Across the street, two city police officers came around the corner, brusquely pushing civilians aside, herding them together. One of the police glanced across the street, turned away, then turned back, startled to see another pair of police.
“Skippy,” Smythe said quietly, “tell them whatever hell you need, to make them leave us alone.” Without waiting for the unseen beer can, he held up his rifle and gestured at the other police with two fingers of his other hand. With sign language, he tried to indicate that he and Robertson would cover their side of the street, and the other police should cover their side. From the speakers below the chin of his helmet, he heard his suit saying something loud in Kristang.
The other cop took one step toward Smythe, hesitating at the edge of the street.
“Lt. Robertson,” Skippy ordered, “hit the Kristang male in front of you. Don’t kill him, but knock him down.”
There was a Kristang male in front of Robertson, halted to be ‘scanned’ but arguing, waving some sort of ID card and gesturing at the three females with him. Without checking with Smythe, Robertson reached out and slapped the male across the face, firmly but not hard. Perhaps a bit too firmly; the civilian’s head spun and he went down, to be surrounded by wailing and weeping females.
For a gut-churning moment, the other policeman hesitated at the edge of the street, confused. Then his fellow officer called for help with the growing crowd, and the policeman held up two fingers in professional acknowledgement.
“Bloody hell,” Smythe had to stop his hands from shaking. “That was close. Skippy, what was that for?”
“Abuse of civilians is convincing evidence that the two of you are clan police,” Skippy explained. “More convincing than the line of bullshit I was telling that cop.”
The male staggered to his feet with the help of his cowering females, and Smythe felt sorry for the women. They would no doubt catch the wrath of the male, for they had witnessed the male’s humiliation. Smythe pointed at the male and waved him angrily away. “Robertson, we make our way down this side of the street, keep stopping people and pretend we’re checking IDs. Do not look across the street; Skippy will warn us if those coppers are coming our way. Right, Skippy?”
“Affirmative. I have to say, Major, that once again I am impressed by the inventiveness of humans. That was quick thinking.”
“I figure police are like soldiers; they have a job to do and want to focus on it.”
“I cannot comment on the universal nature of human military and law enforcement. There is a potential problem; traffic on the other side of the street is thinning. I overheard those two police saying they may split up soon, with one of them coming toward you. I have transmitted the proper authentication codes for you, however, these are local police and they do not recognize the two of you.”
“Tell them we’re, federal police, or something like that,” Robertson suggested.
“I did that already; as local police they are curious, and unhappy, about you being in their jurisdiction. Do not be overly concerned, Major Smythe.”
“Overly concerned?” What would be the appropriate level of concern? Absolute and utter panic?
“Please, Major. Trust the awesomeness. I have just caused a vehicle crash up the street behind you, that will divert foot traffic onto the other side of the street. And,” Skippy paused, “yes, civilians are crossing the road. The two police officers have just noticed the increased traffic, and the accident. One of them is gesturing toward you. Wave to acknowledge.”
Smythe turned briefly toward the other police and did the curt two-finger wave again. “You keep going, my friend,” he muttered under his breath, “nothing to see over here.”
“Hey, arsehole,” Robertson mimicked Smythe’s two-finger gesture toward the alien police officer. “Yeah, that’s right, stay over there.”
To the relief of the two humans, the real police officers continued up the other side of the street, drawing farther away from the Special Air Services officers. As the distance increased and it became harder for the real police to see them Smythe and Robertson began walking faster, stopping only random civilians rather than everyone on the sidewalk. “Robertson, check behind us. Can you see those police?”
“Only the tops of their helmets,” Robertson reported quietly.
“Skippy, we are out of here,” Smythe advised. “Which way?”
“Excellent work, Major,” Skippy sounded pleased. “Take the next left, then cross the street approximately forty meters down and go into an alley there.”
At the other end of the alley, a lorry was backing up toward them. “Skippy?” Smythe looked for a doorway they might escape into.
“Relax Major, I commandeered that truck, I’m driving it,” Skippy replied as it slowed to a stop and the back door rolled up to expose an empty and battered cargo box.
“A lorry?” Smythe asked skeptically. “Why couldn’t we have gotten into the lorry that was in the alley behind our building?”
“Because that truck was loaded, you would have had to break into it and unload the cargo. Plus, the cargo containers in that truck all have radio ID tags that I can’t easily hack into from here; if the truck got pulled over for inspection the police would be suspicious that why it is heading out of the city when the cargo’s destination is near the city center. Also, that truck was on the wrong side of the street for a direct path outside the city. Please, just get in the truck, OK? I’ll have you outside the city in a jiffy.”
Smythe did not ask exactly how long a ‘jiffy’ was, although he was certain it was longer than whatever Skippy expected. “Robertson,” he waved the other man forward, and they stepped up into the cargo box, which slid closed behind them. With a whine of electric motors, the lorry started forward with a lurch, turned what Smythe felt was to the right, and picked up speed. Smythe slid his back down the cargo box to sit on the floor, and rested his rifle between his feet. One thing the military had taught him was to get rest when he could.
CHAPTER TWENTY FOUR
Williams’ arms, legs and fingers were cramped and aching when he completed the climb, which had taken them three stories below street level. Jones was doing better, the color coming back into his cheeks. Skippy said the nanoparticles he had injected into Jones from the suit had stopped the internal bleeding, although Jones still had fluid in his right lung.
They waited behind a door that lead to a parking garage beneath the building. Williams found it disconcerting to be in such a mundane place, during an operation that was anything but ordinary. “We’re ready, Skippy.”
“The truck is backed up as close as I can to the door, you will still be visible for three meters. Petty Officer Jones will need to be covered in that tarp.”
“Got it,” Jones replied, flopping the tarp over his head so Williams could carry him concealed. They had found the tarp in a storage closet, it was stained, dotted with stiff dried resin or something like that, and smelled of harsh chemicals. Jones considered that, if the tarp got him out of the city to rescue, he would be happy to make a suit of the tarp and wear it every day.
“Commencing distraction in three, two, one, boom,” Skippy announced, and the building shook. The emergency lighting flickered, as Skippy triggered the thermal grenades on the upper floor. The grenades effectively destroyed the damaged suit Jones had been wearing, along with three floors of one side of the building. Debris exploded outward, cascading into the streets below. The heat of the thermal explosion twisted the upper structure of the tower, and caused the approaching military aircraft to veer away and climb rapidly. “Go!”
Williams was ready, Jones covered up on his back in a fireman’s carry, one hand on the door latch. The door opened and in four strides, Williams quickly walked to the waiting truck and stepped up into the mostly empty cargo box. He set Jones down carefully and yanked the door down. “We’re in, Skip-” Before he could finish, the truck was already moving.
“You might as well settle down, guys, you’ll be in this truck
for a while. The good news is the edge of the city is not far and I know a route the military hasn’t blocked yet. I’m confident you can get out of the city. The bad news is the highway out of the city leads toward the sea and is a restricted route; it is quite a distance before I can turn this truck onto a side route where a dropship can pick you up.”
“Skippy, thank you, we very much appreciate it.”
“Oh, it is no trouble at all. Hey, while I have your attention for a couple hours, I’ve been working on some new showtunes-”
The behavior of our beer can had me concerned. “Skippy, you seem kind of distracted. Is everything Ok with you?”
“Yes, Joe, I’m fine.”
My zPhone beeped and it was a text message from Skippy, We should talk privately, the text read. That scared me. Aboard the Thuranin dropship, there was no privacy for my conversations with Skippy; everyone could hear both sides. “I’m going outside for fresh air,” I announced. That drew raised eyebrows from the crew and I ignored them, they knew when to leave me to myself. Once outside, I stayed within the stealth field netting, the ground was illuminated only by lights from the dropship. I wanted to go outside, to see the sky like I had on Paradise. With the extensive sensor network in Kobamik, I couldn’t take that risk just to indulge myself. “What’s up, Skippy?” I tried to keep my tone light. It didn’t work.
“In a word, the worm. It’s back.”
“The worm?” I lowered my voice. “I thought you killed it.”
“So did I. It followed me back into my canister. Or, there is another possibility that frightens me even more.”
“What?”
“That a worm has been inside me the whole time, and is only now active. I mentioned the possibility that the worm is a safety mechanism created by the Elders, to protect the galaxy from AIs who go rogue. Maybe the Elders built a worm into my matrix. In that case, all Elder AIs have worms inside them.”
“Holy shit. A worm killed that AI we found on Newark. Back then, you said there was no way that AI was involved with throwing Newark out of its orbit.”
“Yeah,” his voice was glum. “Yeah, I did say that. At the time, I believed it. Totally believed it. Now? Now I don’t know what to believe. If that AI went rogue and destroyed Newark’s biosphere, the worm may have killed the AI to prevent further damage.”
I knew how thinking about a fellow Elder AI wiping out a sentient species would affect Skippy, so I changed the subject. “Why is the worm attacking you now?”
“Unknown. It doesn’t matter right now anyway.”
“Ok,” he also wanted to avoid the subject. “Are you in danger?”
“No, no,” he chuckled unconvincingly. “It is distracting me, that’s all. No problemo, Joe. That worm is toast. I’m toying with it, I have it trapped in a dead-end where I can take it apart and analyze it. I have beaten that worm twice already that I know of.”
“Skippy, are you certain about that? You are our ride off this rock. And back home.”
“Joe, if there was a significant danger, I would tell you. Come on, it’s me.”
“Exactly what I’m worried about. All right, we keep going, you promise to tell me if that worm becomes a danger to you?”
“Yup. Now, go back inside where you can monitor how the SEALS and SAS teams are doing.”
Smythe had not even vaguely been asleep, so he was instantly aware when the lorry veered to the right abruptly, then slowed, then took another right. “Skippy?”
“Yeah, uh, listen, we have a little bit of a problem. Technically, you have the problem, but I am with you in spirit.”
“That makes me feel so much better,” Smythe didn’t try to disguise the sarcasm. “What is the problem this time?”
“Checkpoint. The city authorities just closed all civilian ground and air routes into and out of the city. This is as far as the truck can go, unfortunately.”
“What do we do now?”
“We go to Plan C. Or it is D? Whatever. No, wait, it is Plan P! Yeah, that’s it. P,” Skippy chuckled.
“What is so funny?”
“You’ll see,” Skippy was almost giggling with mirth.
Smythe looked at Robertson and they both groaned. “Is this,” Smythe asked, “something we very much are not going to like?”
“Hmmm. No. No, Joe would very much not like this. But, seeing as your SAS guys are certifiably freakin’ crazy, you will probably love this idea. As a bonus, it will give you a great story to tell when you get back to Hereford.”
Smythe looked down at the rushing water. Or whatever it was, for the fluid was definitely not pure water. “I must admit, I do not love this idea, Skippy.”
“Plan P! See what I meant?!”
Below Major Smythe was a heavy access hatch that led down into a pipe that carried water and other less savory things out of the city. Skippy had been able to override the lock to the hatch lid, and the two powered armor suits made short work of lifting the heavy lid. Looking down with the lights of his helmet on full power, he did not like what he saw. “P? Yes, that was very clever, Skippy,” he replied without humor. “It’s a sewer. A lizard sewer.”
“Oh, come on, Major. Sealed up in your suits, you won’t get any yucky stuff on you, I promise. Think of it as floating along a river in one of those Central American caves. You did some of your SAS training in Belize, right?”
“The water in those cenotes is clean, Skippy.” Smythe blinked to update the display on his visor, checking the suit’s internal oxygen level. For a ground mission in a breathable atmosphere, they had been relying on external oxygen, pulled into the suit and filtered. Once the mission had gone sideways, the four people still on the ground had activated the pumps that stored oxygen in the suit’s built-in storage packs. Those internal packs did not have the capacity of the tanks used for missions in vacuum or nonbreathable environments, still Smythe was heartened to see that he now had more than two hours of internal oxygen. “This pipe leads to a sewage processing station, I assume? Won’t we be swept up in a filter and crushed by the water pressure?”
“Yes, it does lead to a sewage treatment plant. No, you will not get crushed. The system has emergency bypass gates that can be opened remotely in case of high water volume, and the good news is the security level of that system is low grade; I hacked into it easily. When you approach the bypass gate, it will open and close quickly for you, and I will block the central computer from knowing that gate was ever open. There will be an investigation later, because raw sewage will have been dumped into a river that borders prime hunting ground. I estimate you will pop to the surface of the river thirty one minutes after you enter that pipe, and you will be far enough away from the city to avoid security patrols. We should be away from here and back on the ship, before the Kristang realize something went through the bypass gate. Trust me, Major, this is a stroke of genius. This pipe will take you out of the city faster than that truck would have. There are no traffic jams down there.”
“There is one thing in our favor, Sir,” Robertson leaned over to look down the pipe and wrinkled his nose, even though no scent got through the air filters of his suit.
“What is that?”
“I am certain that 22 SAS has never infiltrated an alien sewer,” Robertson said with a smile, “so perhaps we will get a unique campaign ribbon for that.”
“Ha!” Smythe laughed at the gallows humor and patted Robertson on the back. “There’s nothing for it, then, I’ll go first.”
I anxiously followed the progress of the truck carrying Lt. Williams’ two-man SEALS team out of the city, giving a shudder of relief when the display showed me their truck had cleared the city perimeter. Just in time, too, a checkpoint had been set up and traffic in and out of the city locked down, twelve minutes after Williams and Jones zipped onto the highway past the city administrative limits. “One down, one to go,” I muttered to myself. To Skippy, I asked “You have a status on the SAS team?”
“Status? They’re in a sewer pipe, Joe, what
type of status do you expect?”
“Uh, like, where are they? I want to see it on the display,” I pointed to the dropship console in front of me. I was not happy about the SAS team floating along an underground sewer. If anything went wrong, we had no way to assist them.
“Joe, I have no freakin’ clue where they are right now. If you like, I can estimate their location from what I know of the water flow speed.”
“What? You don’t know where they are? You little shithead, you should have told us that! How will you know when to open that bypass gate?”
“I won’t know when to open the bypass gate and I won’t have to, dumdum. I loaded the gate command program into both of their suit computers; as they approach the gate their suits will communicate with the gate and it will open for them. Behold, the magic of Skippy!”
“Uh huh. You will know when the gate opens, right?”
“Oh, sure, Joe. I’ll know because I need to intercept the signal before it reaches the central control computer. Although, hmmm.”
“Hmmm?” I didn’t like the sound of that. “Hmmm what?”
“Hmmm, like, I should have received a signal from that gate at least four minutes ago.”
“Crap!”
“This is puzzling. Maybe the water flow is slower than I, nope. No, I am reviewing data from the water flow sensors, Major Smythe certainly should have reached the bypass gate by now.”
“What could have happened?”
“Joe,” he sounded completely miserable, “I have no idea.”
Major Smythe knew what happened, because he was in the middle of it. He had been the first to slip into the disgusting sewer water, holding onto the lip of the pipe until Robertson plunged in. As they drifted along, tiny differences in the current flow had caused Smythe to fall behind by several meters, nothing that alarmed either man. Smythe used a few strokes with his powered suit arms to pull even with Robertson, then when he fell behind again he let the current carry him. The sonar of the suit helmet provided him a vague view of what lay ahead, which was endless pipe. There weren’t even many curves to make the trip mildly interesting. Only when a smaller pipe came in from one side of another did he two men experience a change; the additional volume of fluid being forced through the confines of the pipe made the speed of the water increase. They were really moving as they approached the bypass gate; according to the map projected in their visors, they would reach the gate in less than two minutes. There were supposed to be two smaller pipes flowing in from the left before the bypass gate on the right.
Black Ops (Expeditionary Force Book 4) Page 40
