by Pam Uphoff
"How do you feel?" Lord Axel looked worried.
"Very odd, sir."
"I dare say. Anya, I want you to go down to the kitchen and have a snack, maybe some tea. You'll feel better then, but don't work too hard. You've got a staff you can send around to do things."
"But, but . . . your office!"
"Hmm, tell you what. Find some boxes or bags, whatever works, and put the towels in them. If they need to be washed, have the laundry maids wash them before they bag them up. Put them in here, or at the end of the hall here. There's no rush, I won't have a place for them for three or four days. So clearing my office is low priority. Now go have a snack. I don't think you've been eating right." Axel looked around at trotting steps.
Isay, a twenty-year-old door holder, a little out of breath. "The scary people in his Lordship's office want you to come look at something."
Chapter Seventeen
Property of the Estate
Wednesday, November 21, 3738
The “Scary People” were two of the Director’s investigators, specializing in digging for hidden data. Axel knew them both, but not well. They showed no sign of recognizing him with red hair.
Lord Sevastyan Kovalchuk was looking at a map, little points of light popping up. "We've traced that big expenditure. Found a real estate holding company. These are properties Vladimir Vinogradov owned wholly or partially."
"That'll keep the field boys busy all day, checking them for whatever it is.” Lord Martin Pavlovsky eyed Axel disapprovingly. “Lord Axel? Inquisitor Gorbachev said you would brief the searchers. They are gathering, with drivers and escorts, out there."
"Can you prioritize the wholly owned? And keep sending updates to the field boys and give them a way to signal all clear, as it looks like most of them will be going to the south side of the Capitol Building?"
Both the lords looked dubious.
Axel glanced over his shoulder. "Pauli? See if you can snag this map and send it out with updates. I'll go talk to the field agents. Natasha, you'll stay here and call things into whichever group needs it. Barf and Dimitri, stick around and be helpful."
What else? "The searchers will need warrants. Can you bundle them so each group covers an area, so they aren't running randomly all over town?"
He trotted to the front of the house. A bunch of eager office boys, by their looks. But they all looked fit, and were probably carrying. No doubt strong Mentalists—for their ages.
Hell, they're just like me thirty years ago.
Their escorts were soldier Cyborgs. A dozen each, Mentalists and Cyborgs. Six vehicles. Armored, but not too obviously military to the uneducated eye.
They eyed Axel with lifted brows and noses.
Can't be sure, but I really don't think I was ever that arrogant.
"What we are looking for are Portal Beacons. The one we found here late yesterday was thirty inches long, six inches wide, three tall. They can't make them any smaller than that—so far as I know. But if the places you are searching are furnished, it's going to take time. You will have warrants and, I hope, a map." He looked back as Natasha dashed up.
"First two groups." She held out maps with areas outlined, a sheaf of warrants attached to each. "They're printing the rest. Four more groups."
"Good."
One of them finally spoke. "Was it a working beacon?"
"Yes. Yes, it opened. Yes, gunfire happened. Remember that you will speak of this to no one. So get your noses out of the air and get to work."
He glanced at the outlined area, four spots to search, and started pointing. "You and you with you two," pointing first to the field boys, then to the Cyborgs. "Take this and go. You are group one. Identify yourself as such if you call me. Drive by all the spots in your area. Pick the red dot that looks most like a place to stage an attack through and go take a look." He grabbed a pen and wrote his number at the top of the map. "Group two is you two and you two cyborgs. My number is at the top. Same as I told them. Drive by all, then start your checking with the most suspicious. Get going."
Natasha dashed back with four bundles. Axel wrote his number on the top of each map, and as the groups self-selected, handed them out. Blinked at the last map—a single point well out on the west side.
In a warehouse district where they could get a fair number of troops through before anyone yelled for the police, and the police took them seriously enough to kick it up to the Fast Response Teams. As opposed to the other areas that are more populated.
Axel looked at the two men left.
How bloody young are they?
"You guys have much experience?"
An eye-roll from one of the remaining Cyborgs.
"Two years."
"Behind a desk," the second one sighed.
"Right. I'll come too." Axel shook his head at Natasha's eager expression. "You stay with Kovalchuk and keep me updated."
***
The Cyborgs were Ninety-two and Ten-ten. The young men grudgingly admitted to Sergey and Edik.
No surname admitted to. They're probably thinking they'll be good enough to want their real identities to be secret and hoping for cool Special Forces nicknames.
They rolled off the speedway into a warehouse district. Some trucks coming and going, getting loaded, but the activity was slacking off, the big doors above loading docks coming down. Good location, they could grab a defensible area before the alarm gets past the local police.
Axel pulled out his phone to check for any updates . . . no connection. Not. Good.
The Cyborg driving flipped on the left turn signal. "It's about the middle of the block."
"Don't turn, let’s take a look down that street and down the next block."
One of the kids scowled. "We're supposed to be running the searches, not escorting a murdering . . . Oh shit!"
Military vehicles and uniformed soldiers. Weapons turning their direction.
They were past the intersection before any shots were fired.
:: Igor 55823. Breakthrough. Mil vehicles and soldiers on Pickey Road south of Kiev Street. ::
A brief :: Got it! :: from whoever was on duty in the emergency response center.
"Check the next block then do a U-turn if it's empty." Axel glanced down the empty side street and nodded in satisfaction. "Forget all traffic laws and back three-fourths of the way into the north side of the side street at an angle." He started pulling power.
Ten-ten, driving, growled a bit. "We know how to set up a . . ."
"And what weapons do you have?"
The kids exchanged glances. "We have Cyborgs."
"Oh . . ." He bit off a curse. "And how are you at shields, slash and push?"
A wide-eyed pair of stares.
Sergey gulped. "Surely they won't get that close!"
"They're coming!" Ninety-two snapped.
Axel stepped out of the car. Physical shield up and slanted, to deflect what would probably be military rounds.
Three Cyborgs running at them, two heading across Kiev Street, to come around behind them.
Axel sent two hard mental punches—a basic push impression, needle thin—at the two crossers, while his shield deflected a flurry of shots. They were close to laser range, so an energy shield at laser frequencies. "Don't shoot yet. I've got shields up. Sergey, your job is to watch the cross street that way." He pointed across Kiev street. "Edik, you watch the other way. The three of us will try to keep Kiev clear."
Three quick punches and the three Cyborgs were down.
"They've got communications jammed. Shouldn't we get out of the area and raise the alarm?" Edik turned and stared down the cross street.
Good, he's thinking.
"I telepathed the emergency center. Troops are on the way. If I weren't here, yes, getting the alarm out would be your first priority." Axel cocked his head toward the sound of engines. Deep tones of something heavy. "So, you two are getting a bit more than expected for a first field exercise."
He'd been pulling power steadil
y and now he trotted forward as the shiny round nose of some sort of tracked gun carrier appeared from behind the corner building. So they aren't going to waste more men against a mentalist with my kind of range. No problem.
He framed the two slashes he was going to need . . . Once the gun was showing, a slash to take it out. A slash through track and running wheels.
So, what'cha got to push that out of the way?
"Contact!" Sergey paused. "Tank!"
Axel slapped out a shield across the cross street, leaning toward the enemy. Anchored it to the street and buildings on either side. Trotted back to the car. Pulling more power. And getting a good look at an armored gun carrier. A shiny laser-reflective flattened oval with a large bore barrel sticking out. Exposed tracks on the side, the most obvious weak point.
It fired. The explosive round detonated on contact with the shield, the blast bowling over the soldier Cyborgs escorting it, but the angled shield deflected most of the shrapnel down into the road. Most of the soldiers were getting back up. The big gun wasn't moving. Yet.
Axel squinted. Sent a hard stun impression at the AGC.
Then got himself back behind a car door and pulled back the physical shield.
"So, Sergey, you see these shields of mine? See if you can copy them, in a smaller size. Say, ground to three feet up, in an arc that covers the whole front of the car, out as far or further than the open door on both sides." He looked the other way. "Still clear, Edik?"
"Yeah, so, are we all going to die?"
"No. Hear that high pitched whistle? That's an inbound military aircar. They'll be here in moments and then these fellows will have a whole lot more to worry about than us. So how about a shield?"
:: Hey Igor, that you in the car to the northwest? ::
:: Yeah, so never say I hog all the fun. ::
:: Ha! Catch! ::
Axel threw up a speed drain as a package dropped from the big shiny aircar as it braked overhead, dropping fast and disappearing beyond the next block. He caught the package and landed it just behind the car. All his gear and a hard case with rifles and ammo.
"Now we're in business. Someone figured out we were light on weaponry. Ten-ten, hand them out while I change into more appropriate party gear."
"Guys, relax and pull power for a minute, I've got a dome shield up." He was stripping as he talked and pulled on the ballistic skin layer. Then the combat boots, clamped on the leg plates, the linked chest and back plates, overlapped and clamped at the sides, arms and the helmet.
All four of them were sneaking glances his way. The big red lightning jags of Alliance service were known everywhere. And "Igor" in white was certainly known locally, even if mostly by rumor and, shit, soon to be known by name.
He took the last rifle, inserted a magazine, stuck two more in his elastic belt. "Right. I'm going to go party and you four are going to keep an eye on this cross street, both directions, and yell mentally if you see them breaking and heading . . . any direction, as I may not be where I can see them. Get ready with your shields. See ya later."
He dropped his dome shield as he felt them bring up their shields . . . potted two soldiers on the cross street then ran toward the corner of Pickey Road.
They were set up to defend the road.
So they can concentrate on the squads that just landed on the far side of them. I need to close the portal, so . . .
He pulled power as he ran toward them, sliding into that odd state where he ran through a world that moved slowly. His own shield out in front of himself deflected a few rounds, then he was flat against the building and they were having trouble swiveling the big guns that far around . . . a Cyborg stepped out to shoot him and at this range the vertical slice took care of him and all the parts of the heavier guns sticking out beyond the road.
He slung the rifle and stepped away from the building then ran and jumped. A bit of levitation assistance and he had the edge of the roof and swung himself up and over. He ran up and over the ridge, the boots absorbing all the sound he ought to have been making.
Someone spotted him and fired, hitting the left side of his shield. He twisted, fell and rolled down, off the roof, onto and into a batch of Cyborgs. He slashed out with abandon, and left a gory mess behind him.
He was in a narrow alley between buildings. No idea where his rifle had gone.
Heavy weaponry out there, so how about a shortcut?
He turned and slashed a hole in the wall of the next building. I wonder if this is the place or if I should go through to the next, leaving holes behind me . . .
Axel jumped through into an office. Loud machine noise, humans yelling over it. Never mind, I think I've found it. He opened the door a bit and spotted the portal down at the end of the building. Yet another armored gun platform rumbling away from it.
He reached for the higher mental frequencies the Boss used. :: I'm at the portal. Destroy it now or go through and mess them up a bit? ::
:: Destroy it, messily if possible. ::
Axel looked through the portal at the next vehicle rolling up the ramp . . .
:: Duck! :: He yelled mentally, in case anyone was close, and slashed as the shiny vehicle rolled through. Even moving fast he barely had time to throw himself behind the cheap desk and shield hard as a brilliant light shone through the cracks around the door, the walls bulged in toward him, back out, then shredded, as hot metal ripped through them.
He shoved a panel off his back and stepped up on the desk to take a look. The earlier gun was still grinding forward despite the battered and blackened rear armor, the top hatch twisted and jammed half open.
Perfect!
:: Dibs on the big gun now departing the warehouse. :: He scrambled over the ring of debris to the floor blown clean and ran for the tracked gun.
:: No prob, we've got three of our own. :: Murphy sounded busy and a bit worried.
He galloped up and jumped, a bit of levitation to get himself up far enough to not slide right back off . . . He grabbed the wrenched hatch, two slices and a heave and it tumbled off to the side. Most of the driver was slumped over the controls. Axel grabbed his shoulders and hauled him out, dumped him over the side.
Hard shields and step in . . . but the gunner was unconscious on the lower deck. A quick look . . . armored guns both direction, both pointed away from him. Axel slid in behind the controls.
His gun was approaching the other side of the street and in danger of ramming the building in front of it. Axel hauled a lever and put the right track in reverse, swiveling the whole vehicle around. He could see the gun to the south, at a slight angle. Enough to see the tracks. He took it out of gear and dropped down to the lower deck. Grabbed the driver's head and tossed it up and out. Opened the breech. Grabbed an armor piercing round, slid it in and locked the breech. Depressed the gun . . . aimed at the tracks of the other AGC and . . . dragged the moaning gunner over to apply his hand print to unlock the controls. A deep boom as he hit the "fire" button.
Back up to the driver’s seat, and rotate the AGC the other direction. Stop. Drop back down. Boom. Frag round, slightly to the side. Boom.
He laid a hard sleep impression on the gunner, climbed out and stood on the ragged rim of the hatch to look around.
Still fighting to the south.
Then the Boss. :: I want some live mentalists. Capture any you can. ::
A mental snicker from someone. :: If Igor's left any alive. ::
:: We'll need to check satellite records and see if they sent out any scouts before we got here. :: Axel slid off and trotted north, around the hulk of the other armored gun. Spotted Cyborgs picking themselves up and staggering away from the debris. A man in armor who was not a cyborg . . . A good glow . . . Axel hit him with a stun impression. Trotted past and climbed up their barrier to look down the street.
It looked like his four were still on their feet. He aimed a narrow thought. :: What's the situation on the cross street? ::
A tangle of mixed thought that amounted to mos
tly good.
Those kids need training.
He turned to the Cyborgs behind him. "If you would like to surrender, toss all guns over there." He pointed. "Kneel with laser pointed down and right arm raised."
A few guns were tossed. One Cyborg raised his . . . hesitated . . . tossed the rifle to the side and knelt. The rest of them followed his lead.
To the south . . . silence.
And then the late arriving troops got clean up and prisoner round up duty.
Axel stayed long enough to point out the gunner in the armored gun carrier, and make sure the stunned Mentalist got special treatment, then went in search of the Boss.
Big triage area, it looked like First Squad had two injured.
Murph and the rest of his squad were still patrolling, the battered Second Squad was reporting in, seriously short on people.
Axel spotted, God save us! News reporters and flying cameras. He unsealed but kept his helmet on.
The Boss tossed him a grin. "Scared of the cameras, Igor?"
"Yep."
"Smart man. So by way of keeping your name secret, go haul your now-experienced field agents back Up Top and show them the tedium that comes with the excitement."
Axel tossed him a salute and headed off.
He dropped west a block and came up behind the AGC on the cross street. Guys with red lightning bolts were trying to get in.
Axel scrambled up with them . . . the semiconscious driver . . . he reached into the man's brain, grabbed control of one arm and made him open the hatch.
He felt the gunner; deeply unconscious. "Huh. I didn't think I could slap them that hard from so far away." He slid back down and walked back to the car. Cyborgs littering the street. Three dead, four injured. And three more behind the car. "All right children, you have successfully completed your very first field assignment." He scooped up his clothes, which looked a bit like they might have been trampled. "Except, of course, for cleaning up, cleaning weapons, and writing reports, recovering from bruises and, hmm, a few laser burns I see . . . and then finding yourself back in training."
