by Ken Bebelle
The story tumbled out of him now, the firefight, the sprint through the desert, and the ambush from the jumpship. The longer he spoke the worse he felt, and the more he needed to keep going. Keenan listened, nodding, looking back up towards the western cliff as Mack rambled on in his rush to tell it all.
Mack took a deep breath, uncomfortable with the his last memory of Cam, his anguish when she commanded him to leave, to get the civilians out. His words came out slower, his voice hoarse as he described Cam and Garcia’s last moments. He shut his eyes, the burn of unshed tears when recalled watching the explosion from the APC. At last Mack sighed, feeling drained and empty.
Keenan finally broke his silence. “I’d like to see the top of the cliff.”
Mack gave a quick nod, relieved. “Yeah. Sure...we can detour to it on the way back to base.”
Keenan said nothing further. Mack couldn’t figure him out. Keenan was acting like one cold son of a bitch, and Mack couldn’t see Cam being so head over heels for someone like that. Sure, the guy was posterboy handsome, but Cam had never struck him as shallow. She’d been such a careful officer and Mack had always appreciated her leadership. The times Keenan had visited before, Mack could swear the man had exhibited actual human emotions. Colonel Phillips seemed especially fond of the guy, and Keenan had earned the moniker “Faceman” with the grunts. All that bonhomie charm was absent now.
Mack decided Keenan must still be in shock over Cam’s death. A loss like that had to strip away your happiness.
Mack pulled the jeep to a stop outside of Stan’s tent. Frigid air leaked into the jeep now, fogging the windows over. Mack shivered as his nervous sweat cooled. The feeling of Cam watching him, judging him, was an aching pit in his stomach now.
He nearly jumped when Keenan grasped his shoulder. Mack turned to face him, the heat of shame burning up his neck, and saw Keenan’s eyes, now sharp, focused and bright.
Keenan’s gaze burned into him as he spoke. “You did your job, soldier. Cam gave you an order. You followed it. You saved those civilians.”
For a guy who hadn’t more than one sentence in the last hour, this stream of words felt like a flood. “Cam kept the mission first and she ordered you to do the same. You did right.”
Keenan’s eyes drifted half-shut, seeming to take in the ruined town for the first time. “You know, we came here once, Cam and I. We were on leave. It was beautiful.”
He bowed his head slightly and his right hand came up and pressed against his chest, as if it ached. His voice softened. “I appreciate you talking to me about Cam. It’s good to hear someone say her name.”
In the silence after those quiet words, Mack felt the knots in his stomach slowly loosening. Keenan lifted his head and gave Mack a steady look. “Cam was a hard woman to know sometimes. But I know she would want you to get the hell back on your feet. Phillips told me what you did, later that night. That’s pretty incredible. We’re going to need more of that before this is all over.”
Keenan let himself out of the jeep and high-stepped through the snow towards the tent. After a moment Mack got out and followed him in, his steps sinking into the crumbled stone of the village’s formerly beautiful walkways.
The temperature inside the tent wasn’t much warmer than outside but that didn’t surprise Mack. Stan didn’t strike him as one to care much for creature comforts. The wiry scientist moved around so much that he probably barely even noticed the cold. The parkas hanging by the door smelled uniformly of stale storage lockers and cheap cologne. Despite this, they kept Mack warm and dry as he stepped into the large central exam room. He pulled on a black beanie, grateful it was standard issue.
He looked over at Keenan. The older man seemed almost impervious to the cold, eschewing the smelly coats but pulling on a pair of thin gloves.
The tent was built over the site of the town’s inn. Vast swaths of translucent plastic sheeting hung from scaffolding erected at the borders of the building. Black cables wound around the perimeter, feeding power to light fixtures that obliterated all the shadows inside. It felt like the world’s biggest surgical theater. Mack dreaded the thought of seeing the patient.
A three foot brick wall ran the width of the room before disappearing under a plastic tarp and passing through an interior tent wall. Other walls zigzagged through the large enclosure, mapping out the footprint of the old hotel. Judging by the breaks in the low walls, they were standing in what had been the lobby of the inn. More white-coated squints walked briskly in and out of the room, carrying tablets, bins of equipment, and in one case, even a cage with a squirrel. Mack turned to follow this one with his eyes as the lab assistant bolted for the door. The squirrel clutched the walls of its cage, chattering as it went by.
Keenan had stopped just inside, and looked around, taking it all in. He saw Mack looking at him. “Well? What’s the plan, soldier?”
Mack pointed to the back of the room. Dr. Abbé’s accented voice floated angrily from behind a set of rolling partitions. “Gunny asked me to check with Stan, see how things are going with the iceboxes. We’re still trying to come up with a solid game plan for those things.”
Keenan motioned for him to lead the way. Mack looked around as he walked to the back of the building. All traces of the attack had been scrubbed, cleaned, sterilized. It was eerie, like someone had hit a magic reset button. The grisly landscape of the lobby played again in his head as they walked through. The young couple in the back, their necks frozen to ash. The woman behind the counter, crushed under the door. It was all gone; a new coat of paint and carpet and it would be as if nothing had ever happened.
Except for the glowing alien artifact in the kitchen.
Mack pulled aside one of the partitions and saw it again, the stuff of nightmares. The aching cold bit deep in his lungs as he got closer, pulsing from the icebox like waves of nausea washing over him. Dim blue lights flickered up and down the alien tech, playing across the pipes and hoses. Dr. Abbé stood before the icebox, seemingly unfazed by the bitter cold. He argued with a nondescript man in a black suit who also seemed to be unaffected by the cold. Jeezus. These people are unreal. Mack felt like a wimp in the parka now.
Stan waved his hands in the air, magnifying his already manic behavior. “No! Non! I can’t -- I won’t work like this!” He began pacing, stomping, three steps right, then left, back in forth in front of the dark suit. “This is not what I was hired for! I answer to Phillips, not you!”
The man in the black suit crossed his arms and sighed. “Look, doctor, we all want the same thing. And understanding Ringhead tech will be the key to winning this war.” He smiled in a way that failed to reach his eyes. Those eyes flicked once towards Keenan with a sense of recognition. “Lt. Flynn. Ah, yes, excellent. Can you please help me explain to Dr. Abbé how important his work is in helping us defeat the Ringheads?”
Keenan’s eyes glittered and the smallest of smiles tugged at the corner of his mouth. “Harding. I think Dr. Abbé knows more than anyone what the stakes are.”
Mack wasn’t surprised to see Keenan stick up for Abbé. The things Abbé did for the Wolves, Mack would bet that despite Keenan’s aloof demeanor, the officer would take a bullet for the Doc. Mack kind of felt the same way. His own leg was a fucking miracle and he knew it. Mack would have been stuck with a damn stump if Abbé hadn’t built him this cyberleg.
Harding’s smile faltered a touch, but the predatory gaze did not falter. “Of course. Ever the boy scout, eh, Lieutenant? Very well, I’ve made my case.” He took a small tablet from his pocket and tapped in a notation. “We’ll try it your way, for now. Stan. Now, you were telling me about what you know about these ‘iceboxes’?” Again the smile that didn’t reach his eyes.
Harding turned to face the artifact, putting his hands on his hips. Mack noted the subtle bulge under his left arm as he did so. He felt Keenan go tense next to him, even as his own senses kicked into high gear. This guy didn’t smell right. And Abbé had a point, the lab was the Colonel’s prid
e and joy. The scientists and doctors at Camp Glenn rolled directly to the Colonel. Mack wondered why Harding was here looming over Abbé’s shoulder or hell, why this guy was even on the base at all.
Harding snapped his fingers. “C’mon, what’s the hold up? Let’s hop to! Educate me, Dr. Abbé.”
Mack wanted to punch this guy in the neck.
Dr. Abbé cleared his throat and pulled a tablet from his labcoat pocket. The labcoat was dirtier than Mack was used to seeing. The doc must be putting in some long hours, maybe not even going back to base.
Dr. Abbé ran a hand through his short kinky hair and began lecturing. “Firstly, the wider belief assumes these are miniature versions of the artifacts found at the poles of the earth. This is not true. While they share similarities in structure and composition, their functions do show distinct differences.”
Harding’s lips pulled back into a flat line of displeasure. “We’ve covered that already, Dr. Abbé.” He rolled his hand in a ‘let’s get on with it’ gesture.
“Humph. Just so. The ‘iceboxes’, as so many of the Wolves have come to call them, do produce a localized cooling effect. This effect is not so dramatic as seen at the larger artifacts. The iceboxes appear to be placed in relative proximity to sources of water, and their efficacy seems to be less if they are farther from the water source.”
Harding began tapping his foot, his impatience obvious. He took a step closer to Abbé, a small invasion of Doc’s personal space.
Mack didn’t even realize he was leaning forward until he felt Keenan’s hand on his chest, holding him back. Keenan gave him the tiniest shake of the head, and returned his attention to Stan.
“The iceboxes are incredibly durable and have so far withstood all our efforts to destroy them---”
Harding help up a hand. “Wait a minute, there. Nobody is going to be ’destroying’ these boxes. Your directive is to retrieve any tech.”
Now Keenan closed in on Harding. “SOP is to destroy the beachhead.”
As Abbé nodded vigorously, Harding set his own tablet down before turning to face Keenan. Mack assessed Harding but didn’t move otherwise. While Keenan might be the larger of the two, that didn’t mean Harding wasn’t dangerous. Harding’s posture now struck him as a deliberate one. A martial artist’s shift in weight, his arms held loose, but ready at his sides.
Still, when Harding opened his mouth, his tone was mild. “That is usually the case, Lieutenant. However, Project Ice Box is under North American IWC jurisdiction. This is a joint effort and the Union Wolves are the contracted local talent. This is now a salvage and recovery op.”
Keenan frowned. “That right, doc?”
Abbé grumbled. “Phillips might have mentioned it this morning.” He cleared his throat. “That is why we stopped trying to destroy them today but Honoree and I think that only alien tech will destroy the alien tech at this point---”
Keenan interrupted now, “You mean, like the blaster I recovered?”
Harding gave Keenan a sharp look that had Mack puzzling for a moment. He struggled to recall his training lectures up in the Yukon. Ringheads hoarded their dead and their tech. Sasha had dragged back a steaming carcass along with Mack’s sorry ass. First time any soldier had managed it, she had boasted. So maybe Keenan had scored an alien blaster too, like the one that had shot off Mack’s leg?
Abbé nodded, his head bobbing with his usual energy. “Yes, yes. Just so. Also, combat footage has shown the Ringhead Hunters using an effect of the iceboxes to armor themselves.”
Mack grunted. “Yeah, makes it harder to kill the fuckers.”
Abbé’s tablet began pinging, as well as the comm’s speaker on Abbé’s makeshift desk. He looked over at the tablet, then bounced over the comms. “Yes, Honoree.”
Harding moved over to the box as well. “Hello, Dr. Beaufort.”
A woman's lilting voice came over the box, “Stan, cela fonctionne!”
Mack had no idea who this doctor was, but apparently Keenan did as his eyes perked up at the sound of her voice.
Her words tumbled out in a rush, “Le fusil! Je l’ai fait! Cela fonctionne!”
Harding frowned as Abbé and the woman went back and forth in rapid-fire French. “Doc, English please, for the rest of us.”
Dr. Abbé hesitated a moment. “Ah...yes. Honoree believes she may have made a breakthrough on the alien technology.” His words started coming faster, his hands waving. “She believes the alien technology works on an interaction with alien biology. That there is some cellular level of communication or energy exchange between the aliens and their technology.”
Keenan cut in. “That’s great, Dr. Abbé. But does it bring us any closer to beating them?”
Abbé ran his hands through his tangled hair, screwing it up into wild knots. His eyes widened as he seemed to think it through. “Yes, yes! If Honoree and I can find a way to replicate this bio-signature, we should be able to access their technology!”
Harding perked up at this. Hell, the sourpuss nearly smiled. “You mean we can utilize their weaponry.”
“So much more than that! If we can learn how to interact with the Needle, we could conceivably reverse its effects on the planet!” Stan’s voice bubbled with excitement, and he sounded practically giddy.
Mack and Keenan looked at each other in dawning wonder. For the first time in this fight against the Ringheads did Mack start to think they had a shot at winning this war.
In all the excitement with the French doctor’s revelation, Mack had forgotten why he was here. But as Keenan started talking to Harding reality smacked him in the face again.
“I want to test the Ringhead blaster.” Mack heard an intensity in the Lieutenant’s voice that was palpable.
Harding shook his head. Not surprising. What a prick.
Keenan practically snarled. “I retrieved the damned thing, and I gave Beaufort the idea for unlocking it.” He took a step back and then seemed to deflate a little. When he spoke again, his tone was more even, but no less intense. “I paid for that blaster with the lives of my team. I’m asking you to do the right thing here.”
Harding cleared his throat. His face showed no expression as he stuck his hands in his trouser pockets. He rocked back and forth, slight movements, while he stared at Keenan. Nobody said anything, not even Abbé, who moments before had been shuffling data pads around his work table and yelling instructions to the lingering techs. After drawing out this stalemate, Harding finally said, “It’s true that we normally would ask someone of your expertise to test the weapons that come out of the Experimental Projects Division.”
Keenan nodded. But a ‘yes’ hadn’t come out of Harding’s thin lips yet.
Harding sighed, the exhalation of his warm breath leaving a foggy mist around his face. “I will speak to Dr. Beaufort about whether you would be compatible with the alien bio-signature.”
Unfuckingbelievable. The Faceman had disarmed Agent Harding without firing a single shot or swinging a fist. Mack shook his head in admiration.
All the tension left the tent. Abbé went back to bustling about, and he continued talking without looking at any of them, rearranging his holo screens. “Mr. Mackenzie. Please ask Gunny to check with me before your next sortie. We may have something new for you to try.”
“Sure thing, doc.” Mack gave a small deferential nod to Abbé.
Mack’s comm started pinging. It was Sasha. He stepped back to try to get to a corner. “Mack, Gunny wants you to get some sort of security upgrade for your leg from Abbé while you’re there and then hustle your ass back to the base most ricky tick. We'll be suiting up and heading out to assist our Canadian allies on an evac mission.”
Mack’s eyes lit up with excitement. “Roger that.” As he signed off his heart throbbed in his throat. This would be his first mission with the new leg, and as part of Sasha’s team. Mack approached Abbé, “Hey Doc, Gunny wants me to get some kind of security upgrade from you.”
Abbé looked up from his mountain
ous piles of testing equipment, his eyes startled for a moment. Recognition dawned. “Ah, yes, yes. Come here.”
Mack pulled over a small plastic stool. “Do you want me to put my leg on that?”
Abbé shook his head and fussed around for a bit before pulling out a small cooler. He opened it and withdrew a pressure injector. Before Mack could figure out what was going, Abbé stepped behind him and smacked him on the back of the neck.
“Hey!” Mack yelped. It hadn’t really hurt, but the doctor had startled him. Hell, he didn’t know the little guy could reach that high.
“What kind of security upgrade was that, Doc?” Mack grumbled as he reached around to rub the sore spot on the back of his neck which still bore the indentation from the injection.
Abbé put the injector back in the cooler and looked at him, his dark brown eyes serious in his wizened face. “Mack, it is the kind of upgrade that lets us know where you are.”
Mack stopped rubbing. Now the doc was just creeping him out. They always knew where he was anyway, what with his gauntlet and the circuitry in his leg. Well, ok, he took those things off in the shower, but why would he need any more tracking than that? And was everyone getting this injection? And how long would it last? Was it permanent?
Before he could ask those questions, Abbé shooed him away. “Go on, leave now before your Gunny starts hounding me.”
As he opened his mouth to blurt out his thoughts, Keenan slapped him on the shoulder. “Harding’s going to ride with us back to base. Let’s move.”
Ten
The New Girl
JONESY
Jonesy felt like he was in a goddamned horror flick. When Tankgirl opened her eyes, he nearly shit himself. Between the ghostly white of her body, the floating net of her hair, and the creepy lab filled with mostly dead experiments, Jonesy had maxxed out his freakshow quotient for the rest of his life.
