The Prodigal Sun
Page 29
“Get your heads down!” Haid shouted. “We’re going through!”
Roche whipped her head around to see the vast windows leap toward her. She ducked instinctively, felt Jytte hunch over beside her, heard the crash and clatter of shattering glass. She heard someone call out in alarm as fragments suddenly flew into the cabin through the broken side windows.
By the time she regained her balance, Haid had the brakes locked. The van swerved sideways again, skidding across the main terminal floor like a snowplow, tearing a ragged path through chairs, tables, partition boards, and other assorted furniture.
The van careened to a rough halt, causing Neva and Veden to tumble from their seats. Roche heard Haid shout orders as he rolled through the buckled driver’s door. Emmerik slid across the seat to follow him. Already the rear doors of the van had opened; Jytte and her companion jumped into the foyer with a clatter of boots and weapons.
Roche waited until Neva and Maii had climbed free before stepping down herself. Cane had already disembarked. Sending a hail of energy to clear the air for a moment, she returned to help Veden. Presenting her back to him, she gestured for him to slip his arms through the leather straps Maii had tied around the suit’s neck. He resisted for a moment, then did as he was told.
Just in time. Percussion fire from the parking lot forced her behind the van. Sparkling ricochets danced off the marble floor and mirrored walls. The air stank of ozone and scorched synthetics. Beyond the shattered windows
Roche could see Enforcement and the Dato landing party dodging the return fire from within the building.
She oriented herself, long hours of Armada combat training falling into place. A map of the complex appeared in her left eye: the MiCom building, three stories high, which they had already entered; administration, only one level to the rear. The foyer occupied a corner of the MiCom building’s ground floor: elevator and stairwell were at the bottom of the L; a corridor leading to the admin building opened out the back.
Roche caught sight of Cane racing away, crashing through the entrance to Admin. The sound of rapid gunfire went with him as he wielded a rifle in each hand, aiming at anyone or anything that threatened to get in his way.
“Leave him!” Haid’s voice pierced the racket, directed at the rebel who was supposed to have accompanied Cane on his mission. Roche edged around the van, conscious of the Eckandi gripping her back, his weight subtly disturbing the suit’s ponderous equilibrium. Haid and the rebel vanished up the MiCom stairwell, carrying grenades and mortars retrieved from Roche’s suit before the attack. Maii waited at the base of the stairwell with Neva.
Roche passed Veden to the older woman. “Get him upstairs. I’ll cover the rear!”
The rifle was still set to scatter, and she moved ac once to find a more sheltered position. At the back of the van, she kicked an upturned table into position and swung the rifle onto it so that the barrel rested easily. Already some twenty or thirty Enforcers had sprinted from the guardhouse toward the complex. Roche cranked the rifle setting to its widest beam and held the trigger down. The weapon bucked and kicked against her shoulder, spraying its lethal dosage through the windows, shattering what few panes had remained unbroken. The outer charge halted at once as the Enforcers hit the tarmac. There were a few seconds of quiet; then answering fire began to whistle in.
Roche flattened herself against the side of the van as projectile fire and particle beams lanced about her, but she kept her hand on the rifle, its barrel still resting on the upturned table. She fired in very short bursts, minimizing the recoil that would otherwise have wrenched the weapon from her grip. It wasn’t enough to do serious damage to their attackers, but would make them think twice about a quick sprint forward.
Behind her, the muffled thump of an explosion told her that MiCom had been breached. A second blast, and she knew that the elevator had been crippled. She heard the clatter of feet on the stairwell, distant shouts and confusion as one of the rebels returned to help her. Together they did their best to hold Enforcement at bay.
Risking a closer look, Roche edged around the far side of the van. She counted twenty-three Enforcers, only three of them armored similarly to her. Four Dato ground troopers hugged the wall on the far side of the foyer, clad in the latest powered combat suits. Roche risked a precision shot and was gratified to see the bolt of energy hit home.
The Dato armor, however, absorbed most of the energy. The trooper was flung to the ground, but stood up again a moment later.
She cursed. Not good.
Then Maii was in her mind:
Roche squeezed off a few more rounds, then began to edge back along the side of the van. When she could go no farther, she stopped to look around. The van’s solid metal body covered most of the gap between her and the stairwell, at least from the Enforcers’ positions. The Dato troopers, on the other hand, had almost a clear line of fire. She looked over her shoulder at the rebel in the stairwell and selected a grenade from one of the suit’s thigh pockets.
When the air was relatively clear, she tossed the explosive to the rebel, who primed it. Counting down from three, she tensed, braced to make the short dash for safety.
On zero, the rebel rolled the grenade toward the Dato troopers and vanished up the stairwell. Roche burst from cover and tucked her unprotected head as low as she could into the suit’s shoulders. She cried out involuntarily as a furious bolt of energy sheared a centimeter off her left hip, making her stumble—then the grenade exploded, sending smoke and flame through the entire foyer, covering her escape.
Movement at the periphery of her vision as she entered the stairwell made her swing the rifle to bear. Cane appeared out of the cloud of smoke, firing behind him in ragged spurts.
“Close,” he said, grinning down the barrel of her rifle. He grabbed her arm, and together they double-stepped up the stairwell.
“Admin?” said Roche.
Cane nodded. “Secure. Any problems this end?”
“None.”
“Good.” Cane’s smile widened. “Then let’s see what this Box of yours can do.”
Roche paused briefly at the top of the stairs to set off another grenade. The explosion brought down part of the wall, which she hoped would delay pursuit for long enough.
“Where are you, Maii?”
“What about the ones you’ve knocked out? How long until they wake up?”
As they ran, Roche took stock of her surroundings. The second floor was undamaged, secured by Maii rather than by force. Vast networks of complex processing systems lay as idle as their unconscious operators, awaiting input. The wealth of hardware was hardly extravagant, however, given the task it was required to perform. These three floors controlled every electronic exchange in the city, as well as much of that which took place in near orbit.
Roche and Cane climbed the last stairwell to the third floor and were greeted by Haid at its summit. Roche felt a wave of nausea sweep through her as they joined him: the edge of a psychic wave from Maii, she presumed, the epsense equivalen
t of scattershot but nonlethal, forcing the employees of MiCom into a deeper state of unconsciousness. She was thankful she had only caught the edge of it.
“This way.” The rebel leader led them through a maze of offices to the center of MiCom: a wide, high-ceilinged room containing three overhead screens, a dozen data-control stations, and a large central processor. The screens displayed constantly shifting views of the landing field, trajectories of satellites, and major moonlets through the Soul, as well as Armada deployment. Jytte and the other rebel, bleeding heavily from his right ear, guarded the entrance. Maii sat cross-legged in one corner, her placid expression belying the concentration she required to achieve what she was doing.
As Roche entered, a small window opened in the central screen, revealing the face of a man with a neatly trimmed grey beard.
“Tepko!” the face bellowed. “What the devil’s going on down there? Clear the lines or I’ll have you—”
“Hello, Warden,” Emmerik said into a microphone, smiling from his position behind the central processor. “Chief Supervisor Tepko’s not available to speak with you at the moment, I’m afraid. Perhaps I can help.”
Warden Delcasalle opened his mouth, shut it, then opened it again. “Who the hell are you?”
“Your landlord,” the Mbatan replied, beaming toothily. “And I’ve come to collect the rent.”
Roche stepped up behind the Mbatan and put her gloved hand on the datalink.
“We haven’t got time for this,” she said.
The window to the warden closed as the Box interfaced with the central processor. Raw data surged down Roche’s arm, through the suit, and out the palm of her power glove. More than a trickle, this felt like a river of fire, a thread-thin, white-hot wire inserted where her ulnar nerve had once been. She bit her lip as the torrent intensified. Phantom motes of light danced in her vision; her heart tripped, then steadied.
said the Box almost joyously, its voice issuing through the control room’s speakers.
“Hold it, Box,” said Haid. “What about internal security?”
“Activated,” replied the Box instantly.
“Life support?”
“Sealed.”
“Can you give us a view of the lower levels?”
The central screen cleared, allowing space for the sweep. The foyer was relatively empty; the first floor had been breached before the massive security doors closed, sealing off each level. The second floor contained only two Dato ground troopers, who pounded at the door to the third level in frustration.
“I have taken the liberty of canceling a recall order for Enforcement from the city,” said the Box.
“Excellent,” breathed Haid. “Then we’re safe.”
“At least for the time being,” said Cane.
Emmerik put his percussion rifle down next to Roche’s. “So now what?”
“The message,” Roche muttered with some difficulty, still transfixed by the intense stream of data threading through her system. “We send the message.”
“Exactly.” Haid waved Maii and Veden forward. The elderly Eckandi looked like he was going to fall, but managed to steady himself on the edge of the processor.
“Which do you need first?” he asked. “The control codes, or the message itself?”
“The codes,” replied the Box.
“Understood,” replied the Box. Roche wondered briefly through the electric fog how the Box had heard the reave, then realized that it must have detected the telepathic impulse through her own implants. “The message, Veden?”
“Is to be addressed to the most senior presiding judge of the High Equity Court on Bini.”
“Rehlaender?”
“Whoever. But mark it urgent, as per the agreement with the Commerce Artel of ‘954.28.09. Encrypt it in YEAMAN cipher, and begin with the words ‘All the great butterflies are dying.’“
Roche closed her eyes as the Eckandi dictated the brief message requesting an urgent High Equity Court hearing to discuss the sovereignty of the native inhabitants of Sciacca’s World. The Eckandi’s mission was secondary to her own, and she was impatient to move on. The sooner she contacted her superiors in COE Intelligence, the sooner she could expect to be rescued.
But the lights flashing behind her eyes were hypnotic, as was the ceaseless babble of voices just below the threshold of her hearing. Her skin felt as though it was being brushed by thousands of tiny hands, touching, probing, pulling her in every direction, as the data pouring through her system fed back through her implants and into her brain itself.
Only with great difficulty did she regain control long enough to realize that Veden had finished. She closed her eyes in an attempt to clear the unnerving sensation of seeing from many points of view at once, and took a step forward. Her thighs struck the edge of the processor, helping her reaffirm her grip on reality.
“Yes,” said Emmerik. “All we have to do is wait for a reply.”
“Standard communication to this sector may take days,” said the Box.
“Better than nothing.” The Mbatan beamed. “It’s been sent, that’s the main thing.”
“Wait,” Roche said. “What about—?”
“Not now,” said Cane. “Look at the screens. I think we have a problem.”
Roche opened her eyes and focused as best she could upon the view of the landing field. A moment passed before she realized what she was supposed to see: two flyers, circling the MiCom building.
“Both guidance systems are shielded,” said the Box. “I am unable to countermand their pilots.”
“It’s only a matter of time before they fire,” said Neva worriedly.
“Time and politics,” Haid said. “Delcasalle won’t want his precious installation blown to bits if he can help it.”
“Does internal security cover the roof?” asked Cane.
“Yes,” said Haid. “At least we don’t have to worry about ground troops coming on us through the ceiling without us knowing—”
“I am registering a security breach!” interrupted the Box.
“Where?” said Haid.
“This level. Exact location unknown.”
“The door?” Haid asked.
A screen flickered, displaying an image of the security door at the entrance to the top floor. It was undamaged.
“We’d better have a look anyway,” said Haid. “In case they’ve managed to infiltrate the mainframe with a virus or something.”
“Impossible,” said the Box. “I would know if the image had been tampered with.”
“He’s right, Box.” Roche looked around her; the fog cleared slightly. “I’ll go with you, Haid. Can I let go of this damn thing now, Box?”
“Yes. Having established the link, I am able to reroute the data from transmitters in the—”
“Good.” Roche took her hand off the datalink and stepped back from the central processor. The flow continued unchecked, but now that she had something to do, it felt less distracting. “Let’s go.”
Haid led the way through the maze of corridors. A steady thump-thump, perhaps from energy cannon, became noticeable as they approached the door.
“They’re trying to blast their way in,” said Haid, grimacing.
“Possibly. Neither of the troopers on the floor below has that sort of equipment, though. It might be something else.”
“Such as?”<
br />
Roche shrugged. Through the nagging buzz of the Box, she couldn’t think of another possibility.
The door, when they reached it, was undamaged. Haid placed his hand on the compounded metal.
“It’s cool,” he said. “So at least we know they’re not burning their way through.” He cursed under his breath. “What the hell are they up to?”
At that moment, a muffled blast echoed through the top floor, and the steady thumping ceased. In its wake, a siren began to wail. The floor’s security had failed, somewhere.
Haid and Roche headed back the way they had come. As they rounded a corner, they ran straight into a cloud of black smoke. Holding their breath, they rushed through. They entered clear air on the far side, and Haid became more vocal with his cursing.
“They came up through the floor!” he said. “Tell the Box to seal all access doors except the ones we need—”
the Box said into her thoughts.
“It’s already done.” Roche clutched the grip of her rifle more tightly. “How much further?”
“Not far. We—”
A door they had just passed suddenly dissolved into a ball of white flame. Seeing two armored figures climb through the smoking hole, Roche doubled her speed. They passed through another open access door, which hissed shut behind them, then entered MiCom Control. A sturdier airlock sealed the way behind them, but not before Roche saw the door farther down the corridor burst open.
“We have to move,” said Haid, gesturing urgently at the exit on the far side of the room. “Is there another way out of the building from this floor?”
“Only the roof,” said Cane.
“I can launch transport to pick you up,” offered the Box. “As we discussed earlier.”
“Do it,” said Haid. “How long will it take?”
“Five minutes,” said the Box.
“Damn. That’s too long.” The rebel leader looked thoughtful for a moment, then glanced at Emmerik. The Mbatan nodded.
“Okay, Box,” said Haid, turning back to Roche. “Broadcast a message over the radio transmitters, 115.6 kilohertz. The message is: ‘Retribution.’ That’s all. Repeat it three times.” Haid nodded. “That should delay the Dato for long enough.”