by James Walker
“I told you he was difficult to work with,” Childers replied. “But don't worry. Personality quirks aside, Harris is a genius in his field. If anyone can pick the lock on that Cage, it's him.”
“That's all well and good,” Guntar said, “just as long as Dr. Klein doesn't throttle him first.”
31
Ridley sat behind the vast desk in his office, staring out the glass walls. The northeastern view from the upper levels of the palatial complex never diminished in its awesome beauty. The glittering facades of the Golden Ward's skyscrapers spread for kilometers, contained within the gigantic hexagonal support beams of the containment dome. Beyond that, verdant forests and pastures stretched to meet the foothills of a distant mountain range. The mountains were haloed by an ocher glow that faded to dusty cyan and then finally to the brilliant azure and white of the sky. It was vastly preferable to the view on the other side of the building, which showed nothing but increasingly dilapidated urban sprawl for as far as the eye could see.
Ridley's console buzzed, interrupting his reverie. It was a call on the urgent line. He accepted the call and the nervous face of Professor Dexter Harris appeared.
“Director Nimh,” he said breathlessly. “I have a matter of extreme importance to bring to your attention.”
“What is it?”
“I was contacted by the rebel cell,” Harris said. “The Greenwings. It was different this time. They didn't just want my help hacking into a database or covering their tracks in the cybersphere.” He leaned in even closer until Ridley could practically count the hairs in his mustache. “They actually brought me to their base.”
This caused Ridley to sit bolt upright. “They did? Can you tell us where it is?”
“Yes, but there's more.” Harris leaned back and glanced left and right, then turned back to the camera and licked his lips nervously. “They have some kind of device. They call it the Cage. They say they stole it from a Union research laboratory. They're not sure what it's for, because it has multiple layers of hardware and software protection. It has some of the strongest security I've ever seen. That's why they brought me here. They needed my help to crack it.”
Ridley's thoughts raced as he assimilated this information. This could only mean one thing. It was as Liumei had said. T.U. Spacy had failed to capture their target in the attacks on Port Osgow and Gemdrop. And now this object—this device that was so important that Spacy Command would send an entire task force with orders to retrieve it by any means necessary—had fallen right into his hands.
“Thank you, Professor,” he said. “This is extremely valuable information. Now, where are you?”
“Beneath Industrial Sector Seven,” Harris said, “under the old warehouse complex. They're using the cargo elevators to move between the Undercity and the surface.”
Ridley searched his memories. “But those facilities were shut down years ago. They're not operational anymore. Even if the rebels restored power, we would notice the drain on our output.”
“The rebels have their own generator,” Harris explained. “They use it to power the elevators. They've disconnected the complex from the power grid so it doesn't appear on the trackers when they turn it on.”
Ridley tightened his hand into a fist. “Clever bastards. What can you tell me about their fighting strength?”
“Beg pardon?”
“Their forces,” Ridley pressed. “Soldiers, weapons, equipment.”
“Ah,” Harris sniffed. “I'm afraid I'm not well versed in military matters, but they seem to have the bulk of their troops concentrated here. I believe there are several hundred soldiers in total, and they also have numerous combat vehicles. I'm not free to roam the encampment as I please, so I haven't seen everything they've got.”
Ridley could not contain his triumphant smile. “Jackpot.”
“Listen. You have to hurry.” Harris' voice was urgent. “I've been working on the Cage for days. I've tried to get away so I could contact you, but this is the first chance I've had to get away without arousing suspicion. The decryption algorithm we developed is running as we speak, and the Cage is only hours away from being opened.”
“What?” Ridley exploded in anger. “Why the hell didn't you stall them?”
“I tried,” Harris said. “But their other security expert—Dr. Klein—she's been watching me like a hawk. If I kept stonewalling them, she would know, and then they would suspect me. I had no choice but to provide some real help in order to allay suspicion. It's a shame that Dr. Klein is so misguided. She's frightfully intelligent. It only took a few key insights from me, and she figured the rest out on her own. There's no way for me to stop it now.”
Ridley took a deep breath. “I understand. Just sit tight, Professor. We'll organize a retrieval operation as quickly as possible.”
Harris breathed a sigh of relief. “Thank you, Director. I knew you would understand how important this is.”
“No, thank you, Professor,” Ridley replied. “As always, we appreciate your cooperation.”
He terminated the transmission and leaned back in his chair. “Good old academics and their willful naïvete.” He pulled out his comm and dialed the governor's personal number. After a few rings, she picked up. Her beautiful face hovered against a backdrop of blue skies.
“What is it, darling?” she asked.
“Are you busy right now?” Ridley asked.
“I've just concluded a meeting with the urban planning commissioner,” she replied. “I'm currently taking tea on the veranda. So no, I'm not busy.” She flashed a seductive smile. “Why, did you want to get together for a little while?”
“Unfortunately, this is business,” Ridley said. “I think I should tell you in person.”
Liumei's smile turned upside down. “It sounds urgent.”
“I'll come down and tell you all about it.”
“All right.”
Ridley ended the call and tucked his comm back in his pocket. With a tired sigh, he left his office, told his secretary to hold his calls, and rode the elevator to floor 112. Upon emerging, he returned the salute from the guards and made his way through the lavishly decorated suite to the veranda. He found Liumei sitting at a table in the hanging garden, sipping at her tea and staring out at the grand cityscape. As he drew near, she looked up and gestured for him to sit down.
“Well,” she said, “what is so important that you would turn down my invitation for a private engagement?”
“There isn't much time.” He quickly explained the information Professor Harris had relayed to him. Liumei listened intently, tracing the lip of her teacup with her finger.
“So,” she said once Ridley was finished, “the prize our Spacy friends have been seeking would appear to be ours for the taking.”
“Perhaps,” Ridley said. “But the rebels are keeping it well-guarded. We won't be able to take it without a major assault. We could never execute an operation of that scale without Spacy finding out.”
Liumei tapped her finger against her lips. “That is a valid point. And I would rather have Spacy's forces take the brunt of the casualties... You think we should share this information with them, then?”
“That would be my recommendation,” Ridley said. “Coordinate with them to execute a joint operation.”
“Very well,” Liumei agreed. “You have my permission.”
“There's one other thing.” Ridley hesitated. “I'm going to take part in the operation, too.”
“What?” Liumei nearly spilled her cup in the middle of taking a drink. “It's highly irregular for a man of your rank to go out into the field. Besides, part of the reason I appointed you to this position is so you could avoid the danger of battle.”
“I know.” Ridley reached across the table and took Liumei's hand in his own. “But I'm a fighter, Liumei. I'll go crazy stuck at a desk for too long. I have to go out there.”
Liumei smiled sadly. “Men are such selfish creatures. Very well. Go fight your battle if you must sa
tisfy your bloodlust. But you must promise to come back to me.”
“Of course I will.” Ridley leaned over and kissed Liumei, then he stood up. “I'll go plan the operation with Commander Koga.”
“Be careful around him,” Liumei warned. “I don't trust that man.”
“That makes two of us.”
As he made his way back to the elevator, Ridley dialed Koga's number on his comm. Almost immediately, the commander answered, his sour face puckered with impatience.
“What is it, Director? Have you made progress in the investigation into the attack on my officers?”
“Much better than that,” Ridley replied. “We've found the rebels.”
Koga shot up straight, suddenly full of intensity. “You have? Where?”
“Come to my office,” Ridley replied. “And bring your officers. There's not much time. We need to strike in a matter of hours.”
Without waiting for a reply, he hung up.
*
“So that's the situation. Our primary objectives are the retrieval of this so-called Cage and the destruction of the rebels' main base.”
Ridley swept his gaze between the officers gathered around the holographic projection of the city in the center of his office. Commander Koga was present, along with his augment officers, who due to their accelerated healing and liberal doses of regen serum had almost fully recovered from their injuries. The Spacy marine commanders were also present, and several strategic planners from Ridley's own staff.
“I recommend a joint strike between the Spacy company and the Hongpan defense forces.” Ridley looked to Koga. “How soon can your men be ready?”
“We've been ready since we got here,” Koga replied. “How about you?”
“We have one company ready for immediate deployment,” Ridley said. He glanced at his planners. “How long to mobilize the reserves?”
“Just the defense forces?” asked the chair of the Strategic Planning Commission.
Ridley nodded. “Tackling the rebels' main base is too much for the police. They'd just get in the way.”
“In that case, we can mobilize a second company in about two hours,” the planner said. “With six hours, we could field a third.”
“We don't have six hours,” Ridley said. “Two will have to do. That brings us to three total.”
“About a battalion's worth of forces,” Koga said. “How many have the rebels got?”
“We only have estimates, but roughly the same,” Ridley said. “But they'll have inferior training and equipment.”
“Don't count on that to save you,” Koga said. “If your insurgents are anything like the unit we've been pursuing, they can fight like hell. And we'll be fighting on their turf.”
Ridley looked surprised. “Are you saying we should pass up this opportunity to strike?”
“Don't ask stupid questions,” Koga snapped. “I'm only warning your men not to get cocky, or the city sanitation department will be cleaning their remains off the streets for months.”
“Your advice is noted.” Ridley painted the location where Harris had indicated the rebel base was located, then began tracing paths through the surrounding streets. “The best routes of attack would be through here. I recommend setting off heavy explosives”—he drew several Xs on the map—“at these points to gain access to the Undercity. Then our forces can infiltrate the underground at multiple locations. Finally, we'll advance on the rebels from all sides and crush them in one swoop. Thoughts?”
One of the marines' platoon commanders asked, “Air cover?”
“We can muster a squadron of attack choppers,” the strategic planner said. “They'll be useless once the fighting goes underground, though.”
“One squadron of VTOLs, huh.” The platoon commander rubbed his chin. “Better than nothing, but it's not much. What about the Onyx Down?”
Koga shook his head. “The orbit she's holding is too high to provide supporting fire. She could scramble a squadron of Slayers, but taking into account the time needed to get a message to her and travel time to the surface, they'd be awfully late to the party.”
“Guess the VTOLs will have to do, then,” the platoon commander said.
Ridley's gaze returned to Koga. “During our initial meeting, you said your forces would gladly take the role of vanguard. Is that offer still open?”
“Naturally,” Koga replied. “Assault ops are our forte, not yours. Just so long as your boys are up to watching our backs.”
“Oh, they're up to it,” Ridley assured him. “So that's our plan of attack. Any objections?”
There were none.
“Good,” Ridley said. “Then I'll leave it to the unit commanders to work out the details. Any final questions before we begin preparations?”
Omicron thrust his hand into the air—an oddly childish gesture in the current situation. “I have a question,” he called.
Ridley looked at him oddly. “Lieutenant?”
Omicron let his hand drop. “Agent Hans and those other wi—er, agents we had that altercation with the other day. Will they be part of the assault force?”
“They're suspended pending the results of the investigation into that very altercation,” Ridley replied.
“What if they weren't suspended?” Omicron asked.
“I believe they're on the defense roster, so yes, they would probably be participating if they weren't suspended,” Ridley said. “Why?”
“Well, in that case.” Omicron scratched at the side of his head. “If it's not too much trouble, I'd like to drop all charges.”
All eyes turned to Omicron in confusion. Lambda, in particular, appeared bewildered.
“Are you sure?” Ridley asked. “They were quite serious charges.”
“I think the whole thing was just a little scuffle that got blown out of proportion,” Omicron said. “I'd hate for them to be denied the opportunity to participate in this critical operation over a trifle.”
“If you say so.” Ridley turned to Koga. “Are you OK with this, Commander?”
“Omicron and Lambda are the victims here,” Koga replied. “It's their call. Lieutenant? Your thoughts?”
Lambda looked up at Omicron inquiringly. He answered her unspoken question with a confident smile. She said uncertainly, “If Omicron says so, I suppose I don't have a problem with it.”
“Very well,” Ridley said. “I'll have them returned to active duty immediately. Any other questions?”
No one spoke.
Ridley switched off the projector. “Then let's get the ball rolling.”
*
The augments changed into their pilot suits and headed for the hangar, which buzzed with activity as support personnel scrambled to get the vehicles ready in time for the attack. Finding their Ghost and Arrow-3 was a simple matter, for the military exosuits stood out amidst the sea of domestic security models. The P.S.A. suits, called Ramparts, were smaller and more lightly armed than their military counterparts. The ones used in police work had white-and-blue paint jobs, while those intended for combat operations sported urban camouflage. It was the latter that were being prepared for the operation.
Omicron located the mechanics for their suits and demanded, “What's the story, oily? Our suits ready to go?”
“Just a few more minutes and they'll be all fueled up,” the mechanic replied. “We still haven't fixed the cloaking system on your Ghost, Lieutenant. We repaired the sensors and armor plating, but the stealth system is made from extremely delicate components. We don't have the facilities to manufacture replacements here.”
“Damn, this new model's one hell of a hangar queen, huh?” Omicron planted his hands on his hips and looked up at his suit in annoyance. “Oh well, no big deal. The hunt's more fun when they can see me coming, anyway.”
He swept his gaze lazily from one end of the hangar to the other, an amused smile pasted on his face. After a while, he nudged Lambda and pointed across the hangar.
“Hey, check it out.”
“What is it?” Lambda turned to see what he was pointing at.
On the other side of the hangar, they saw Ridley clad in a pilot suit, speaking with another team of mechanics and gesturing to a nearby exosuit. He was standing in front of a modified Rampart with special markings and a heavier weapons loadout.
“So, the big cheese of the pizza force is gonna get his hands dirty with the grunts,” Omicron said. “Got to say I'm surprised. I didn't think Mr. Pretty-boy had it in him. Wonder if he can actually pilot that thing, or if he's just putting on a show.”
“Good question,” Lambda replied.
The pair continued watching the preparations unfold for several minutes. Finally, the mechanic called, “OK, fueling complete. You two can board your suits anytime.”
The augments started to turn away when Omicron stopped and spun around. At the sight of Agent Hans passing by in battle gear, Omicron's face spread into a monstrous grin. Hans glanced at him as he passed and recoiled at the sight of his bestial visage, then hurried onward.
“Looks like our friend is with the sixth platoon,” Omicron noted, “just like his records said.”
“You looked up his records?” Lambda asked.
“His and all the others who accompanied us on our merry little jaunt,” Omicron replied.
Lambda's look grew suspicious. “What's your game, Omicron? The mission comes first, you know.”
“Sure, the mission comes first,” Omicron agreed. “But there is such a thing as secondary objectives.”
Without another word, he climbed into his exosuit. Lambda stared after Hans' retreating back, then turned away, pulled her helmet over her head, and boarded her suit.
32
The sound of a blaring alarm startled Vic awake. A blaring voice announced, “Enemy sighted. A large Union force has been detected approaching our position. All hands, to your stations. This is not a drill. I repeat, this is not a drill. All hands—”
