Raw Justice

by Martyn J. Pass

  “The guy said that the CA-443 was far superior to the FARGO equivalent. He has it on good authority that only this suit can match motor controls with human neural impulses within blah-blah-something-de-do.”

  “At three-times the cost I'd expect it to,” she said. “This puppy is high-end gear. I'll be the envy of my class, maybe even the entire school.” She suddenly clapped both her hands together. “Got it!”

  The rear portion of the suit parted as power thrummed through the chunky-looking exo-shell. It lacked much of the elegance and style of other combat suits; CHERICA-AUTO were often criticised for having a lack of aesthetics on all their products, but a technician's suit wasn't meant to be anything more (or less) than a tool. Bearing twice the armour value of front-line suits, these things were built with protecting the occupant as its top priority, followed by providing an independent power source and a range of tools. The HUD on these suits bore almost no resemblance to anything I might have used in the past and instead offered Jo scanners, schematic overlays and automated directional hints as she worked. No one could argue that a high-spec exo-shell like this didn't deliver value for money.

  She slid out of her boots, looked around and let her fatigues drop to the floor. In her underwear, she climbed inside, activated the internal power generator and vanished as the rear plates slid back over her body. I gave her a moment or two, then saw something moving in the shadow beyond the large steel doors.

  “Oh shit,” I muttered to myself. Jo in her suit turned sideways and looked.

  “What the hell is that?” she cried over the external speaker.

  “It's a boy who just had a visit from Santa. You'd better watch out.”

  Baz and Grant came running down the stairs from the gantry and stood beside me as the shape took form. Beneath us, the deck plates rumbled with each footstep it made. When it stopped before the doors to allow them to open wider, it raised one weapon platform and began spinning the barrels. I felt my insides turn to jelly.

  “STEP ASIDE, BITCHES!” boomed a voice from the monster. “DADDY'S GOT A NEW TOY.”

  Flanked by the security bots who now seemed tiny compared to the T-105, Mason made his way towards us, testing the motor controls as he went like a giant waking up to stretch out stiff limbs. When he reached the loading bay of the Hikane he stopped and ejected from the back. It was quite high up and he dropped to his feet a little clumsily.

  “Anyone else want a go?” he said, opening his helmet.

  “I'd love-” said Baz but Mason laughed.

  “No chance. I was kidding. It's mine, no one gets to play with her.”

  Jo stepped down from the service platform and began moving up and down, getting used to her own suit. Then, looking up at the T-105, she laughed.

  “What's so funny?” I asked with a smile.

  She said nothing. Then we all stepped back as the rear compartment closed without anyone inside and the machine took a step backwards.

  “Hey!” cried Mason. “Who the hell is doing that?”

  Laughing over the external speaker, she began to walk the War Suit up and down the platform remotely. Mason didn't look impressed.

  “Here, you can have her back,” she said and the machine opened up again. Dropping her HUD, I saw her face appear inside the suit and she was still laughing.

  “Don't worry – the suit has to be empty for the remote access to work. I won't pick on you, I promise.”

  “It's good to know though,” he said, returning her smile. “Might help us out down there.”

  I looked at the queue of loaders still coming with more gear and then, looking at my comms unit and the time, I felt my insides tighten.

  “Let's get things stowed away,” I said. “We need to be moving. The one thing Madam Sill can't sell us is time.”

  Jo and Mason nodded, turning serious along with me. As fun as that was, it was time to go to work.

  28

  Remus IV hadn't changed since we'd last been there. No new orbital defences, no armada of attack-ships in high orbit, nothing to indicate that our last visit had aroused suspicion. We gave the same hand-shake to the docking platform we used before and were told to stand-to whilst our bona fides were checked.

  “Are you ready?” asked Mason over the comms. I turned to look at Baz who stood near the emergency hatch and he nodded through the blacked-out visor of the stealth suit.

  “Good to go,” I replied.

  I felt the ship begin to turn as we prepared to dock. We'd only have a few seconds of confusion whilst she 'accidentally' collided with the ramp and discharged our shield dampeners at the same time. It happened, it wasn't too overt a stunt, but it would snatch vital seconds of scanner delay from the platform itself.

  “We're cleared,” said Mason. “Docking in two minutes.”

  Baz and I moved towards the hatch and took positions on either side. He gripped the release handle and paused. Waiting sucked. I felt my nerves make the most of the inactivity and begin organising a rock concert in the pit of my stomach.

  “Sixty seconds,” said Mason. Baz nodded once and yanked the handle back. The seals popped.

  “Go left out of here and kick off, don't wait,” I said. Another nod.

  “Thirty seconds.”

  “Now,” I said. Baz pulled the handle towards him and the hatch swung open revealing the infinite black of space. There, just coming into view, was the shuttle leaving the docking arm.

  “Go,” I said and out he went. I was right behind him and together we planted our feet onto the side of the ship, bent our knees and with as much force as we could manage, kicked ourselves free into space. We flew like silent arrows, arms tight by our sides, legs locked in place. The shuttle was about to pass us and the intercept couldn't have been timed better. Baz made contact first and his hands clamped onto the smooth metal like the suckers of a leech. I hit the vessel a metre further down from him and felt my arms almost pulled out of their sockets by the clamping mechanism of the suit.

  “In position,” he said over the comms.

  “In position,” I confirmed. “Moving to the escape hatch.”

  My HUD marked the path around the hull of the craft and using one hand at a time I moved across its surface. Before us on the starboard side was the opening we were looking for.

  “How long?” I asked.

  “Three minutes until we reach low orbit,” he said. “Two more and we'll be cooking.”

  I grabbed hold of the handles protruding from the hatch and deactivated the clamps in my gauntlets. Using my feet to keep hold of the shuttle, I unfastened the alarm suppressor from my rig and began wiring it into one of the control panels exposed near the hinges. Baz took up a position opposite me and watched.

  “Want a countdown?” he asked.

  “No,” I replied. “Stay quiet.”

  “Okay.”

  I worked like a man possessed, sucking down panic as I felt time slipping through my fingers like sand. One wire here, another there, bypass that one, make sure the green one lights up my board. I took a deep breath and tried to ignore the planet looming up ahead.

  “Got it!” I cried and snatched the suppressor back, throwing it into space. “Let's go.”

  I slid the handle back and Baz lifted it open, throwing himself inside. I quickly followed and drew it shut behind us.

  “How long?” I asked.

  “You did it in one-thirty-five. Not bad.”

  “It felt longer.”

  We waited inside the hatch, not needing to go any further into the ship. We were hitching a ride, that was all and the lower our profile the better.

  “Planet-fall in ten,” he said. “So. You and our engineer?”

  “Shut up,” I laughed. “I'm sorry I couldn't get you any 'mind-your-own-business implants when we went shopping. They were all out.”

  “Clearly they had designer outfits for that 'special person'.”

  “You should look in the mirror someday, see the guy who spent most of his time shopping fo
r clothes.”

  “There's only one person in my life who deserves this amount of love. Me. I know how to treat myself right, show myself a good time.”

  “I bet you do,” I said. “You'll go blind, pal if you keep that up.”

  “I practice safe sex.”

  “Safe sex for you is making sure you're not caught in the bathroom with a copy of 'Men and Machines' and some of Thor's servo-lube.”

  “I just read the articles.”

  “And the lube?”

  “The flusher squeaks. Just doing some maintenance.”

  “That's a lot of maintenance for one toilet.”

  “Six minutes,” he said. “It's a really squeaky handle.”

  “You should find that special person, mate. Someone who you can fight the mirror for in a morning or go shopping with, maybe do each other's nails.”

  “I did, remember, and she got murdered on that ship. We had a future together. Long walks on the beach. Afternoon tea. We were going to grow old together, you know?”

  “She was already three times your age.”

  “So she had a head start, who cared? Age is just a number.”

  “It can be a big number or it can be a small number.”

  “I guess I'll never fall in love now,” he groaned. “I'll have to return to my former career.”

  “And what was that?”

  “I was known in these parts as 'Stert Golery – intergalactic pornstar and purveyor of small women'.” I snorted out a laugh. “What?”

  “Really?”

  “I specialised in midget-porn in zero-g. It was quite tricky to pull off – no pun intended.”

  “How long?”

  “Three minutes. I suspect you don't believe me.”

  “You're right,” I said. “I don't.”

  The shuttle began its landing procedure as predicted and when it was less than thirty metres from the ground Baz and I leapt from the open hatch and dropped the rest of the way onto compacted snow and ice. Rolling forward with the momentum, we continued east from the pad, never looking back until we were able to fall behind a snowdrift and into cover.

  “I don't hear anything,” I said, noticing that the patterns on my suit had changed to a shifting blend of white and blue colour.

  “Not exactly an international airport, is it?” he replied, gesturing to the lone platform, the shuttle and a small insulated hut.

  “Big-M said that those visiting the target had their own shuttle. The rest of the planet travels economy.”

  “Big-M?” said Baz.

  “His choice, not mine. Come on, let's go.”

  The HUD set a course for the target building and displayed a distance of ten kilometres to the north-east. The land around the city was a frozen waste where years of snow and ice had built up into treacherous slopes and violent drifts. It lacked the danger of our last encounter with the cold but the memory was still felt fresh as we sped along.

  “How do people live on this rock?” asked Baz, barely panting.

  “They don't for half of the day,” I pointed out. “Most of the time they're off their faces on Opho.”

  “Must be good stuff.”

  “I don't want to find out.”

  We closed the distance quickly, meeting no resistance whatsoever. It was only the early hours of Remus IV's morning and even though the light level was pretty low there was a bit of activity here and there on the streets to the south-east. Lamps moved in the twilight and the far-off sounds of machinery could just be heard over the enhanced ears of the suit.

  “Report,” said Mason.

  “Approaching the target building now,” I said. “Five klicks out.”

  “Most of the population will be taking their first hit,” he reminded me. “Now's the best time to strike.”

  “I hear you,” I replied. “Moving as fast as we can.”

  We increased our pace as the land flattened out a little. Groundwork had begun there, it was obvious by the tracks, but it hadn't continued and the snow had filled in the holes left by machinery. It meant we could risk sprinting and I felt my chest groan at the increased exertion.

  “Not far now,” said Baz. “Three clicks.”

  “Keep moving. We'll stop just before the hill.”

  On we ran and no one noticed. We saw nobody until we were half a click out and saw the land rise sharply upwards to the plateau the factory had been built on. We slowed to a halt and, dropping to a crouch, gathered our breath.

  “That was warm work,” said Baz, his hands on his knees. “Shall I go up or you?”

  “I'll go,” I said. “Wait here.”

  I crawled up the slope, digging my fingers into the hard compacted snow for grip. It took a minute or two to reach the top and, peering over, I saw my first glimpse of the factory outside of Columbine's art. He'd been pretty accurate. The building was basic, nothing more than a factory with plain walls of concrete and triple-thick glass windows that had been misted over. Snow piled lazily where you'd expect it to and an asphalt road leading up to the door had been cleared recently.

  “Impressive,” I said. “I see two guards at the door, just goons by the looks of them.”

  “Just for show,” said Mason. “The real deal is inside. Dispatch those two quickly and get in.”

  Baz came up to join me and together we stared into the storm that was beginning to whip up around our ears. Even though natural vision began to fail, the HUDs managed to keep the target building and the goons in sharp relief.

  “Stealth?” asked Baz. I laughed.

  “Be my guest,” I said. “Wait until the tall one comes back around and starts talking to the other. I'll follow.”

  “They don't call me the 'Silent Killer' for nothing.”

  “Who the hell calls you that?”

  “My mum.”

  He went over the top of the rise, crouching low but moving quickly. I detached my weapon from my belt and unfolded the stock, screwing in the barrel from a pouch before inserting the plasma cell. When the display hit green, I took aim and sighted the stationary guard. Baz was within a few metres of him, almost invisible in the stealth-suit and the storm. He drew his knife as the other approached from around the corner.

  “Tangos in sight,” he whispered.

  “Go for it buddy,” I said and eased my finger on to the trigger. “Ready when you are.”

  As the walking guard made his approach, Baz leapt out from where he crouched and plunged the knife into his throat. At the same time, my weapon discharged in utter silence, cut a swathe through the falling snow and burned a hole the size of my fist through the chest of the static guard. Both dropped to the floor at almost the same time.

  “Tango down,” said Baz.

  “Tango down,” I repeated. “Move to the door.”

  Dragging his victim with him, Baz made his way to the other side and waited. I sprinted to him across the open land, noticing that there were no turrets outside and no obvious security other than the two goons.

  “Nice,” he said as I got there.

  “Likewise. Rig the door.”

  He got to work setting thermite charges on the hinges and the lock whilst I covered him on one knee. The man I'd shot was steaming from the entry wound and I could see down into his body, noticing what remained of his ribs was made of molanium.

  “Ready,” said Baz, stepping back. “Clear.”

  “Clear. Do it.”

  With his own weapon now drawn and the detonator in his free hand, he nodded once and turned his head away, mashing the button three times. The doors exploded inward in a brilliant flash of white light and we followed it in, firing the moment our HUD sighted the real defenders.

  “Tango down,” said Baz calmly.

  “Tango down,” I responded as one man in a combat-chassis dropped. Another took his place in the confusion and got the same treatment. Dust and ice chips flooded the open factory, causing the workers to stumble to the ground in blindness and begin screaming. This helped clear the civilians from
the enemy and one by one our HUDs changed their outlines from blue to red.

  “Moving!” cried Baz, dodging incoming fire and heading left into the corner of the factory floor. I was already moving right, aiming upwards at targets on the gantry who fired down indiscriminately. I saw two unarmed workers killed where they cowered and two more shot as they ran for the door.

  “That's another down,” I said. “Moving up. Cover my flank.”

  “Roger. Moving up too. Another tango down. Watch your three, by the vending machine.”

  “Got that. Nice one. Tango down,” I said. I was fluid now, my body and my training working together like precision machinery. Gone were exterior thoughts, gone was fear and anticipation. We were engaged now and nothing else mattered.

  “Move quickly,” said Mason in my ears. “The alarm will have been raised by now.”

  “We're on it,” snapped Baz. “That's two more gone.”

  I fired a burst into an overturned table covered in what I presumed was Opho product. Something groaned on the other side and the arm of the last defender flew upwards, still holding part of his weapon. The rest was gone in a smouldering mess of superheated plasma.

  “Clear?” called Baz.

  “Clear mate,” I replied. “Moving to locate the generator. Standby.”

  I slung my weapon and drew out the scanning module, assembling it quickly from three other parts. Then, activating the power node, I began to move in a pattern, up and down the overturned tables, past pallets of product compressed into dark yellow bricks. I caught the gasp of a civilian and I kicked at her leg, urging her to run.

  “Get them out of here,” I said to Baz. “Quick as you can.”

  “I'm on it.”

  Sweat collected beneath my helmet as the scanner yielded nothing. I swept it over the place Mason and Columbine said it was but I got nothing back.

  “The clock is ticking,” I heard him say over the comms. “Where the hell is it, Carter?”

  “I've got nothing on this thing,” I replied. “No signals, no visible electronics, nada, zip.”

  “Look at the spot we told you,” he replied.

  “I did!” I growled. “But I-”

  I looked up from the display. There, embedded in the wall, was a control panel and it was clearly powered because I could see the glowing icons. It should have shown up on the scanner regardless of what it did, it was electronic. Why didn't it?