by Ken Bebelle
Someone bowled into Sasha from behind, sending her to her knees and igniting another ember of frustrated anger. A shower of paper and tablets rained down around her as one of the comm center techs tumbled to the floor. The harried-looking tech scrambled up, scooping up papers and equipment. Ace handed him the last of it, and when the nervous tech finally made eye contact with Sasha, his eyes widened.
“S- sorry, Lieutenant! S-sorry!”
Today’s situation seemed to be trumping Sasha’s reputation because the tech had no sooner sputtered his apology before he turned tail and ran for the far side of the command center, clutching at his gear as he went.
Sasha looked around the room, noting the spilled drinks, upended chairs, and many pairs of eyes showing far too much white. She didn’t come here often, but the times she had, it had felt more like a computer lab mixed with a video arcade to her, cybersecurity techs stomping out hacking threats only they could see.
Now fear and tension hung thick in the air, but Sasha felt the same adrenaline-fueled high as entering a combat hot zone. The ceiling lights sparkled, over-bright to her eyes, and details around the room focused into painful clarity.
She dropped her gear to the floor and walked to the nearest comm analyst. His name tag identified him as Private Franklin. The scrawny private looked like he’d had better days. His dishwater blond hair was screwed up in wild twists, and she could hear someone screaming through his ear bud from here. He typed, rapid-fire, at his terminal, trying to keep up with the voice in his ear.
“Private. Where is Colonel Phillips?”
Franklin looked up at her, eyes wide and panicky. He looked around, seemingly looking for who had addressed him.
“Private Franklin. I need to speak to Colonel Phillips. Or whoever is in charge. Now.”
His Adam’s apple worked up and down. “Sir. Um. Captain Landau, sir. She’s in the control room.” He pointed a trembling finger to a wide window overlooking the command center.
Landau. Why did it have to be that pogue? And where the hell is the Colonel?
Sasha looked up to the control room. Through the glass she saw the rail thin silhouette of Captain Landau with her ever present clipboard. A circular array of translucent holos surrounded her gleaming off Landau’s sleek blonde bob, and she stabbed at the air as she gave out orders.
Ace stepped into the corner of her vision, also looking up to the control room. “Landau. Huh.” He pivoted and gave Sasha a nod. “Yeah, I’m gonna get to my post.”
Sasha bristled, her body rippling with nervous energy. “Do what you want, I’m going fishing.” She walked across the command center and mounted the stairs to the control room. She heard Ace’s footsteps fall away behind her.
At the top of the stairs Sasha opened the door and stepped into the control room. Like the command center, several analysts sat at desks, surrounded by smaller arrays of holos. They were all typing furiously and mumbling quietly. The door clicked shut behind her and several heads swiveled up to look at her. The door sealed out the buzzing sounds from downstairs. Compared to the bustle of the command center, the control room was as quiet as a morgue.
Sasha squared her shoulders and marched across the room, making a beeline for Landau. Her boots squeaked and clomped on the pristine white floors. Sasha ran a hand through her short hair, feeling dirt, sweat, and tangles. She brushed her hair out of her face, wiped her hand on the front of her jacket and closed the distance on Captain Landau.
Not everyone, Sasha supposed, came to the Wolves on their strength in the field, or expertise with a weapon. Sasha could understand why Phillips needed Landau. Lord knows Sasha wouldn’t want to do the tedious shit that Landau seemed to revel in. That Ops officer had a head for organization the uncanny ability to keep track of every item of interest on the sprawling grounds of Camp Glenn. Sasha found that she was frequently the subject of interesting items at Camp Glenn. Captain Landau did not seem to find Sasha very endearing, despite repeated exposure. Still, Sasha had one thing going for her--she wasn’t a quitter.
The Captain did not look up as Sasha came to rest just outside of the holos. Standing near Landau only emphasized how filthy Sasha’s uniform had become. Landau’s razor sharp creases and expanses of immaculately ironed wool stood in jarring contrast to the mud splatters and dried blood on Sasha’s clothing. Sasha imagined a cloud of dusty filth following her around the base, spreading the complex aroma of decon chemicals and spent plasma.
Captain Landau continued to flick aside holo screens and speak quietly into her comm link. After each order she made a precise tick mark on her clipboard, then returned to the holos. After several seconds of this, the captain turned to face away from Sasha, and continued working with robotic precision.
Sasha saw new holo screens popping up behind the ones closest to Landau. It looked like those with higher priority were larger and brighter. One-handed, Landau sorted quickly through the screens. Some she flicked down, where they hovered, darkened, at knee level. Others she collected into a group and passed back to her analysts with softly-spoken orders. The largest screens she expanded and kept at eye level. Even with data flowing past at eye-watering speed, she spent no more than a few seconds on each before jabbing her hand at the holo, pushing them away with more spoken orders.
Sasha waited. She could wait all day.
Sasha’s foot started tapping.
Landau gave a pained sigh, still not looking at Sasha. Her low voice rasped out a curt statement at last. “You should be at your post, Lieutenant Kennedy. I think T-Delta is enough to warrant immediate attendance to your station.”
“Are they here, sir? Are the Ringheads here?”
Landau turned, the color high on her sharp cheekbones. She jabbed her clipboard to the picture window, and the muted chaos of the command center.
“Maybe if you at were your station, you could ascertain that for yourself.”
Sasha’s eyes opened wide and her voice rose in excitement with each word. “So they are here! I knew it! Ace and I can take a squad on the Raven. The cloaking worked great in Vancouver.”
Landau inhaled and her nostrils flared. “That’s enough, Kennedy.”
“But Captain…”
Landau cut her off. “Kennedy, do you see this shit show? All the shit you brought back from Vancouver will have my teams working double shifts. Now we have god knows what happening just outside of the base, and the Colonel has seen fit to set us at T-Delta. Every time I see you, Kennedy, I see chaos and extra work for days. What do you have to say to that?”
Sasha cocked an eyebrow but kept her eyes staring straight ahead. “Job security?”
Landau’s thin nostrils flared. “The Colonel cuts you too much damn slack.”
In her periphery, Sasha saw one of Landau’s larger holos displaying a map of the base, surrounded by bright red impact points. The impacts were ringed with slowly expanding blue circles. It looked like a heat map.
Check that. It looked like a cold map.
Landau leaned through the holos and got her face right into Sasha’s. Tired creases lined Landau’s face but her blue eyes glittered with fevered intensity. She thumped Sasha’s chest with the clipboard. “Get to your station. That’s an order, Lieutenant.”
Sasha snapped a salute and spun on her heel, grinning as she left the control room.
Eight
New and Improved
Mack
Mack’s head lolled back and his eyes drifted closed. It took immense effort to keep his eyes open, even in the ruckus and bustle of Abbé’s lab. The place was a hive of activity at the moment. Stan’s team had been busy. At least half a dozen Wolves were scattered around the lab, all of them being fitted with new prostheses. Squints in lab coats scurried around the desks like rats through a maze, toting prosthetic limbs and stacks of tablets. In the far corner of the room Mack saw the massive vault door stood ajar, and misting cold air drifted out of the opening. Two figures argued at the open door, too far away for him to make out.
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Dr. Abbé tinkered away at the nearest bench. Mack had answered the urgent summons, and was immediately told to sit and wait. Typical. Supposedly for something important. Mack was again seated in one of Stan’s godawful elementary school plastic chairs, but this time it was the most comfortable chair he ever had the privilege to sit on. If only Stan would let him sleep.
Just before blessed sleep pulled a warm blanket over his mind another sharp jab in the ribs wrenched him back to bleary consciousness. The rabbity scientist’s face was inches away from Mack’s. If the jab in the ribs didn’t wake him up, the sour coffee halitosis certainly did the trick. Mack coughed and gasped a little. He inhaled and got a good whiff of himself as well, the sharp tang of decon and cordite.
Dr. Abbé squinted, his own nose wrinkling. “Mack. Stay awake. This is important.” He thumped Mack on the head with his pencil.
Mack grimaced and rubbed his hands over his face. “Sorry, doc. Been going for almost twenty hours now. I’m bushed.” He yawned hugely, his jaw cracking. The extra air perked him up a little. “Hey, doc, did I tell you I jumped off a building?”
Dr. Abbé turned away and resumed his fiddling on the workbench. He waved a negligent hand. “Yes, yes. You already told me. Twice. You are clearly sleep deprived.” He turned and raised an eyebrow to Mack. “Also, I saw it on the live feed. Just so. Stupid. You looked ridiculous.” He returned to whatever arcane object he was fiddling with.
Mack let his eyes drift closed again. “Ridiculous?” He was mumbling now. “More like… aweso…”
Mack awoke this time to Dr. Abbé manhandling his good leg. He found himself surrounded by new faces. A woman in a lab coat, tall and stately, her blonde hair neatly twisted back. Another man sat next to him, wiry and brown. More interesting to Mack, this guy was missing both legs. The legendary Kekoa.
He sat up and reached up to wipe his chin. No drool. He must not have been out very long then.
Stan looked up at him and griped in a low tone. “Awesome. Ha! You looked ridiculous. Loping along like a one-legged frog.”
Kekoa laughed. Mack looked over at him and held out a hand. “Hey, I’m Mack.”
Still chuckling, Kekoa reached over and gripped Mack’s hand in his iron grip. “Man, that jump was awesome! Stan’s been holding out on me!”
Dr. Abbé paused and looked over at Kekoa. “And how, Mr. Kekoa, do you have knowledge of Mr. Mackenzie’s escapades?”
Kekoa didn’t even bat an eye. “I may have heard about it, from someone who knows someone who saw the sat feed. I may have heard about some video going around, but I haven’t seen it.”
He winked hugely at Mack. “Don’t mind the doc. He’s just bent I found out you got the latest build.” Kekoa brought up a scuffed boot and planted a cybernetic leg on one of the chairs. “Now he’s gonna have to upgrade me!”
Mack stared in fascination. He couldn’t help it. Kekoa’s cybernetic legs looked nothing like Mack’s. Where Mack’s leg sported gleaming metal, Kekoa’s had clearly been painted several times for camouflage. Mack saw plasma scorches, dents, scratches, and one spot that looked like it was welded with a flare. His legs had clearly seen some tough mileage.
The woman spoke up, her voice carrying a distinctive French accent. “I would love to see this video!”
Mack blinked. Ah, this was the Dr. Beaufort he’d heard through the speakers when he was with Keenan in Segovia. He’d never forget a voice like that.
He looked up at her and offered his hand. “You a friend of Stan’s?”
She nodded, giving him a warm smile. “Oui, yes. Honorée Beaufort. I’ve known Stan many years. I am sure the video is marvelous.”
Stan scowled but his voice lacked any acrimony. “Don’t encourage him, Honoree.” He grabbed a small tool, continuing to work on the contraption. Stan continued his work. Mack felt bands of pressure constricting his leg.
“Ow! Fuck, doc, that’s too tight!”
“Quiet. It needs to be tight. You look a fool, hopping along with one leg. This will fix that.”
Mack’s insides grew cold. “Doc? I want to keep the good leg.”
Dr. Abbé stopped and looked up at him, aghast. “You. Are an idiot.”
He gave Mack’s leg one final jerk and he stepped back to admire his work.
Mack leaned over to see what the doc had fitted him with. The jet black contraption wound its way from his knee to his foot. Taut cords ran down behind his calf, disappearing under his heel. Despite the tight confines, Mack found his ankle still moved easily up and down.
“I guess it fits ok, Doc.” Mack replied, uncertain of what else to say.
Abbé had something of a self-satisfied smile on his face. “I took the parts from the prototype power armor. Nano-fiber artificial muscle augmentors. High output piezoelectric power cells to keep it self-contained.”
Dr. Beaufort cut in here, her husky voice pouring over him so pleasantly he didn’t freak out about the fact he didn’t understand a damned thing about what was going on. “I watched Stan work with Dr. Patel to build nerve integration into the boot to keep it in sync with your prosthesis. More importantly, that will prevent you from injuring yourself.”
Yeah. Mack had no idea what she’d just said. “Uh, thanks? What’s it do?”
Dr. Abbé snorted. “It makes you look less a fool. Although it does nothing for when you open your mouth.”
He beckoned for Mack to stand, then pushed him away from the bench. After a few feet he stopped and looked up to the ceiling. “This will be fine. Jump.”
Mack couldn’t help himself. “How high?”
Kekoa hid a grin behind a cough, but the wiry scientist seemed not to notice. Stan looked up, gauging the distance to the darkened ceiling. “Try for four meters. That will be proof of concept enough, and will keep you from creating another mess.”
Mack took a few tentative hops. Doc was right, the new boot felt great. Gave him better balance. Until now, he hadn’t realized that he had been instinctively babying his good leg, letting his cybernetics bear the brunt of his feats. Now the weight was more evenly distributed. Mack wondered if he could jump an even greater distance with the boot. Cheered by the thought, he forgot to rein it when he leapt for the ceiling. “Here I come to -- holy shit!”
It was like being launched from a cannon. The darkened ceiling with its exposed grid work zoomed towards him. His shoulder slammed into a shop light and set it swinging. Stan shouted something from below. Above the lights now, Mack reached out and grabbed a support beam, neatly catching himself at the top of his jump. He hooted, hanging now from one arm and looking down.
Half a dozen upturned faces stared at him. All wore expressions ranging from shock to amusement. Kekoa seemed to be thrilled at the sight of Mack dangling from the ceiling. Stan looked like he was having some sort of stomach distress.
“Hey, doc! How’s this thing at absorbing impact?”
Dr. Abbé’s frown vanished, replaced with a thoughtful expression. “Well, in theory--”
Mack let go and dropped. “Superhero landing!”
He plummeted to the floor, purposely landing on the booted leg. The artificial muscles tensed, soaking up the shock and dropping him almost gently to one knee. Hot damn! He held the pose for a good second. He looked up and saw Stan’s worn sneakers before him. Mack stood, grinning from ear to ear.
“Works great, Stan!” He grabbed the little scientist into a bear hug. Mock nuzzling, he crooned. “I had no idea you cared. I thought Kekoa was your favorite, but now I know better!.”
Kekoa gave a belly laugh while Dr. Abbé sputtered and flailed his arms, beating Mack away. “Canard!” He straightened his lab coat and turned away. Mack saw the doc jump a little as the spook somehow appeared behind him, grabbing Stan by the upper arm.
The spook drew Dr. Abbé away, speaking quietly to him. “Dr. Abbé, I’m going to need the specs for those boots, along with…”
Their voices trailed off as they stepped towards the vault. Kekoa clapped Ma
ck on the shoulder, looking at Mack’s legs with unabashed envy. “Goddamn, soldier, that was some serious shit! First chance I get I’m pinning the doc down for an upgrade.”
Before Mack could reply a deep rumble thrummed through the floors and a shock wave rattled everything around them. The chatter in the room died and everyone looked up. Mack was very aware of the fact that they were several floors underground. The high ceilings of the research lab now looked low and confining, seeming to sag with the weight of earth and concrete above their heads. Several more impacts shook the room. Someone cried out as a monitor crashed to the floor in a spray of glass.
The deafening bellow of the alert sirens echoed through the room. Mack’s skin crawled with tension as he counted out the blasts. Damn, T-delta? Before he could make for the main doors, Harding, Beaufort, and Abbé burst out of the vault, Harding clutching a large black case. Abbé waved his hands, frantic. “No, no, no! It’s not ready, yet. Honorée, tell him!”
The agent hardly spared Stan a glance. “It’s not doing any good in the vault, doctor. We need to get this to Flynn before this base is overrun with Ringheads.”
Doc B shook her head, wisps of her blonde hair whipping about. “Harding, no! It could kill him!”
Harding frowned. “It could save all of us, Doctor.” He stalked out.
Mack exchanged an alarmed look with Kekoa. The shorter man frowned, lines bracketing his tanned cheeks. They nodded to each other and both made double-time for the main doors. All around them squints were frantically locking down their experiments. All the grunts in the room streamed for the door, a sea of bodies flowing along the path of least resistance.
Kekoa tapped frantically at his gauntlet and then shook his head. Mack signaled Kekoa to follow him as and hauled ass to get to his station. Guess it was a good thing he hadn’t had time to take off his combat suit. He had a feeling he was going to need it.
