Splendid Apocalypse: The Fall of Old Earth (An Old Guy/Cybertank Adventure Book 5)

by Timothy J. Gawne

  Parker finished draining his mug. “Well, it’s been a long day. If you don’t mind, I think I will turn in.”

  “As you say. You remember the way back to the dormitory, I suppose?”

  There was a series of chimes that echoed in from the corridor outside. “Oh bloody hell,” said Mahalanobis. The chimes repeated.

  “What’s that?” asked Parker.

  “That, my young man, is the early warning alert. Our branch is apparently in imminent danger of assault.” He put down his mug, holstered his revolver, and stood up. “You had better come with me.”

  “The chimes don’t sound like an alarm.”

  “That was the idea.”

  Mahalanobis walked out of his office, with Parker following close behind. The older man started walking at a brisk pace, and Parker had to hurry to keep up. In the corridor they passed two Librarians who were carrying blocky assault rifles. The chimes repeated again.

  “Where are we going?” asked Parker.

  “To the office of Brother Subotai. He’s the head of security and I need to consult with him. Ah, here we are.”

  The two men entered an office that was as stark as Mahalanobis’ was cluttered. There was one table, one chair, a single computer terminal, and a small array of primitive-looking self-powered speakers and telegraphs. The walls were bare, unadorned cement blocks. Brother Subotai was a thin and wiry ethnic Japanese. He ignored the two men as they entered, and concentrated on listening to reports, occasionally giving curt orders. Mahalanobis simply waited patiently, hands clasped in front of him. Parker looked around and then decided to follow the older man’s lead.

  Eventually brother Subotai deigned to notice them. “Brother Mahalanobis. Sorry to have kept you waiting, I had to organize the first phase of our defense.”

  “No worries,” said Mahalanobis. “I did not want to interrupt. So how bad is it?”

  “Not great, but not hopeless,” said Subotai. “The sentries picked up what looks like a federal police SWAT team setting up for an assault. If they hold to form we should be hit around dawn, about six hours from now.”

  “Is this one of the serious players? Epsilon or Theta?”

  “No, thankfully. Anyhow Epsilon has already left for the Alpha Centauri system. This is just regular feds. No night vision, no drones, and it’s taking them a long time for them to get ready. So we won’t need to break out the heavy stuff.”

  “Is it wise to hold back?”

  “No,” said Subotai, “but if the feds get the slightest hint of what they are really up against before we have dealt with them, we’ll be finished. I’m holding the big guns in reserve.”

  “You would know best, Brother,” said Mahalanobis. “I wonder what set them on to us?”

  “I have no idea,” said Subotai. “We can discuss that later. Right now I have a library branch to save.”

  “And what is your plan?”

  “To suck them in, and kill them in ambushes. The main thing, of course, will be to wipe out their leadership. If we only bloody their troopers, they will bring in reinforcements, or even the army.”

  “And how will you find their senior leadership?”

  “I will capture one of their troopers, and he will tell me.”

  “He’ll just tell you?”

  “I can be persuasive.”

  “You mean, you’re going to torture him?”

  “I can be very persuasive. Look, we’re fighting for our lives. We can’t play nice here. Beating off the initial assault is not the main challenge when dealing with police. It’s trying to stop them from calling in more and more reserves and grinding us down. When I capture the leaders, I’m going to have them send out garbled calls for help blaming some other group and giving different coordinates. With luck that will spread enough confusion that we can escape retaliation, at least for a while.”

  “Well,” said Mahalanobis, “that sounds like a good plan. As current Senior Archivist, you have my support.”

  “Fine then,” said Subotai. He pointed at Parker. “But what about him?”

  “Ah yes,” said Mahalanobis. “Mr. Parker, you have not yet taken your vows. You are still free to try and make an escape, should you care to. Nobody would hold it against you.”

  “That’s fine,” said Parker, “but at this point I feel that I belong here. I will stay.”

  “Good lad,” said Mahalanobis. “Brother Subotai, for the duration of this emergency I leave the Library in your capable hands. Meanwhile, where would you have me?”

  “I need to cover the western hall near the electronics workshops, but all my full squads are committed. Take Mr. Parker there and stand watch. If the feds come that way, sound the alarm, harass them if you can, fall back to the east and join up with Brother Strauss’ squad. Also, while Mr. Parker here may have talent, he does not yet know our methods. I would rather not try to integrate him with a full, coordinated squad – just have him watch your back. That sounds simple enough.”

  “As you say, Brother Subotai. Good luck.”

  “And good luck to you as well,” said Subotai, “now I need to get back to my planning. If you don’t mind.”

  “We’ll show ourselves out,” said Mahalanobis.

  The two men left the room, and Parker followed Mahalanobis down a hall.

  “So now what?” asked Parker.

  “Well, first we get ourselves properly outfitted for war. Then, most likely, we spend several hours sitting and waiting. If we are lucky, it will be very boring. If we are unlucky, it will be very boring, and then there will be some excitement. But first we need to get to one of the auxiliary armories. It’s over here, on the left.”

  They walked down a small dark side hall, and came to a dead end. Mahalanobis worked a hidden latch, and the wall sprung open. There were several rifles and other assorted equipment in the shallow hidden closet.

  Mahalanobis picked up one of the rifles, and handed it to Parker. “Now this is a .308 caliber semi-automatic rifle. The basic operation is a lot like the Glock you shot earlier. Twenty rounds a clip, and don’t waste your shots because we don’t have much in reserve. It’s a decent punch, but only marginally effective against the low-level body armor these feds are using. If you have the time to place your shots, go for the head.”

  Parker examined the rifle. Like most of the firearms produced by the Librarians Temporal, it had the blocky angular style of hand-crafted machining. The square steel grips had been tightly wrapped in thin nylon cord.

  “And here,” said Mahalanobis. “The feds love to use flash-bang grenades. These goggles will automatically dim to a flash, and these ear-protectors are normally straight pass-through unless there is a loud noise. Also, take one of these gas masks, but don’t bother wearing it unless you see thick smoke. One thing you can say about the feds, they don’t use nerve agents or anything else subtle. You’ll have plenty of time to put it on if needed.”

  Mahalanobis picked up another rifle and checked the action while Parker examined his own weapon, and experimentally tried sighting it in to different objects. Mahalanobis pulled out a couple of armored vests – they were filthy and smelled heavily of must, but both men put them on anyhow.

  They closed the false wall, and walked back out of the short hall. They stopped at a pantry, and Mahalanobis loaded a small bag with bottles of water and energy bars. “No telling how long this might last,” he said. “We might get hungry.”

  They went up a flight of stairs. Parker caught a glimpse down a cross-hall of a squad of Librarians Temporal moving into position. They moved quietly and alertly, their weapons held at ready. He didn’t think that they looked much like librarians at all.

  Soon they came to a deserted hall outside a storeroom filled with a wide assortment of electronic components. Mahalanobis talked into a primitive-looking telephone. “Hello, Mahalanobis here. Yes, we’re in the western hall near the upper electronics section. Yes, Parker is with me. Yes, I’ll call if I see anything. Yes, you’ll call me if anything happe
ns. Mahalanobis out.”

  “Why do you still use such crude communications systems?” asked Parker. “Wouldn’t it be more efficient to have individual radios or datanet links?”

  “Yes, except that the central government owns that technology. If we used anything like that, they would be able to track us, listen in on us, jam us, whatever they liked. However, using simple technology is an advantage. We are like a black hole to them – they have spent so long perfecting the art of electronic warfare that I suspect that most of their agents can’t even conceive of an enemy not using the global datanets.”

  “I suppose. So what do we do now?”

  “Well, let’s see. I think we should hole up in that side room over there. It’s got a good view of the hall and some nice bulky machine tools to hide behind. If we have to, we can retreat through the back of the room and join up with the rest of the brethren.”

  Parker looked around at the layout, and nodded. “OK, that makes sense. Gives us the best view and the best cover.”

  They walked into the side room. There were two heavy steel milling machines near the center, and the walls were covered with mismatched cabinets holding thousands of tiny clear plastic drawers filled with all manner of fiddly bits. Mahalanobis placed the sack with the food and water on a workbench. He yawned, walked to the back of the room, and stretched out on the floor. “I am going to take a nap. You are going to keep watch and wake me if you hear anything. In two hours I’ll spell you. It’s one of the prime rules of any military. If they take you someplace, and they don’t give you anything to do, go to sleep. You see, you don’t know when you might be able to sleep again.”

  Mahalanobis rolled onto his side, and propped his head up under one arm. Parker fiddled with his rifle for a bit, rolling it around and taking the magazine out and putting it back in again. He got bored with that, and sat down cross-legged with the rifle by his side. He thought about asking Mahalanobis a question, but the older man was sound asleep. Parker positioned himself slightly behind one of the milling machines, so that he was mostly hidden, but could still see down the hall.

  It was quiet in the library. Sometimes he would hear the faint echoes of footsteps from far away, but mostly the only noise was the low murmur of street traffic from outside. He wished that he had his dataslate so that he could play a game or surf the news, but all such connections to the global datanets were banned in the library, and he had been forced to surrender it to a shielded locker near the main entrance. All he had was a primitive analog watch that the brothers had loaned him. He watched the mechanical dials slowly revolve. Two hours was a long time when there was nothing to do. He looked around the workshop: there were several thick technical manuals. He thought about reading one, but no, that might distract him too much. At least he no longer noticed the musty odor from his armored vest.

  Eventually two hours passed, and Parker shook Mahalanobis by the shoulder. The older man woke up and was instantly alert. Parker tried to get comfortable on the floor (there did not appear to be any soft objects in the workroom – damn but he should have brought a pillow). He lay there completely wide awake, thinking that the only thing more boring than sitting around with nothing to do, was lying on the floor with nothing to do and not being able to fall asleep. Sometimes he would sneak a peek at his wristwatch, to see how much time had passed. He seemed to be doing that about every four minutes.

  “Wake up Mr. Parker.” Parker sat up, stiff, and somewhat groggy. He looked at his watch: two hours had passed. He’d fallen asleep after all.

  “Shall I spell you again in another two hours?” asked Parker.

  “No, thank you. It seems the feds are getting ready to move, so I’ll pass on going back to sleep. Perhaps we could have an early breakfast. Care for an energy bar?”

  Parker thought that the energy bars tasted like compressed cardboard sprinkled with building insulation, but they were filling, and eating gave him something to do. He washed them down with several long swigs of stale water.

  After about an hour he saw the first faint glow of dawn from outside the window. The sound of soft chimes echoed down the corridor. The melody was different from the original alarm.

  “That’s the general alert,” said Mahalanobis. “It looks like the feds are getting ready to move. Look sharp now.”

  Mahalanobis adjusted his goggles and ear plugs, and stood behind one of the milling machines resting his rifle on the horizontal bed. Parker followed the older man’s lead, and took up a position behind the other machine.

  They waited. There were the muffled sounds of explosions in the distance; Parker thought they were quieter than he had expected. There were the sounds of running, and of doors being smashed open.

  Someone tossed a couple of small objects into the hall, and they exploded, but the sound and light were not very impressive. Parker figured that his auto-dimming goggles must be working, but if so the dimming was so fast that he couldn’t tell other than that the pyrotechnic grenades didn’t bother him.

  Shortly thereafter a half-dozen black-armored federal troops rushed into the hall. They were crouched low, each holding a stubby carbine tight up to their faces and following along after each other in surprisingly close proximity. “Freeze,” bellowed the leader. “Everyone on the ground, NOW NOW NOW!”

  The troopers were walking away from them down the corridor. Mahalanobis, bracing himself on the flat metal bed of the milling machine, calmly shot one of the troopers through the back of his helmet. He shifted his aim and shot another in the back of the neck. The remaining troopers turned and opened up, their weapons firing three-round bursts. The bullets pinged off the milling machines and shattered innumerable of the tiny plastic drawers lining the walls, but the troopers were just spraying rounds in their general direction. Mahalanobis, unfazed by any of this, squeezed off another shot and took down a third trooper with a shot to his plastic visor.

  Parker shot at another one, and hit him in the chest. The trooper staggered but didn’t fall, and began to shoot back. The troopers’ return fire wasn’t accurate, but it was all that Parker could do not to duck, or turn and run. He shot the trooper a second time, the man stumbled but remained upright. Moron, thought Parker. You’re aiming right at their vests.

  He went for a headshot, and saw the trooper finally fall. He tried to target another one, but something hit him in the stomach and he dropped his rifle. Then there were two more impacts on his chest like he’d been kicked by a horse, and he stumbled and fell to the floor.

  He was dazed, and vaguely noticed more gunshots and then some screaming that was cut off by another shot. His vision was blurry and he couldn’t seem to catch a breath. He was aware of more people in the corridor but they weren’t shooting at him.

  “Brother, well done. We have broken them!” Parker thought he recognized the voice of Subotai. “The reserve squads will run down the stragglers, now we need to take out their leadership! Brother Librarians, with me!”

  Parker tried to stand up, but was overcome by dizziness and fell back over, and then everything faded away.

  7. Cousins

  “…while laissez faire capitalism appears to be the most productive way to allocate resources, unregulated capitalism inevitably leads to the sale of human flesh in the market place.”

  - Jerry Pournelle, Political Scientist and Author, 20th -21st century Earth.

  Imelda Blucher was sitting at the desk in her office, reviewing the ongoing production statistics from Biorecycling Center No. 37. She rubbed at her eyes. She was behind again, and tired from staying up late the previous night going over the center’s records as well as trying to straighten out yet another foul-up in her personal tax and health benefit accounts.

  She took several large gulps of coffee laced with mild amphetamine. Blucher, like most employees, was forbidden any sort of narcotic or alcohol for these might impair efficiency. This was enforced with the occasional random blood test, and one positive would get you automatically fired without appeal. However
, caffeine and amphetamines tended to boost performance, so these were allowed, as long as you didn’t go over the prescribed limits.

  Blucher felt the stimulants take over, and her fatigue fell away. She drained her cup. She focused on the computer terminal in front of her, and what had previously seemed daunting was suddenly easy. What was the advertising slogan? Personal advancement through modern neuropsychiatric drugs! Something like that.

  Her assistant tried to interrupt her. At first she ignored him – she was so into her production statistics – but he was persistent and eventually she looked up.

  “Yes? What is it now, Martinez?”

  “Sorry to bother you ma’am, but there is an alarm in one of the old storage bays. It’s probably nothing – they haven’t been used for a while, but we should probably check it out. Shall I send a guard?”

  Blucher missed her old assistant Elmer Nandi. Her new assistant, Vincent Martinez, was efficient enough, but he refused to do anything without checking with her first. She wished she could delegate more to him, but like most people today, he was so terrified of making a mistake that he always got a confirmation before doing anything, no matter how trivial.

  Blucher looked at her assistant’s computer terminal, and saw the blinking alarm indicating trouble of unspecified origin in auxiliary storage bay 4. Probably just the damned sensor reporting trouble with itself. That was mostly what alarm systems seemed to be good for.

  “Bloody hell. I’ll go check it out, do me good to get away from my desk. Congratulations, you’ve just volunteered to finish reviewing the production statistics. I expect them to be done by the time I get back.”

  “Are you sure that you should go alone? Shall I call a guard to go with you?”

  “No, I’ll be fine. Now get to those statistics!”

  Blucher got up, logged out of her terminal, and walked out the door of her office. The noise and bustle of the main work-room floor assaulted her. She caught snippets of conversation from the workers as she walked past the lines. After the unfortunate events with her previous assistant, she had heard that people were starting to refer to her as ‘The Spike.’ Blucher didn’t know whether to be flattered or appalled.