by Brandt Legg
“Whose troops?” the wife asked.
“BLAXERs, PAWN, P-Force,” Blaise answered, “do them all. I’ll convince someone to go in and mop up that mess.”
Then Blaise dismissed them and jumped to his Grandyn-tracking efforts. He had it narrowed down to an area south of Mount Shasta in the California Area. His head throbbed when he saw that the AOI had spread fire across that entire sector.
Grandyn could be toast, he thought. And worse, the Chief may have unknowingly destroyed her greatest threat. “List Keeper . . . come out, come out, wherever you are,” he sang at the VMs of the fires.
Another assistant interrupted his musings and informed Blaise that the Imps were coming back to life. Blaise had been working all day to locate them through their processor chips, but there were so many, and they were spread out so much that it was proving to be a futile effort. He looked at the VMs.
“They won’t be anywhere near the fires. And Imps are not immune to plague, so they will be avoiding those areas like, well . . . the plague,” he said with the slightest smile.
“Hmm.” His assistant did not appreciate the humor. “That narrows it down to half the globe.”
“Yes, I’m happy to help,” Blaise said, annoyed. “I’m guessing Arizona, Oklahoma, or Venezuela. They’ve got the highest concentration of chips. We need to find them fast. Once they get fully back online, they’ll figure out a way to erase the signal, and we may not find them again until they are ordering us to dig our own mass graves!”
The Imps were, in fact, working on the signal already. They knew Blaise had shut them down through the DesTIn system, and that he could reach each of them. Getting back online was secondary to making sure Blaise was blocked from all further contact.
Sidis said, “Monitoring and tracking, disabling and erasing all are within Blaise’s capabilities.”
“If he were as smart as he claims,” Galahad said, “he would have installed a kill-switch and none of us would be here now to pick up the pieces.”
“We’re not back yet,” Charlemagne said. “For all we know, he’s infected our systems, and the CHRUDEs, with a slow-moving virus. We could be dead in hours.”
No,” Sidis said. “Blaise would not have risked that. He simply screwed up. He never thought the Imps would unite and move to take control.”
Another Imp announced, “We’re still at least six to eight hours away from one hundred percent.”
“That’s a lifetime,” Sidis said. “Blaise could find us in that time, but if he doesn’t, he’s lost. They will all have lost. Now it’s just a race. Our technology against theirs . . . Who do you think is going to win?”
Munna sat on the deck of the Moon Shadow, far enough out in the ocean that they were no longer at full speed. They were actually drifting slowly, and the stars were kissing a calm sea. It was as if she were floating among them.
She knew what Deuce had done. He’d made the wrong choice, but she wasn’t surprised. Still, it might be okay. But might was an awfully weak word when one was talking about the end of all human life. It would decisively come down to what happened the next day, Friday.
She smiled and thought, At least that. The day named for Venus, the goddess of love. We could use a little of that right now.
Munna watched Grandyn in her mind. He concerned her even more than Deuce’s mistake, more than the Imps, and more than the Chief.
“Grandyn must make it to the City,” she whispered to the stars and to Venus.
Some two thousand kilometers to the north, Drast and Osc were sound asleep on a boat. Their plan was to slip into Seattle before first light, but Deuce didn’t know anything about that. No one did. That’s what Drast was counting on.
Chapter 57 - Book 3
Grandyn, Fye, Zaverly, and the four PAWN soldiers moved at medium speed through the forest. Their AirSliders were equipped with night-vision shields, which telescoped out of the handle shaft. It allowed them to move without headlights, but it also meant they couldn’t go at full speed. However, at medium, the AirSliders were extremely quiet, which meant they’d practically have to run over a grunge to get caught.
After about three hours, Zaverly signaled for everyone to stop. Grandyn was relieved because he was exhausted and needed a break, but Fye’s condition really worried him. Even with her earlier nap, he knew she needed strict bed rest.
They found a small clearing and dismounted. Zaverly checked for a signal. Sometimes they were possible in clearings along high terrain, but she got nothing.
“Spread out, guard the perimeters,” she said. The four soldiers walked slowly into the darkness.
Grandyn went to Fye. “How are you?” he asked.
“A little shaky, but I can keep going.”
“We should be there in a few more hours,” Grandyn said.
She nodded, downing big gulps of water.
“Grandyn Happerman, the real Grandyn Happerman, you are hereby charged with the murder of eight fellow TreeRunners,” Zaverly said icily.
“What?” Grandyn said, swinging around just in time to meet the blow of one of her soldiers.
As he went down, he yelled, “Run, Fye! Run!”
She took off.
Grandyn tried to get up, but the soldier put a knee into his back. Grandyn struggled as the larger man pushed his face into the dirt. Two more punches convinced Grandyn to give up for the moment.
The soldier searched him for weapons, found Grandyn’s lasershod and a hunting knife, then kicked Grandyn hard in the ribs and stood up. A few seconds later, one of the other soldiers brought Fye back. Grandyn rolled over, but the razor-hot light of the laser trained on his face stopped him. He couldn’t help Fye if he were dead.
“Sit,” the man barked at Fye.
Fye sat down and looked over at Grandyn, his outline barely visible in the laser’s glow.
“Grandyn Happerman, you’ve heard the charge. How do you plead?” Zaverly asked.
“What are you talking about?” Grandyn asked, panting, his voice strained, trying to move his head from the glare of the light. “How about lowering that thing to my chest so I can at least see my accuser.”
She moved the beam down, centering it on his heart. “You’ve killed so many, I’ll bet it’s hard to remember them all.”
“What? Are you with the AOI?” Grandyn groaned.
What can I do? He thought frantically. What can I do? Even if I think of something, I can’t leave Fye. I can’t even see her. Then he remembered his life’s training. Breathe, focus.
“I’m a TreeRunner. A true TreeRunner,” Zaverly said.
He didn’t know what she meant. What does this Zaverly freak think I did? How can I take out these three? Where is Fye? At least Fye is smarter than me, she’s thinking too. Focus.
“Tell me who you think I killed, Zaverly.”
“Restrain her,” Zaverly commanded. The man who brought Fye back quickly bound her legs and feet with zip-ties. “Now go. I don’t want the perimeter compromised. He’s got friends back there, and a stray band of grunges could be anywhere.”
Grandyn heard the man run off. So Zaverly doesn’t know where all the grunges are, he thought. And she’s worried about Nester. Would Nester be suspicious? Could she have followed us? He had hope. Focus. Think.
“Yes, I’ll tell you who you killed, because you, you torgon coward, you wouldn’t know who, and how many lives you’ve ruined.”
“Zaverly, you are a TreeRunner. You know the oath.”
“How dare you speak of loyalty!” she snapped, her tone suddenly out of control. “I hadn’t planned to kill your girl, but it might be a good idea . . . what do you think? Maybe then you’ll understand.”
“No,” Grandyn said calmly. “Whatever this is, it’s between you and me.”
“I’m not so sure.”
Grandyn wanted to ask her how anything could be more important than the war, than the plague, than the fires, than the end of the world, but he knew she was not a rational person. He wondered what F
ye was thinking. He could hear the breathing of the man who had knocked him down. He was probably only a meter away, maybe less, but Grandyn couldn’t see. The lasershod she’d pointed at him had a sight-light, which was bright enough to mess with his eyes.
“You’ve got the weapon, Zaverly,” Grandyn said, trying to bring her back to him. “It sounds like you’ve been waiting for this for a long time. And since you haven’t killed me yet, I’m guessing you want to make sure I know exactly what you think I did . . . so why don’t you tell me?”
“I more than think you did it. I was there. I saw what you did,” she said bitterly.
They didn’t hear the jet. It was too far away. But because they were coming from behind Zaverly, Grandyn saw the missiles first. It gave him just enough time to brace for impact. He only hoped that Fye had also seen them. Less than half a second would decide if they lived or died.
The first missile hit less than fifty meters from where Grandyn stood. It exploded in a torrent of flames. Like a giant Molotov cocktail, the missile had been filled with a flammable liquid meant to spread fire fast. More missiles rained in, landing farther out in a grid designed to maximize the burn rate. But the impact of the first one was what gave Grandyn the chance he needed.
Because he’d been expecting it, he reacted faster than his adversaries. As the initial flash illuminated Fye’s location, he dove toward her. He reached Fye before Zaverly had even jumped for cover. Grandyn grabbed Fye and rolled. The terrain worked in their favor as they went down a slight slope. Chaos ensued, with missiles bursting all around and flames ripping through the dry forest as if a lit match had been dropped in a haystack.
Grandyn lifted Fye’s still bound body over his shoulder and ran into the smoky night. In less than ten meters, the tinder-scented fog enveloped them. There was enough light from the flames that he could easily find his way, but the smoke from the existing fires reduced visibility to about two or three meters. Both the smoke and the flames would make their getaway easier, unless it killed them first.
He laid her down gently and scavenged around for a rock. He could carry her for kilometers, if necessary, but if she could run, they would move much faster. Finally he found one small and jagged enough to break through the band on her legs.
“Who the hell is she?” Fye whispered.
“I have no idea why she’s doing this.”
“How long will it take her to find us?”
“She’s not going to find us,” Grandyn said, not really believing it. She was a TreeRunner, and one with a mission: to destroy him. He knew Zaverly was already looking for them.
“Can you run?” he asked while trying to cut the band binding her hands.
“I can try.”
“Listen to me Fye. You’re a List Keeper. I know you can heal yourself.”
Fye started to cry.
“What?”
“I couldn’t save the baby.”
“Damn it, Fye. Don’t punish yourself. It wasn’t your fault.”
“I tried . . . I should have been able.”
Grandyn knew Zaverly might appear out of the fog at any moment. “Fye, you tried. That’s enough. You’re alive. I’m alive. We’ll try again. We’ll have as many kids as you want, but right now we have to move.” He made it through the band and rubbed her freed wrists. “You need to heal yourself, or we won’t make it. Can you do that for me?” He put his forehead against hers and cupped her cheeks in his hands. “We have to get to the City.”
“Okay,” she said, sniffling in an involuntary breath. “I’ll try.”
Then they heard the scream.
Chapter 58 - Book 3
Friday, July 15
In the morning, the rain finally began. Miner had his people working all night. Although he hadn’t pressed Chelle for details, he assumed the fires were threatening PAWN bases hidden in the north-central forests of the California Area. Either way, she would not have asked if it hadn’t been an urgent need. But in the end, he didn’t do it for her, he did it for Sarlo. Increasingly, he saw her as the calm he strived for but couldn’t seem to reach. She made her decisions without the emotion that typically warped his deliberations.
The prior night, his disturbing dreams had returned. This time he was swallowed up by an unseen darkness and left out to die on a barren wasted plateau, high above a burnt forest. He woke with a painful whispered chant on his lips; “No flame burns forever.”
P-Force was making preparations for a ground war. For years the AOI had always assumed that Deuce and Miner were building up their private armies to fight each other in some strange and primitive contest, an act of corporate machismo, egos with nothing left to waste their billions on. The AOI had largely ignored them because both were prominent supporters of the Aylantik, Miner on the A-Council, and Deuce well-vested in the Aylantik system as the world’s wealthiest man. But the Chief and her predecessors had also believed that those corporate troops were essentially meaningless. There would never be a ground war involving humans. In the unlikely event that war ever broke out, the AOI knew the Aylantik’s superior and automated weapons, coupled with their dominance in both control and surveillance, assured a quick victory.
But the AOI had been wrong. Deuce and Miner both knew something the AOI did not. Miner was preparing for what he called “Operation Retrograde.” Deuce might have another name for it, and he was already prepared, because he was the one who brought Operation Retrograde into being.
“Do you really think he pushed the retrograde button?” Sarlo asked. She wanted to make sure they had the timing right.
“If he hasn’t already done so, it will have to happen today,” Miner said.
“Retrograde” was a scenario when the only four armies of the world, AOI, BLAXERs, P-Force, and PAWN, would fight in old-style urban battles. They would seek and hold strategic cities and towns.
“I still don’t know how he can do it,” Sarlo said. “Surely the AOI planners would have detected the potential and corrected it?”
“Retrograde, as you know, is when Deuce cuts off all satellite transmissions. He thereby renders useless all the planes, including fighters and bombers, troop transports, and missile guidance systems. The result, a retrograde world in which we fight it out the old-fashioned way.”
“I know, but how can he do it?” Sarlo asked. “How can the AOI not stop him?”
“For one thing, they don’t know. I never told them. But even if I had, they couldn’t stop it because it isn’t just his company, StarFly, which makes most of the satellites. There are, of course, many that he doesn’t manufacture, but most of those are operated by Eysen INUs. So if we get down to the small number of super-sensitive satellites that he has no direct control over, we find his biggest advantage.”
She nodded. “One of the things that has most scared you about him all these years.”
“Right, the Searchers.”
“But you’ve never proven they are more than telescopes.”
“I have the report,” Miner said gruffly as he pulled up a VM. The report, as Sarlo knew well, predated both Lance and Deuce. It went back to the time of Doneharvest. Not the recent AOI crackdown, but the original AOI Chief for whom the crackdown was named.
Doneharvest had never trusted Deuce’s grandfather, Booker. He pried and pressed and bribed around every corner of the Lipton empire until he got lucky and found the right employee at the right time in a situation. The details were too old to recall, but Doneharvest had been able to extort the employee until he had enough to compile the report. Hours before Doneharvest was killed, by still unknown assassins who Lance believed worked for Booker, he gave the report to Lance’s grandfather.
It showed that Booker’s great space telescopes, which were capable of seeing ten times deeper into the universe than anything that had come before, including the Hubble or the Webb telescopes, were armed. Booker Lipton actually had the capability to take out any satellite in orbit. He could do it in seconds, and he could take them all down. Booker’s te
lescopes could also be turned toward Earth, and they could see in amazing detail. The report was never made public, nor validated, but Doneharvest was dead practically before Miner’s grandfather finished reading it.
“But that report is ancient history,” Sarlo said.
“Booker Lipton had Doneharvest killed, I have no doubt about that!” Miner rubbed his eyes. He hadn’t slept much between getting the rain to the fires, readying P-Force for a ground war, and surviving the damned nightmares. They had separate suites, extremely comfortable, on the same floor as the offices, both with fantastic views. But much of the night they worked, catching naps when they could.
“Decades have passed,” Sarlo argued.
“Decades in which Deuce has single-mindedly obsessed over space. Most people would be happy with Eysen, Inc. and all the money in the world, but Deuce keeps pushing into space.”
“So?”
“That’s where his power is, his control . . . that’s where the future is. By now Deuce can probably use those telescopes to read the date on my silver dollar while it’s in my pocket and I’m inside a building!”
“The pictures of deep space he releases are incredible. It’s impressive how he has kept increasing the range and clarity of the telescopes. But armed and spying on Earth? That seems hard to believe.”
“You told me once never to underestimate Deuce, and yet here you are doing the same thing. You watch. Today we will lose the satellites.”
“Is he ready for the AOI to turn on him?”
“Without satellites, they are just another army, one not well trained to fight his guerillas.”
“Or ours.”
“Right. But another point you and I disagree on is the AOI isn’t our biggest problem. It’s the Trapciers.”
Chapter 59 - Book 3
After docking, Drast, Osc, and the four Allies easily navigated the streets of Seattle in their AOI uniforms. But their time was running out. The AOI bombing campaign had intensified, and the new plague was spreading. On the boat ride, Drast had shared some of the plan with Osc, and for the first time since the war began, he thought the good guys might have a chance.
