by Bill Denise
Damon thought about the last few days spent waiting for a decision from the Council. Why has there been a delay? We’ve never had a delay like this before; a few hours maybe, but never days.
“I can tell you one thing,” Leland continued, “these guys deploying near the factories, they’re new. They’re not from around here. They’re outsiders, and no one seems to know why they’re here.” He paused, watching Damon for his reaction, and seeing none, continued, “I, of course, have a pretty good idea why they’re here.”
“Of course you do,” Damon replied.
Leland exhaled a short grunt of laughter and looked up as the waiter delivered his drink.
After thanking the waiter, Leland continued “I think it’s obvious you’re being set up. It’s a trap. It’s a trap set specifically for you.”
“I don’t know why you would think that, and besides, I’m pretty much up to the task of breaking through anything they can throw at me.” Damon thought for a moment, “But why do you say it’s a trap in the first place?”
Leland sighed and said, “Look, we know the factory guys real well. After all we’re neighbors. We do some work for them, they watch out for us. We know them, personally. These new guys, nobody knows them. The normal factory guys don’t know who they are or why they’re here. They’ve been told to keep working, but many have been skipping work because they’re uneasy, they can tell something big is happening.” He paused to take a drink before continuing “I just thought you should know.”
Damon looked at him, unsure how to respond and confused as to what to make of the situation. Everything felt strange and off balance, nothing about this mission was normal.
Just then, Ken opened a channel and piped into his ear, “What are you doing? Who is that guy?”
Damon sent back a non-verbal signal that he couldn’t talk right now, but he allowed the channel to remain open. He decided it was best to have Ken involved and get his opinion.
Leland finished his drink in one big, long swallow and rose to leave, dropping archaic credit tokens on the table. He leaned toward Damon to emphasize his words. “Son, I don’t think you should go back there. Call it off. Don’t destroy that factory, you’ll be killing a lot of innocent people along with it.” He put a hand on Damon’s shoulder and squeezed lightly, as one would with a good friend, and then turned and walked away.
Befuddled, Damon called after him “Get them out of there, I’ll do what I have to do!” He looked around guiltily as the other patrons heard his outburst and turned his way to see what caused the commotion. Quickly, he stood and hurried off in a different direction.
“What are you doing?” Ken demanded. “Would you like to advertise the mission to the whole city? I can get you a spot on the newscast if you like!”
“I don’t know, Ken. That guy makes me crazy!”
**** ****
Damon decided it would be best to wait it out on the ship, rather than risk another encounter with Leland McKrae. He was not in a talkative mood, however, and Ken quickly gave up trying to engage him in conversation. Left to his own devices, Damon immersed himself in his roiling thoughts. He kept replaying the conversations with McKrae, trying to figure out exactly who he was and what kind of a threat he presented. Again and again, Damon came up with nothing. He did not let Ken review the records; each time he considered it he rejected the idea. I don’t even know what’s bothering me about this, what would I ask Ken to do?
He thought he knew what Ken would say anyway—‘Why do we have to destroy the factory?’—and he didn’t have an answer. He thought about following orders and doing what he was told, and how he had always done just that throughout his life.
Back in 4C, no one questioned the direction from Michael or Andrea or any of the other leaders in the Family. Everyone did what they were told or the whole Family could die.
Now I’m killing innocent people from the Ruins. Maybe it’s not my Ruins, but it’s essentially the same thing. The image of Shrigauri Krych came to mind, as it did so often, repeating the words Damon could not strike from his memory:
. . . Why do you align yourself with the super-rich? . . . You come from the streets. I bet your family was poor . . . am I right? . . . You realize, don't you, that you’re killing your own kind? By following their orders and hitting the targets they give you, you are killing your own family. That's right, Demon, you're working for the bad guys—you are killing the other downtrodden street folks, the ones just like you. . . . You are killing your own people. Imagine . . . those were your own gang-mates out there that you slaughtered.
It’s not true! Damon put his head in both hands, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees, gasping for breath. He closed his eyes as tightly as he could, but the images wouldn’t stop. His pulse hammered in his ears. He ground his fists into his closed eyes trying to stop the images.
First he saw Krych’s guards lying dead on the ground where Damon had cut them down, he saw them in ever-widening pools of blood.
. . . You are killing the others just like you. . . .
. . . You are killing your own. . . .
Then they were no longer the faces of strangers, but they were his friends. He could see faces he knew so well from his childhood, boys and girls he grew up with, who became the men and women of his Family. In his mind he turned away from them and he saw more nameless people. These also sprawled across the ground, horribly destroyed by the power of his weapons. His weapons.
. . . You are killing your own people. . . .
. . . You are killing your own Family. . . .
The vision changed focus, showing him more faces he recognized and there, off to the side.
Lying alone.
Dying.
He saw Andrea.
Her face was ashen and her body torn to shreds, but her eyes fluttered open and she turned to look at him, pleading for his help. She opened her mouth and spoke:
If it was me, I would rather rot in a cell forever than do their dirty work for them. . . . You can’t trust them. It’s a lie, or a trap.
Damon recognized these words, and they brought him back out of the vision. His hands were shaking and tears filled his eyes. These were some of the last words he heard Andrea say to him, her final instruction. Yet another lesson I ignored, he thought bitterly.
He tried to stand, but his legs gave out beneath him and he nearly fell. He quickly sat back down, his whole body trembling.
“Ken!” he said a bit too loudly, startling his partner. “Tell me everything you’ve learned about this company and their factories down below.”
For the next hour, they reviewed the intelligence that Ken had gathered from many different and diverse sources. Damon was impressed not only with Ken’s ability to ferret out data, but also his ability to analyze it and draw conclusions.
During the discussion, Damon received a message from Gregor. Even though he didn’t read it immediately, he had a good idea of what it said. Once he and Ken completed their review to his satisfaction, he viewed the message from Gregor. It was short, simple, and not surprising:
“Target deemed hostile. Destroy immediately,” Damon read out loud to Ken, who snorted in disgust.
“Target deemed hostile! Ha! To who? The Council? Hardly! What are they looking at? Do they have anyone, any single person who knows what they’re doing?” Ken was ranting and Damon let him carry on for a few minutes.
Finally, he interrupted, “Ken! I’m not going to do it. Simple as that.”
“You’re an idiot!” Ken yelled back, causing Damon to recoil. “You already placed the charges!”
“Yes, but I just won’t send the detonate signal,” Damon replied calmly, not quite understanding Ken’s anger.
Ken stopped for moment, visibly calming himself, and said, “They don’t need you to send the signal, they can do it themselves.”
“How can they detonate them?”
“They have all the codes, they know you planted the charges, it was in your mission log. All
they have to do is send the detonate code themselves.”
“But they can’t get a signal that deep. That’s why I couldn’t communicate when I was down there.”
“That won’t stop them. They can rig a set of relays through existing communication systems and get the signal deep enough. I could do it, so I’m sure they could too. You shouldn’t communicate that way because it’s not secure, but for something simple as a detonate code, it would be fine.” He paused and looked intently at Damon. “They could set them off anytime.”
Silence stretched between the two men as Damon tried to understand what he had heard. Finally he said, “I’ve got to get down there first. Get down there and remove the charges, or disable them. Can you slow them down somehow?”
“Good idea, I think I can. I won’t be able to block them completely, but I can buy you some time. But it’s dangerous for you. Can your armor take a direct hit from one of those bombs?”
“I don’t know,” Damon replied, although he thought the answer was actually ‘no.’
“You’re a terrible liar,” Ken stated. “And there’s a bigger issue at stake here. Once you defy their orders, you’ll become a fugitive, and they’ll hunt you down with everything they’ve got.”
Damon laughed, “Then it’s a good thing I have criminal friends!”
“I’m no criminal,” Ken huffed with faux offense.
“Oh, of course not. Now, once you set up whatever it is that you’ll do to slow them from detonating the charges, I need you to prepare to hide. Whatever you need to do, whatever you need to buy, here are my credit codes, which should be good for a few more hours at least. Work your magic to get us set for the fallout from my actions.”
“Sounds good, and you? What about you?”
“I’ve got to take care of those charges. Once I’m done I’ll contact you and we can arrange a pick-up.”
“Good luck!” Ken said sincerely.
“Same to you,” Damon replied, then he paused and added “and thank you. Thank you for . . . well . . . everything you’ve done.”
Damon took a small shuttle to the planet. Ken worked on the communication system while he moved to a safe tunneling distance In case he needed a quick get-away.
Damon decided it would be best to acknowledge the receipt of orders as he normally would, and indicate that he intended to detonate the charges himself. He estimated that he had about two hours before Gregor and the rest of the command would get suspicious.
Chapter Eleven
Back in the city, Damon was forced to move at the pace of the crowd. He could feel the countdown ticking away without accessing his HUD, but he forced himself to remain calm. Once he reached the Ruins he began to move quickly, and he found the path he had taken on his earlier visit.
In only thirty minutes, he found himself on the level of the confusing corridors and passages that made up the underground factories. From there, it took another fifteen minutes to find the first explosive. He disabled the charge and took a minute to survey his surroundings with low-power scanners. His guidance system, working without the usual support of satellites, took the data and compared it to the maps on record and with the scans he took on his first visit in order to orient itself and provide clear directions to the remaining charges.
One down, nineteen to go in a little over an hour, shouldn’t be a problem, he thought as he dropped to the floor and began moving toward the next explosive. Damon’s thoughts drifted to the new direction he would now have to take, if he went through with his defiance of the Council. No more of the easy life he’d been living, the good pay, good food, and the freedom to do whatever he wanted to do.
Except when they need someone killed or some factories taken out. He realized that he would become a fugitive and have to learn how to hide, which could be difficult in this body.
What if I need more ammo? What if I need repairs? The second thought made him pause for a moment, but he realized there must be biolectric surgeons somewhere that would be able to help him. But trying to do so outside of the system could be difficult. Is this really the right way to do it? Once again he longed for Andrea’s advice, or maybe Joann’s, or even Ken’s, but he found himself trapped with no one to turn to but himself.
The sound of artillery fire and a warning from his HUD woke him from his thoughts just in time to catch a high-velocity shell in the chest. The impact felt as if it broke some ribs, and it threw him backwards into the running machinery, where he found himself caught up in various gears, motors and wiring. He found it painful to breathe, and the wreckage of the machinery, which was still trying to perform whatever function it was intended for, effectively trapped his arms and legs making it impossible to bring any weapons to bear.
Another shell slammed into the machine beside him, luckily not catching him in another direct hit.
Now he had a target on his HUD and fired an anti-vehicular missile. The missile bounced in mid-flight as it hit some of the debris hanging down from above, but its sophisticated guidance system was able to compensate and it scored a direct hit on the artillery piece. The target was destroyed, but Damon knew he had very little time to extricate himself from the mess of cables and machine parts that seemed to be intentionally grabbing onto him.
He cried out as his left wrist was caught between two large, hardened steel gears that were still turning. He felt the intense compression of the armor and the reinforced bones beneath, but he was unable to do anything other than strain against the pull with all of his enhanced strength. He cried out and yanked his right hand free. Rolling toward the left, he punched one of the gears as hard as he could, shattering it and freeing his hand.
His breath came in short, shallow gasps and he felt a moment of nausea looking at the damaged wrist. Using enhanced magnification, we saw D-SAP scales flaking off of the crushed and twisted surface. He tried deploying the weapons in the wrist, but none of them responded.
“Kyndra’s tears!” he cursed. Using emergency protocols, he instructed the D-SAP on the wrist to harden completely, and was relieved to see that it responded. Testing it with his right hand, he found that the armor maintained integrity, and would still protect the area, although it was no longer as strong as it once was. He decided to leave it in a solid state for safety and instructed his control systems to keep it that way.
His HUD flashed again with two more targets closing into range, and Damon could see both were of the same type of artillery. Now that he knew what they were capable of, he didn’t want to let them get any closer. His chest still hurt with every breath, and he spared a moment’s concentration to check the medical display, which glowed red with warnings, but offered no immediate solutions.
“. . . 68% . . .”
He decided against the Trip-PC, but he wanted an energy weapon to take out at least one of the targets quickly. He deployed one of the lasers from his wrist and drew a bead on the first target. Once he had a green reticle, he let loose with a full-power volley, letting it slice through the intervening machinery and punch holes into the target. Immediately, his HUD noted that it was effectively disabled as it ground to a halt and powered down.
Damon quickly stowed the laser and moved toward the second vehicle, which would be rounding a corner and firing in less than two seconds. His power was too low to risk more high-power weapons, so he prepared a missile. Unfortunately, the missile needed to be in line of sight before firing, which meant risking another hit in the process, but he had little choice.
Just before the artillery platform turned the corner, Damon dropped to his knees and held his mostly useless left arm covering his chest, while instructing the targeting system to fire as soon as the missile locked. It turned out that his system was better than his opponent’s and the missile fired a half second before the artillery. The shell moved faster however, and Damon was barely able to duck out of the way of a direct hit, but was knocked off balance by a grazing blow to his shoulder. The weapons platform exploded before it had a chance to reload.
/> Damon stayed on his knees for a moment, and tried to calm his breathing. He looked at his damaged wrist again, and cradled it in his right arm.
He checked his HUD for further targets and found nothing else in the immediate area. He activated a quick active scan since he was no longer hidden anyway, and found many new targets converging on him. Just soldiers now, although he did not know what weapons they carried.
He ran a pathfinder program to plot his best route to the explosives while avoiding as many targets as possible. He did not want to turn this into a bloodbath if it could be avoided. He no longer felt indifferent about the people he killed.
The pathfinder was complete and Damon followed the directions shown in his HUD. He shut down all active sensors, which hindered his knowledge of enemy movements, but helped him hide.
From what he saw before shutting down the sensors, these troops were well trained and knew what they were doing.
A chill ran down his back as he realized these were real soldiers. He thought about his injury—he’d never been damaged before. Rubbing his left wrist, he decided he couldn’t afford to hold back, not against professionals.
Here we go, he thought, and it’s going to be interesting!
He tried to keep as much machinery between him and the soldiers as possible as he followed the path. Sometimes he was able to break through the walls into parallel corridors and travel out of sight that way, but it was risky since he couldn’t make holes quietly. He had removed four more charges without incident, but it soon became obvious that his pathfinder couldn’t help anymore without an updated scan. However, if he activated his scanners he would be detected immediately. I’m really on my own now, have to rely on passive sensors and visual line of sight.
