s the outside. Internal?”
“Can’t access them.” Aldo took a bite from a purple protein bar. It stained his teeth a pale violet. “Hmph. That’s weird. I should be able to get something.”
“Tell me about that.” Rome pointed at a haze across the center of the warehouse.
“Could be ambient ground temps.”
“Could be intentional interference.”
“Maybe. We’re not going to be able to tell from aerial drone scans.”
Rome pressed a panel on the dash. “Condor Three Three, this is Pursuit One Twelve, copy.”
“Go ahead, Pursuit One Twelve.”
“We need tiny eyes on the ground in both target locations.”
“Roger that. Re-tasking drones to deploy mites.”
Among each trio of drones, one carried a full load of ten mites. Rome could fit three of the autonomous robots into the palm of his hand. On each set of
displays, the drones watched from above as the mites deployed by dropping a couple hundred feet through the air into the undergrowth nearby to both the business center and the warehouse. When they finally scooted across the parking surface to the respective surfaces, all Rome could see were shadowy forms that reminded him of tailless rodents.
“Getting the secondary feeds from both locations.” Aldo shoved the aerial shots aside. New imagery encased in circles appeared.
At the business center, the ten mites swarmed the building until they found ventilation ducts. They made quick work of the obstacles with two mites unlatching the vent covers and holding it open like a hatch for their compatriots.
The other team made slower progress. The Pike sentries were huge in comparison—great looming white bullets with optical rings that glowed red. They rolled along a perfect path 50 feet from the warehouse walls. Beyond them, the building was a citadel of sloped walls angled at 20 degrees, without visible windows, seams, or any other obvious ways in. If there were ventilation shafts, they were well hidden.
“Single shell construction,” Aldo said.
“Yeah. Whole thing was extruded right in place, probably with the framework printed beforehand.”
The mites at the warehouse slunk along the brush at the edge of the property until they found a place where the lot’s surface was cracked by erosion. They scurried along the narrow trench, through a gap in the sentry’s patrol.
“See?” Aldo grinned. “They got it.”
“Hang on. The first team’s inside.”
Footage from the business center showed a bland hallway of beige walls, brown furnishings, and sectioned office space.
“Nothing on IR there,” Aldo said. “Not picking up anything strange on EM emissions or signals, either.”
“Send them into the garages at the back.” Marcy’s display told Rome the Halcyon was less than five miles from the warehouse. The terrain around the structure was largely forest. “Marcy, park us in one of those commercial zones, the more cars the better, a quarter mile out the service road for the warehouse.”
[Altering course.]
The second team of mites reached the warehouse wall. They nudged along the base, prodding with writhing tentacles for a possible breach. Finally, a pair of them dug into the ground, tearing at the pavement, until they exposed a gap between the walls and the base.
“Drainage pipe,” Aldo said. “Going for a swim.”
The pipe, however, was empty—save for a trickle. Rome couldn’t see anything on the display besides dark, curved walls.
An alert chimed. Aldo switched imagery. “Well, no luck at the business center.”
Rome saw empty space inside the center’s garages. “Keep them on site. Check for any subterranean passages. You know how these guys like to dig.”
“Right. Hold up… the second team’s entering.”
The mites emerged from the darkness into a room aglow with pale orange lights. Rome spotted some machinery he didn’t recognize and…
The images went static.
“What?” Aldo swiped at his controls. “Lost connection with the mites. The drones can’t reacquire.”
Marcy pulled the Halcyon into a parking spot outside a row of restaurants and storefronts. A broad canopy shielded the nearby slots and storefronts from rain. The whole lot would flood if not for the trenches that opened along the curbs, draining huge volumes of water through concealed grates.
“You got a cause for it?” Rome asked.
“No. Could be a glitch. Could be a dampening field, more likely. Whatever it is, the signal’s toast.”
“Let’s go.” Rome turned his seat 180 degrees, facing the back bench and storage compartments of the Halcyon. He unsealed one long box with his handprint. Inside was an FN Toro, half the length of a rifle, with a collapsible stock. It had a spazzer mounted underneath a long, slender barrel. A curved magazine projected from behind the trigger in bullpup configuration, and a power pack for the spazzer glowed on the right side.
Rome checked the magazine—7.52mm tracker rounds. He grabbed a second magazine of standard 7.52, tucked it in his coat, and a magazine of 10mm for his Hunsaker pistol.
Aldo was already out of the car with just a spazzer. He had a black cap pulled snug over his head. “Getting wet out here.”
“Here.” Rome tossed him a 10mm magazine.
“Thanks.” Aldo opened his jacket, and tucked it alongside the Hunsaker he, too, carried in a shoulder rig. “Ready for a walk?”
~
Rome’s senses buzzed at everything around him—the pitter-patter of receding rain on the branches, the cool touch of the mist on his face, the crunch of his boots on the pine needles, the soft whirr of the Pike sentry bots on their patrol.
They had to be quick. The Pikes should accept their badge authority, but if there was anyone inside the warehouse, they’d have a moment to gain entry before the sentries alerted law enforcement. Rome counted on the fact the sentries had likely been tampered with, so they thought the building was vacant too.
Trouble was, nobody knew who or what was inside. If anything.
He and Aldo walked swiftly across the paved lot. Aldo handed him a sensor-eye and fit one over his right eye. The patch was curved, made of a transparent green material. It reminded Rome of a seashell, albeit a flimsy one. He pressed it over his socket and felt prickles around that part of his face as it adhered to his skin. It stretched, crawling across the bridge of his nose until it covered his left eye with a smaller, rectangular patch.
Aldo’s scanner, the same one he’d used on Joe Brace’s Lexus, hovered ahead of him. Whatever it picked up was transmitted directly to the sensor-eyes. It ghosted over Rome’s vision. He saw the path taken by the mites as well as thermal readings from the interior of the building, though only about 20 feet deep.
The nearest pair of Pike bots wheeled around, converging on the two men.
[Identity.]
Rome winced. Why’d they have to be so loud? He held up his implant.
[Confirmed.] They repeated the process for Aldo.
“Your turn,” Rome said. “Sentries, confirm human occupancy of the building.”
[Vacant.]
“Grant access.”
The robots escorted them to the warehouse’s main door. It towered a good ten feet over their heads. Beside it was a smaller, normal sized door with the sign “Great Gears Inc.” that glowed in blue neon. One of the robots flashed a light on the inset access panel next to the door. It slid open.
[Access granted.]
Rome glanced at Aldo, who nodded back. Rome entered first, gun held ready.
The building was dark inside, lit only by the glow of blue, red, and green lights on the printing machinery. Massive extruders—five of them—sat end to end. Each one rumbled along, the stench of heated plastic and metal filled the air. Automated arms removed bicycle parts as they were completed—gears, chains, seats, frame tubes, and tires. Farther along, more arms reached down from the ceiling and out from the walls with great spidery limbs that pieced together bicycles of all shapes and sizes. Airbrushes hissed from behind plastic sheeting—the painting booth.
The necessity for stealth hushed their words and prevented the activation of their sleeve beacons. The sensor-eyes took the night vision data from the scanners and modified the visual range, which made it as bright as a late afternoon. Rome led them left of the fabrication units to the wide-open garage space.
Aldo’s scanner flew low to the floor. Mercifully, its volume and lights were muted. It moved back and forth over the rough gray metal. Rome’s sensor-eyes gave him a clear view of bits of mud, scattered pine needles, and splotches of water.
Aldo glanced at Rome. “Tracks,” he mouthed.
Rome nodded. He knelt—watching the area around them—and placed a bare palm on the metal near the tracks.
Warm.
He leaned a couple feet away from the debris and touched the floor nearer the fabrication units. Cooler by 8 degrees, acc
ording to his sensor-eyes.
He frowned. He got a full read on the entire floor section by rocking back on his heels and widening his gaze. The scanner’s results were clear. There was a large rectangle that was warmer than the rest of the warehouse, completely indistinguishable to the naked eye. However, nothing penetrated beyond the floor. The scanner returned only a warm haze.
“Shielded,” Rome mouthed to Aldo.
Aldo rolled his eyes.
Rome found the line where the temperature change occurred. The slab they sat on was cooling, slowly turning blue from a bright red-orange. He felt along one of the many grooves and indentations in the floor.
There. That one wasn’t full of gunk like the rest, and it stretched a long way.
Aldo sent the scanner over. It hovered by Rome, bobbing along the crack. The results were instantaneous.
Airflow.
Rome glanced back at the door. He took in the orientation of the debris, the rough shape of the tracks that abruptly ended, and the outline the scanner determined.
A hatch. A Freight elevator.
So where was the door?
Light flared around him with such brilliance it was as if the roof had split open. Pain stabbed his eyes and he squeezed them shut. Aldo swore. A split second later, the sensor-eyes turned transparent, deactivating the night vision mode. They shaded to give Rome’s sight time to adjust to the sudden change in illumination.
When he finally blinked amorphous blobs away, he saw shapes moving. People—among the fabrication units.
He saw a gun.
“Down!” Rome shoved Aldo to the floor. Bone cracked on metal.
Gunfire exploded above them. The breeze from its passage told Rome he’d brought them out of the line of fire just in time. Bullets spanged off the walls with sparks. The staccato informed his ears that whoever was in here carried fully automatic weapons.
He and Aldo scrambled for cover behind the nearest fabrication unit. Rome reached for the trigger of the spazzer mounted on his Toro.
“How many?” Aldo hissed.
“Four. At least.” The sensor-eye showed them as red outlined bodies clad in black suits, each one an obsidian copy of the woman they saw on the security video from Joe Brace’s robbery. “Stealth suits.”
