by Jack Heath
“Then the other continents won’t have a chance,” Six continued. “They’ll be massacred. Who knows how many assassins Ludden has contracted Crexe to grow from the genome.”
“We can launch a full-scale attack on the Lab when we get back to the Deck,” King said. “Once we get there we can collect equipment and formulate a strategy. We’ll call in the most senior Clubs, the ones who’ve done the most training—”
“Where’s the other Joker?” Six interrupted. “Grysat’s here—why didn’t the Lab kidnap the other guy?”
“They don’t know who he is, probably,” Grysat said from behind them. “Makes sense—I don’t.”
He ran up alongside Six.
“You don’t know who he is?” Six asked incredulously.
“Nope. He makes donations to our cause, provides key intelligence for every mission, and sends information to me via private encrypted satellite—but I’ve never actually met him. He’s always avoided all of my questions about who he is or where he gets his information about the inner workings of ChaoSonic. And you don’t bite the hand that feeds you.”
“How’d he tell you to release Kyntak from the Visitors Center two days ago?” Six asked, remembering.
“That was the most direct contact I’ve ever had with him. He phoned my terminal at the front desk and ordered me to release the prisoner who’d just come in. He wouldn’t say why, and he wouldn’t say how he knew Kyntak was in there, when he’d only been taken in a few minutes previously. He whispered the message, so all I could tell about him from his voice was that he was male.”
Six had assumed this meant that Kyntak and the Joker were both involved with ChaoSonic. But Kyntak’s information had been genuine, so what was the Joker’s real agenda? How did he know they had detained Kyntak, and why did he set him free?
“So chances are,” Six said, “that the Joker knows we’re missing, and he’s working on another mission plan as we speak.”
“With any luck,” Grysat panted, “yes.”
Six kept outwardly alert, but inside he relaxed a little. Things were looking up—and help was on the way.
Six had suggested that instead of finding their way through the maze until they got to the elevator (which would probably have at least one camera in it), it would be quicker and safer to remove some of the panels on the ceiling and climb up to the next floor. The others had all agreed, so Six had jumped into the air and knocked out some panels. He had then jumped again, punched a hole in the linoleum of the floor above, and prized it open far enough for a person to climb through.
He raised his head through the hole. No cameras, he thought, and no guards. Too easy. He dropped back down to the floor.
“All clear?” Two asked.
“Don’t move, don’t talk,” Six said sharply. He had heard footsteps.
“What—”
“Shhh,” King hissed, staring at Six.
The footsteps were distinct now, and getting louder.
Six made his decision. “We bluff it,” he said, and began herding his colleagues down the corridor towards the corner where the footsteps were coming from. “Try to look apprehensive,” he said to them.
“We are apprehensive,” Jack said. But he turned his eyes to the floor. Two stared at his hands. King hung his head, while Queen sniffled convincingly.
They marched down the corridor, a somber crowd of defeated prisoners, with Six walking confidently behind them. He kept the guard’s gun trained on their backs, and prodded King every now and then to complete the effect.
The owner of the footsteps appeared from around the corner. It was another guard, tall and wide. He held his gun loosely in one hand, and clicked his fingers with the other in time with his footsteps.
Six looked up and acknowledged the guard’s presence with a nod of his head. He walked faster and overtook his prisoners, then turned to face them. He waved his gun at them menacingly, and they all moved to one side of the corridor to let the guard pass. Six turned back to the approaching man and nodded again, hoping that the guard would just see Six’s stolen uniform and not look too hard at his face.
The guard nodded back, and walked casually past them. Still keeping up the pretense, Six rounded the prisoners up again. He walked around to the back of the group, and began marching impassively forward, jabbing his gun at them to get them moving. They stopped as soon as they got around the corner, and listened as the guard’s footsteps faded into the distance.
Six breathed a sigh of relief.
They walked back down the corridor towards the hole Six had made in the ceiling. “Okay, you all know the drill now,” King said. “We see another guard, we do the same thing—bluff our way through.” He looked at Six. “You’ll warn us, right?”
Six didn’t have time to answer. Everyone froze as they heard the sudden scuffle and the yell.
All the air was snatched from Six’s lungs as something thudded into him, hard. His feet left the ground and suddenly the world was upside down—and there was a guard in it, who was somehow the right way up.
Six spun around in midair like a falling cat, and snatched at the rapidly approaching floor with both his hands. Pushing against it with his palms, he twisted his torso, propelled his left knee towards the ground, and landed. His right foot was immediately down, ready to throw his body forward at his opponent.
He suddenly realized what had happened. The guard had fallen through the hole in the ceiling, and had landed on top of him.
Six wasted no time—he lunged forward. The guard had been scrambling to his feet, but when he saw Six coming he dropped suddenly to the floor. Six flew over him, surprised at the soldier’s reflexes.
He was even more impressed when the guard threw a fist at his solar plexus as he drifted over.
For someone stupid enough to fall through a hole in the floor in front of him, Six thought, this guy sure was quick on the draw.
Six caught the punching hand and clenched it tightly, then rolled across the linoleum. As his back hit the floor, his momentum lifted the guard up by his arm. Six’s heels landed, and he found himself staring up at the ceiling as the guard sailed over him, arm first. Six tugged at the arm again. The guard jerked in midair and slammed into the ground, back first. He wheezed.
Giving him no time to recover, Six rapped on his neck with his knuckles, knocking him out.
Six stood up. He glanced around at his slack-jawed companions. Well, he thought, my secret is out. They’ve seen too much.
King was grinning. “It’s been a long time since I saw you do that, Six.”
Six nodded. “There’s been a lot of call for it lately.” He turned to face the others. “We need to move quickly. That’s seven incapacitated bodies lying around now, so it can’t be too long before they realize something’s amiss.”
King nodded in agreement. “Let’s go.”
A LONG WAY DOWN
The guard on the rooftop sighed. Still half an hour to go. I could really use some coffee, he thought, yawning.
His ChaoSonic buzz-belt zapped him. He jumped.
There was an orange light flashing on the buckle.
No, it couldn’t be…
The guard raised his rifle, double-checking it. Ammo in, safety off, sights straight, laser on. He was ready.
An actual alert, he thought. Maybe it was a drill…but they never had drills. On the other hand, they never had alerts, either.
Then he saw them, climbing down the fire escape—twelve, no, thirteen of them.
They moved stealthily and silently. The guard slipped into a crouch and aimed his rifle.
The time had come, it seemed, for him to finally earn his keep.
Another electric hum from his buzz-belt. He glanced down, and the light was no longer flashing. It simply stayed illuminated.
The guard blinked unbelievingly. An illuminated light meant that all the security measures had been implemented—every soldier called in, all the land mines around the gates armed, and all staff and personnel, excluding the hundreds of tro
ops, moved to bomb shelters under the second floor.
The guard shivered apprehensively and gripped his gun. They had talked about it, of course. They had talked about it and trained for it each and every day, but it had never been done before.
The intruders had reached the bottom of the ladder—they were now on the ground in the parking lot. The guard could see the other soldiers in the area and on the roofs. At least a hundred rifles were leveled at the escapees. The guard held his aim—he didn’t know yet whether they were the source of the alert. Even if they were, the soldiers would probably be asked to take them alive, and they would be tranquilized for transport.
He gazed through the scope of his gun to get a closer look. The one in the lead was a wiry, dark-haired boy in Lab security fatigues, moving quickly and quietly across the dusty concrete. The guard squinted—the kid looked familiar. Could he have seen him before? Yes, just a couple of hours earlier, before the start of his shift, he’d seen him enter the facility through the front door; only he thought the boy had bleached-blond hair.
The boy looked back, staring straight at the guard’s scope.
The guard frowned. No way, it’s too dark, he said to himself. The boy couldn’t possibly see me at this range.
The boy swiftly dropped into a crouch and drew a pistol. He took aim at the guard, who gasped and ducked below the cover of the parapet.
There was no noise from below. The guard swore and peered back over the parapet. At first he couldn’t see the escapees at all. Then he caught a glimpse of them running on the other side of the parking lot.
The kid had only aimed at him to get him to take cover.
The guard glared down at the boy, who was moving at an incredible speed across the terrain. He aimed his gun again, but the order to fire still hadn’t arrived. And they were moving fast, with urgency. He wouldn’t have an easy shot.
Still, they were unlikely to escape. Even if the instructions came too late, and they managed to avoid being shot, stunned, or captured, the land mines stationed around the perimeter would finish them off.
But they seemed to think there was hope. Led by the dark-haired boy, they were sprinting across the dirty concrete towards…the helicopter!
The guard rested his gun on the parapet and tightened his grip, squinting down at the targets. He was prepared to shoot the moment the order to do so came through. A helicopter wouldn’t trigger the land mines, so if it got away, the only option would be to give chase in some kind of air vehicle. That’d be expensive and conspicuous, so the company wouldn’t want this helicopter to leave.
And maybe I’m the man to handle it, he thought.
The guard watched as the intruders piled into the Twin-900 and its blades began to spin. The boy had let everyone else get on first, while he stayed low, taking scope of the surroundings carefully. He appeared to have spotted the stations of each and every soldier on duty. He must have been wearing some kind of night-vision lenses, the guard presumed, because a naked human eye surely couldn’t see the other soldiers. He marveled at this kid’s confidence, standing outside the helicopter in plain view with a hundred rifles trained on him and not even looking nervous. How did he know they wouldn’t just shoot him where he stood?
Then the guard saw the boy was wearing a guard-issue ChaoSonic buzz-belt.
He knows our orders are not to shoot, the guard thought. That cocky little—
Then his buzz-belt crackled. A voice hissed, “Open fire! Repeat, open fire! Shoot to kill!”
The guard jammed his finger to the trigger. The gun shuddered and sent forty lead cones into the dirt. But the boy was gone, and all the others were in the helicopter.
The soldier re-aimed his sights. But before he could fire—
Splatsplatsplatsplatsplatsplat! He fell over, partly from the impact, and partly from the shock, as six shots smacked into his chest armor.
He took cover behind the parapet and examined his armor. What the…
His chest was splattered with slippery, translucent goo.
“Where are those shots coming from?” his radio hissed. “Is that a robot?”
Six was sprinting, already halfway to the gate, with small explosions of dust marking his steps along the way. He was nearly at the gate when a stray bullet hit the ground on the other side and activated one of the land mines.
The blast smashed the gate down to the ground. The concrete underfoot splintered. Six felt the impact vibrate through his legs first, and he halted as the wave of energy shoved against his forehead. Then the real force of the blast hit, and his whole body was thrown backward into the superheated air.
No sooner had he hit the dirt than he was up again. He began sprinting away from the gate, towards the parked cars. He hoped that the soldiers couldn’t see him through the dust, although he could still see them—blurry grey smudges against the pitch-black sky. A car, he thought. I need a car!
“Harry,” he yelled, tapping his earpiece, “keep up the firing until everyone is clear, or you run out of paintballs. Whichever comes first.”
“Yes, Agent Six of Hearts,” came the reply.
“And go for their eyes,” Six said, running towards a highpowered armored jeep. “Get some paint on the lenses of their night-vision goggles. Six out.”
He dived forward and hung in midair for a moment, shots streaking through the air around him.
Then he slid over the hood of a jeep, pulled open the driver’s door, and landed in the cab. Six ducked behind the thick metal door as the gunfire slammed into it, hoping the windows were bulletproof. He jammed the buckle of his buzz-belt into the key slot and ripped it out of the cube, then pushed the plug wires aside, grabbed the coil wire, and jammed it into the battery. The lights on the dash clicked on. Holding the kill switch up with one hand, he used the other to cross the smaller wire with the battery cable.
The motor roared.
Under thirteen seconds, Six thought. My best time ever.
He slipped the buzz-belt back on and then slammed his foot down on the accelerator.
The dust had almost cleared, and Six could see the helicopter, which had already taken off. It had been knocked back by the blast from the land mine, but no apparent structural damage had been done. It had just crossed over the fence and was slowly gaining speed.
The soldiers resumed their shooting. Lead pinged off the steel casing of the jeep, but none penetrated. This was what the jeep had been designed to do.
The others are going to be all right, thought Six. Now how do I get out of here?
Six’s eyes widened as he heard the hiss of a Drifter missile.
Looking up, he saw the massive rocket float over his head, powering its way towards the Twin. Though heavy and bulky, the missile moved forward inexorably, leaving a trail of steam and exhaust behind it. This, Six knew, was why it was known as the Drifter.
Six’s backpack was still on his shoulders. Within a moment he had reached over his shoulder and brought out the two silver pistols. He pressed down on the accelerator, straightened the steering wheel, and then took his hands off it, concentrating on his aim.
Drifters had heavy armored hulls, so they could not be shredded by super machine-gun fire—this was the main defense of most aircraft against missile attack. But the armor came at the cost of a good navigation system. If a Drifter was bumped off course, it stayed off course until something touched its exhaust emission valve or its warhead.
Six fired with the left gun first, and a bullet sparked off the side of the missile. The Drifter veered very slightly to the right. But not enough to save the chopper, Six thought, as the jeep roared along beneath him.
He fired twice more.
The missile gently pitched farther away from the helicopter. It overtook it with half a meter’s clearance, and plunged into the black night. Six took aim at where the steam trail had vanished, and fired another shot.
The bullet went straight into the exhaust valve, and the missile detonated.
Boom.
Six shielded his eyes with his arm as the blackness of the night was impaled by a ferocious rippling firestorm. He was pressed down into his seat by the blazing wall of energy that bore down on him from above. The jeep’s motor whined as it struggled to keep moving against the pressure. The helicopter lurched to one side before righting itself a few seconds later. Six’s ears were assaulted by the shrieking sound of burning fuel and of the exploding nitroglycerin twisting the tungsten hull of the missile.
The blast had burned up most of the air within a radius of fifteen meters, and Six was nearly sucked out the window as the wind rushed to fill the resulting vacuum. All the dust was drawn into a huge airborne ball.
Then it was suddenly over. The missile was gone, the dust ball had disintegrated, and the helicopter was still in the air.
Twin-900s are built tough, Six thought. But now he was left to face the immediate problem of trying to steer the jeep across the cement that had been splintered by the earlier explosion of the land mine.
It is, Six thought, a difficult situation to be in. Land mines no doubt ringed the entire perimeter, or there would have been no point in placing the one the bullets had set off. Only one mine had exploded, so the others were still there, hidden and presumably armed.
The only safe way out of the Lab’s clutches was the route that had already been cleared. Which, unfortunately, Six thought, was a smoking chasm in the concrete.
Six floored the accelerator. The wheels spun faster and faster as dozens of bullets thudded into the jeep’s sides. Maybe I can jump the gap, he thought.
The engine howled. The wheels slid. Six’s knuckles were white on the steering wheel.
Then, as he heard the hiss of a second Drifter blasting overhead towards the Twin, he knew what he had to do.
Agent Six wrenched the wheel to the left and jammed his foot on the accelerator. The jeep swerved violently away from the chasm, heading in the direction of the helicopter.
The wheels spun across innocent, safe-looking concrete. Six took his hands off the wheel and reloaded the silver pistols. He braked, sending the car into a spin, then braced himself by pressing one foot against the passenger seat and one against the door as the tires touched the land mine.
