Survival Aptitude Test_Hope's Graveyard

by Mike Sheriff

The mongrel shocktroops halted ten feet from the entrance. Their conversation carried over, but the specific words were lost to the distance.

  Laoshi breathed in and out, frozen in place. As a child, he’d often imagined what it would be like to meet a mongrel face-to-face. He’d played Mongrel Incursions with Dominus and his fellow prospects countless times. The encounters had always involved hand-to-hand combat, complete with imaginary daggers, combat-hardened staffs, and dart guns with an unlimited supply of projectiles. They’d sometimes settled the meetings with fists, fingernails, and feet.

  He willed himself to put one foot in front of the other—pausing in one spot would only attract attention. And suspicion. He started walking, adopting as casual a pace as he could muster, and closed the distance. He locked his gaze onto the group.

  The closer he approached, the more . . . normal they appeared. He’d always envisioned mongrels as sub-human, more akin to the snarling, blood-fanged monster that Dominus had conjured up in the training facility than living, sentient beings.

  Rasplaughter ebbed from the group, shattering that image. These weren’t monsters. They were smaller and leaner than he’d imagined despite their tunics and body armor. Gaunt faces reflected an underlying humanity that clashed with years of barbaric propaganda. Their stubby sonic rifles provided a sobering counterpoint—they could cull him with a squeeze of their fingers.

  Laoshi slipped his hand into the tunic’s pocket and felt for the passkey. The thin glass disk was the size of his palm and—

  A pang of alarm knifed his gut. Commander Nehjal hadn’t mentioned how to use it. Like a fid, he hadn’t thought to ask.

  Twenty feet ahead, two of the mongrels broke away from the group and wandered back to the entrance. They both paused before its nullglass door. One after the other, they waved their hands before it. Blue lights flickered, tracing the door’s seam. It opened and the mongrels proceeded inside.

  The pain in his gut receded—at least he knew what to do with the passkey. Now he just had to slip past the two remaining mongrels without attracting attention. He sucked a deep breath—and inhaled a glob of saliva. It caught in his throat like a clump of sand. A barrage of coughs exploded from his mouth.

  The mongrels turned to him.

  Laoshi hacked, cursing the coughing-fit’s timing. He balled his hands, certain the unwelcome scrutiny would lead to his compromise.

  “Nasty cough,” one of the mongrels said. He was a Caucasoid, about fifty years old judging by his lined skin. The lines deepened as he gazed at Laoshi.

  Laoshi responded with another cannonade of coughs. He could do little else.

  The other mongrel—a younger Asianoid—narrowed his eyes. He nodded at Laoshi. “You’re sweating, brother.”

  Laoshi braced himself for combat. The mongrels’ suspicion was self-evident. Any second now, they’d issue a challenge. Any second now, he’d be forced to reach for his dagger and cull them. Could he do it before they raised the alarm? Could he do it before they trained their sonic rifles? Was he living the final moments of his life?

  The Asianoid mongrel’s face relaxed. “There’s a new supply of anti-virals in the med station. Be sure to take some.” He grinned. “Don’t want to get the rest of us sick, do you?”

  Laoshi masked his shock and shook his head. He marched past the pair and angled for the entrance, dumbstruck by his good fortune and the mongrels’ evident compassion.

  He pulled the passkey from his tunic and waved it before the door. Blue lights flickered and the door opened. He stepped inside, his relief so palpable he felt ten pounds lighter despite the bianfu.

  The door accessed an enclosed, ten-by-ten vestibule. To the right, a switchback staircase led to the center’s upper and lower levels. Directly ahead, a pentagonal hatch gleamed. Laoshi spun its circular handle and tugged.

  The hatch swung open. Beyond it, a pentagonal corridor stretched for two hundred feet. Its layout so closely matched the training facility’s plasmonic corridors, it triggered a momentary upswell of vertigo. There was no time to wallow in the verisimilitude.

  He advanced up the corridor. It led to an open octagonal hub—the intersection of eight corridors—that spanned fifty feet in diameter. A handful of mongrels transited the space. None gave him a second look. He paused and oriented himself.

  The main entrance penetrated the facility’s north face; the security door lay to the south. That meant the corridor directly across the hub led in the right direction.

  He crossed the hub with his head down, wiping the front of his tunic as if to remove some grime. It would have been tactically prudent to study the hub’s layout and count mongrels, but he opted for a more introspective posture. He was, after all, pretending to be a mongrel who’d know the lay of the land better than his own face.

  The southern corridor mirrored the first. It ran for two hundred feet, every inch mercifully empty. He entered it and doubled his pace.

  Laoshi reached the vestibule at its far end and inched across the last few feet. A quick check over his shoulder revealed no mongrel onlookers. He swiped the passkey over a nullglass door’s opaque surface, mirroring the movement that had unlocked the main entrance.

  Blue lights flashed, tracing its seams. The door swung open.

  Outside, Commander Nehjal leveled her sonic rifle. Her finger curled around its trigger as she peered down its barrel.

  “Still your finger,” Laoshi whispered. “It’s me!”

  She lowered the weapon. “Well done, Jiren Laoshi.” She waved the rest of the team forward.

  One by one, they entered the vestibule. Each thumped Laoshi’s shoulder in passing—a small tribute of thanks for his courage. He basked in the recognition.

  Dominus was the last to enter. He halted before Laoshi and offered him a crooked grin. “Looks like you enjoyed yourself.”

  Laoshi chucklebucked. He wouldn’t go that far, but he had a good story to tell his grandchildren.

  LAOSHI RAISED THE sonic rifle, relishing the weight of his primary weapon again. He peered through its optical sight.

  The pentagonal corridor mirrored the training facility’s plasmonic projection. This time, the opaque ventilation piping and black power cabling hugging the angled ceiling were real. So were the consequences of any mistakes.

  The deployment of the first two eavesdroppers had gone flawlessly. Placement of the third and final device would give them the acoustic intelligence needed to breach the junction chamber.

  The sealed chamber occupied the central locus of the relay center’s uppermost level. The vestibule inside the security door had provided access via another switchback staircase. Eight corridors provided access to the chamber, each corresponding to the cardinal and inter-cardinal points of the compass. He’d already placed eavesdroppers above the hatches at the end of the southern and eastern corridors. The last device was earmarked for the hatch at the end of the northern corridor.

  Laoshi lowered his rifle. He raised his right hand and waved it from side to side.

  Commander Nehjal’s voice leaked through his earpiece. “Proceed.”

  He edged down the corridor, sonic rifle at the ready. He kept his elbows tucked against his sides—more so, in fact. He still wore the bianfu for its tactical value. If any mongrels stumbled upon them, the sight of another “mongrel” in company with four armed Jireni might induce a precious moment of pause. A moment of pause could mean the difference between death and escape.

  Laoshi passed the corridor’s midpoint, one hundred feet from the hatch. He adjusted his webbing and boxed his breathing.

  Inhale for three seconds.

  Hold for three seconds.

  Exhale for three seconds.

  Hold for three seconds.

  He reached the end of the corridor, ten feet from the hatch, and dropped to a knee. “In position.”

  “Dominus up,” Nehjal said, repeating the now familiar order.

  Laoshi didn’t take his eyes off the hatch’s circular handle. Dominus announced
his arrival by drumming his fingers on Laoshi’s helmet—as he’d done twice before. He stalked five feet farther, then crouched on the right side of the corridor. He aimed his sonic rifle at the hatch. “Ready.”

  Nehjal’s voice crackled in Laoshi’s ear. “Deploy eavesdropper.”

  Laoshi pulled the device from his web pouch. He covered the ten feet to the hatch on the balls of his feet and set the eavesdropper flush against the bulkhead. It self-adhered without a sound.

  He backpedaled to Dominus’ position. “Eavesdropper deployed.”

  The rest of the team moved up, swift and silent. Nehjal already had the quantum tile in her hand. She studied its screen.

  It displayed overlapping red, blue, and green waveforms—the acoustic signals received by each eavesdropper. Six points of intersection stood out. Each represented a cross-fix from a sound source within the chamber.

  “There are six mongrels inside,” Nehjal whispered.

  Jiren Vandarian grunted. “And only five of us.”

  “That means I’ll have to take out two of them,” she said. “We’ll need to use twitch guns.”

  “My aim’s better with a sonic rifle,” Tor said.

  It was true; she displayed the best accuracy during training. Only Jiren Szeto could challenge her, but he was dead.

  “Sonic rounds will be too loud,” Nehjal said. “And daggers will be too slow.”

  “How will you cull two mongrels?” Tor asked. “You only get one shot with a twitch gun.”

  Nehjal patted her sheathed dagger and offered a rare grin. “Daggers are too slow for the rest of you.”

  She spent the next few minutes briefing target assignments and entry order. When she finished, she surveyed each team member. “Questions?”

  The others shook their heads. Only one question came to Laoshi’s mind. “What’s the setting for the twitch guns?”

  “Lethal,” Nehjal said. “Once put down, the mongrels need to stay down.” She stood and drew her twitch gun from her webbing’s holster. Its twin barrels measured five-inches long. Their black-ceramic finish glinted. “Get into position.”

  Tor edged forward and placed her hands on the hatch’s circular handle. She’d initiate the breach and then follow the stack inside. Commander Nehjal would be first to enter the chamber, followed by Vandarian. Dominus and Laoshi would bring up the stack’s rear.

  At the back of the stack, Laoshi cradled the twitch gun in his hand. He hadn’t fired it since the early days of his training. Thankfully, a fid could operate it. A toggle below its right barrel adjusted the voltage setting. The rearmost position delivered enough voltage to cull two men. He double-checked that the twin micro-darts were seated in the barrels, then visualized the entry procedure.

  Take three paces inside.

  Turn left forty-five degrees and sight the target.

  Gently squeeze the trigger to avoid drawing the barrels off-target.

  Look for solid dart contact.

  Be ready to use the dagger to finish off the mongrel.

  At the front of the stack, Commander Nehjal took a final glance at her tile. “No change in the targets’ positions.” She stowed the tile and gripped her twitch gun with both hands. She nodded at Tor. “Initiate.”

  Tor spun the handle and pulled. The hatch swung open.

  The stack surged forward. Laoshi stayed within arm’s reach of Dominus, gaze tacked to the back of his jump suit. Within two seconds, he stepped over the hatch coaming and entered the chamber.

  He counted three paces and raised the twitch gun.

  He pivoted his torso forty-five degrees to the left.

  He aimed at a darkened blob’s center-of-mass and squeezed the trigger.

  Twin darts spat from the muzzle. They streaked across the twenty-foot gap and struck home. The twitch gun vibrated, crackling with frenetic energy. The darts had found their mark.

  The darkened blob convulsed, then seized up as if frozen in a block of ice. To the right, other twitch guns crackled, delivering lethal voltage to their own targets. Another sound—a muffled scream—cut through the air.

  The twitch gun cycled off. His target slumped to the floor. He dashed over, hand on his dagger’s hilt, ready to use its blade to finish off the mongrel.

  He didn’t need the dagger. The mongrel lay face down on the tiled floor, immobile.

  Tension drained from Laoshi’s body. It was his first cull. He’d taken the life of another human being—though some might argue the label human being didn’t apply to mongrels. For reasons he couldn’t articulate, he needed to see the man’s face.

  He kneeled and rolled the mongrel over.

  It was an Asianoid woman.

  Laoshi recoiled from her body. Her eyes were wide open, lips drawn back in an agonized rictus. Blood dribbled from her mouth and coated her cheek. She’d bitten through the end of her tongue.

  “Jiren Laoshi!” Nehjal whisper-shouted. “Report!”

  He snapped out of his stupor and turned to her. “Target culled.”

  Nehjal stood over a mongrel’s body, a bloodied dagger in her hand. The bodies of the other mongrels littered the floor. Banks of consoles lined the chamber’s permitter, screens aglow.

  Fifty feet above, glass I-beams criss-crossed a domed ceiling. Four massive junction boxes dotted the cross-members. Muscular data cables entered the boxes from above. Thousands of thinner cables emerged from their bases. They fanned out to hundreds of smaller conduits along the walls.

  The junction boxes were the key to the mission’s success. Destroy them, and the data gathered by the optical and telemetric sensors in Havoc’s southern sector would be severed. Destroy them, and the mongrel’s command-and-control capability would be blinded. The aeroshrike fleet, poised to attack at dawn, could arrive undetected and unmolested.

  “Ready the sonic charges.” Nehjal sheathed her dagger. “And stand by to belay Jiren Dominus.”

  “At once, sireen,” Laoshi said. He took one last look at the Asianoid mongrel, then tried to purge her from his mind.

  It didn’t work. He suspected he’d be seeing her face for the rest of his life.

  6

  Compromise

  LAOSHI EXTRACTED FOUR wedge-shaped sonic charges from the drop-pack. No bigger than a fist, they packed enough impulse energy to punch through three-inches of ceramic armor. He handed them to Dominus.

  “Give me an extra charge,” he said. “Just in case.”

  Laoshi pulled out a fifth charge and handed it over.

  Dominus distributed them among his web pouches and cinched the draws of his climbing harness tighter. “Got the line?”

  “Right here.” Laoshi fed the flexglass line’s running end through the harness’ snap lock and tied it off with a figure-of-eight knot. He’d already launched its other running end up and over one of the ceiling’s I-beams using the pneumatic gun. It created a solid top-anchor. “Hope I tied that knot properly.”

  “If you don’t know knots, tie lots,” Dominus said.

  Laoshi clipped the line into the belaying cam on his webbing and ensured it ran freely. “All set.”

  “Don’t let go.”

  “Just like climbing Rhyger’s Cliffs on the Western Mound, hmm?” Laoshi said.

  “Little more challenging, I’d say.”

  He was right. The chamber’s walls provided few handholds and footholds to mount an ascent. Odds were good that Dominus would slip several times; a solid belay was vital for preventing a fall. From such a height, a broken leg would be a given. Commander Nehjal had already demonstrated what a broken leg could lead to.

  “Ready?” Laoshi asked.

  “Ready.”

  “On belay.”

  Dominus climbed using cable mountings and scattered protrusions as holds. Laoshi drew line through the belaying cam, maintaining enough slack to permit freedom of movement—but not so much that his friend would drop more than a few feet if he peeled away. The rest of the team busied themselves collecting data disks and other intellige
nce artifacts.

  Within two minutes, Dominus had reached forty feet above the floor. As was the case with most climbs they’d undertaken, the last ten feet proved the most challenging. The handholds thinned out, and the closest I-beam was five horizontal feet from his position on the wall.

  “I think I can reach it if I jump,” he said, the dome’s natural acoustics amplifying his whisper. “Be ready to brace my fall.”

  Laoshi opened his mouth to issue a warning. Dominus jumped before he got a word out.

  Dominus arced through the air, spinning one-hundred-eighty degrees to face the I-beam. His hands found its leading edge.

  Laoshi leaned back, ready to absorb the energy of his friend’s falling body.

  Dominus didn’t fall. His legs swung like a pendulum beneath the I-beam. At the same time, he pulled up with his arms and tucked his knees to his chest. Momentum carried him up and over the I-beam. In one smooth motion, he found himself kneeling on its upper surface. He grinned at Laoshi, looking both surprised and elated. “How was that?”

  Laoshi rolled his eyes. “You always were a show off.”

  Dominus stood, balancing on the narrow beam, and tightroped to the first junction box.

  Laoshi relaxed. No one was as sure-footed as Dominus; the odds of him falling now were virtually null. He took less than three minutes to place all four charges.

  “Charges are set,” Dominus called down.

  Nehjal wandered over. She thumped Laoshi’s shoulder and glanced up at Dominus. “Good work. I might make Jireni of you two yet.”

  “Was there ever any doubt?” Dominus asked from his lofty perch, folding at the waist in a formal bow. “You should know by now that we’re your best assets.”

  “Best assets or asses?” Nehjal asked.

  “I think you and Tor would win in the latter category,” Dominus said.

  “Remind me to flick your nose once you’re back down here.” Nehjal turned to the rest of the team. “Finish up what you’re doing. We exfiltrate in one minute.”

  Tor stuffed handfuls of data disks into a drop-pack. “How long before sunrise?”